#carrot craze

[lurkinginnernarrator]

Cang Qiong's rumor mill has a new topic.

Peak Lord Shen hasn't been seen in two weeks. The last time he was seen was flying back from An Ding, where he purportedly commandeered some unknown objects from An Ding's storerooms after a hasty discussion with Peak Lord Shang. He entered the Bamboo house and hasn't emerged since.

The most popular theory is Peak Lord Shen is conducting some sort of toeing-the-line-of-taboo ritual.

Eventually, someone convinces Mu Qingfang to do a wellness check.

The Qing Jing disciples greet their Mu-shishu respectfully, the disciple escorting him to the Bamboo House inquiring as to the nature of his visit, seeing as 'Shizun wasn't expecting shishu today.'

"This master is merely here to visit your Shizun."

The disciple bows after announcing Mu Qingfang's arrival.

Mu Qingfang opens the door.

"Shen-shixiong?"

"Mu-shidi? To what do I owe the pleA—FUCK get BACK HERE YOU ARE NOT"—the sounds of struggle reach Mu Qingfang's ears and he leaps to action, striding in to take stock of the situatio...n.

Shen-shixiong is flat on his stomach; outstretched hands tightly grasping a precocious ball of fluff. His eyes gleam in victory, the scene casting it in a more crazed light. There is a heaviness to Shen Qingqiu's eyes that cultivation cannot banish and miscellaneous stains on his person. And, looking around, the Bamboo House is a disaster. Books, brushes, scrolls, inkwells and fans are scattered around, many haphazardly dropped on the floor. There is. Also. Hay?

Mu Qingfang freezes in the doorway. Ball of fluff and Shen Qingqiu also freeze.

"Is... Shixiong alright?"

This seems to snap Shen Qingqiu into action. He scrambles up firmly but with care, cradling the fluffball. Shen Qingqiu gets himself in order as best he can with both his hands occupied and clears his throat.

"Ah...Yes. this master is fine. To what do I owe the pleasure?..."

The fluffball twitches, wriggling until Shen Qingqiu loses his grip on it. It hops to the floor. A juvenile Whitecrested Snowrabbit of Agility stares up at Mu Qingfang.

"This. Shidi could come back at a more opportune time?"

The bunny starts chewing on a scroll.

"I believe that would be best."

Mu Qingfang backs out of the doorway.

He does send tea to help with Shen-Shixiong's fatigue and a subspecies of carrot that Whitecrested Snowrabbits are supposed to favour though.

I wonder what the next topic of Cang Qiong's rumor mill will be?

[lullabyspawn]

NONONOONONO FORREAL?????? LIKE I WAS JS CHECKING OUT ITCH.IO FOR GAMES BC I WAS SAD AND BORED, SAW SAVE THE LAST DANCE AND THOUGHT HOLY SHIT DERANGED GINGER SOUNDS LIKE A DEAL FROM THE THUMBNAIL, THEN I WENT TO THE OG GAME OW, PLAYED A LIL THEN STOPPED FOR A BIT, THEN PLAYED NONSTOP FOR 9 DAYS, GGGGOOOOOOODDDDDD OUR WONDERLAND IS ACTUALLY A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH NO OTHER GAME HAS EVER CAPTIVATED ME THIS MUCH BEFORE IT ACTUALLY NEED MORE RECOGNITION BEFORE I FUCKING EXPLODOEEEERRD

Our Wonderland is such a weird hyperfixation for me because it literally spawned out of nowhere. I was like "Hey I'm bored why don't I just play a random game" which is something I pretty much NEVER do. I see an interesting unique artstyle that reminds me of those graphic novels and comics I would read in middle school when I had no friends and spent my time on the school library. And I thought "Hey, the visuals look so interesting, I'm invested already, the characters look so unique and special." Then, as I played, I slowly realized how well written the narration was, how incredibly immersive the fantasy setting was and, worse of all, how relatable the characters were. I slowly realized "Hey, I'm the target audience for this!!" And I was shocked, as I had just randomly dived into the game, only to get surprised, especially by the queer and neurodivergent content from it. How incredible, the game took a hold of my entire soul, and now I don't spend a day without thinking about it. Sigh.

[wndaswife]

Love & Loathing: The First Christmas | Series Masterlist

The holidays feel lonely without your friends and family. Wanda faces her first Christmas after her divorce and miscarriage. The two of you build your first tradition.

Word count: 2635

Tags: some angst, light manipulation, foreshadowing of future toxic relationship as seen in main series, writing this after already writing the main series reminded me of emily im sorry by boygenius! sad!

Wanda’s cart came to an abrupt stop when a young child suddenly ran away from his mother to the other side of the aisle, passing in front of her without warning. Her orange juice lurched forward then fell onto her carrots. 

The child’s mother quickly came over, scolding her son for running in front of a moving cart as he begged her to buy rainbow chip cookies for Santa, oblivious to the fact that Wanda and her full cart were still standing idly behind him, unable to skirt around.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized after giving in to the rainbow chip cookies once her son apologized to Wanda too. He went to place the package in their cart. “Holiday shopping makes them a little wild too, I suppose.” She laughed like she was telling her an inside joke.

Them, like a proper noun.

“Children, yes,” Wanda conceded with a small nod and a smile. “I understand. But rainbow chip is a great pick. Very considerate of Santa’s tastes.” She looked over at the young boy who waited for his mother patiently, then seemed bashful when he made eye contact with Wanda. 

Wanda then noticed the woman’s eyes flicker down to her left hand, barren of a wedding ring, and then to her cart, empty of what a mother would shop for her children for. Wanda dropped her left arm to her side, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

After finishing up her grocery list, she strolled back down the cookie section and picked up a package of the rainbow chip cookies. As she walked to the checkout line, she ran her eyes across her cart — orange juice, the Pillsbury cookies you liked, eggs, milk, bagels, your favourite ice cream flavour, some things for the washroom, baking ingredients for a recipe you’d been wanting to try, some snacks, fruits and vegetables, and the rainbow chip cookies.

She put her left glove on first, then her right, then started to place her things on the conveyor. 

“My kids have been in a baking craze since they got off school,” the cashier told her as she bagged her flour, then her vanilla extract. “It must be the season.”

Wanda looked up from her wallet then smiled. 

“Mine too,” she said.

When she arrived at home, you were sitting at the dining table on your laptop. It was nearing the end of the semester, so you still had a few more final assignments to finish. You stood and helped Wanda unload the groceries.

“Hi, baby,” she greeted once all the bags were on the counter. She reached and placed her palm against your furthest cheek, pulling you in for a kiss on the temple.

“Hi,” you answered with a smile, putting some things away into the fridge. “Did you get the Pillsbury cookies? You saw the holiday ones, right?” 

Wanda handed you the milk. “I did. There were only the snowmen.”

“That’s fine. I just wanted something that was Christmas themed.”

The rainbow chip cookies came out last. Wanda had never tried them, and it wasn’t on the shopping list, and you hadn’t asked for it before. She handed them to you as you stored some things away into the cupboards.

“Do you like these? They were on sale,” she suddenly lied.

You took them from her, eyes running over the package. Then you set it on the counter with a contemplating hum as you peeled it open and looked inside. “Oh, I do like these. I last had them when I was really young.”

After dinner, you resumed working on your laptop, cuddled up beside Wanda on the couch as she flipped through Netflix for something to watch. She had a glass of white wine in hand and an arm around your shoulders, fastening the shared blanket around your body.

You’d been trying to apply for some jobs lately; after declaring a temporary leave from college starting next semester, you wanted to start working a little to make some income and keep yourself busy. You were hoping for something part-time and very casual.

The gold Christmas lights Wanda had hung up around the fireplace and curtains glowed warm, enveloping the living room in something gentle and festive. There wasn’t any other light on aside from the stovetop in the kitchen, so the laptop screen felt particularly intrusive.

“What are you working on?” she asked, putting her phone down and looking down at you from the rim of her glass as she took a sip.

“A final essay. It’s pretty overdue.”

Wanda eyed the tabs you were switching between. “Overdue? Online courses not working well?”

“I thought it might be better for me but…” you trailed off, your fingers pausing atop the keyboard. Your index finger tapped ever so slightly against the E key, just enough to make the plastic sound against the board.

“Is something on your mind…?” Wanda asked, setting the remote down. She craned her neck down and brushed her nose against your cheek.

Your fingernail traced the top edge of the D key. “It just feels like I’m always behind. I keep trying to change things around so maybe I might find something I can finally get accustomed to — online courses, a lesser course load.”

Then, quietly, you added, “My friends don’t even ask to study with me anymore. I know I declared a leave, but...” 

The Christmas lights reflected against Wanda’s glass, and against the pale golden hue of her wine, it looked like she was drinking champagne, slightly flat. 

She set the glass on the coffee table then carefully closed your laptop, allowing you to remove your hands from the keyboard. She placed it down, closed, beside her wine. Instinctively, you curled up and leaned your head against her chest, and Wanda wrapped both arms around you, one hand coming to cradle the side of your head.

Before she could say anything, you said, “They invited me out to the Christmas market downtown a few days ago.”

Something tightened in Wanda’s stomach and she looked down at you, but your face was covered by your hair and some of the blanket which was wrapped around her arms. 

“Really? You didn’t tell me,” she said. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to say at first.”

“Say to whom? To them or me?”

“I don’t know…” you muttered quietly. “Both.”

Wanda’s hand tightened around your shoulder. You buried your cheek against her chest, feeling like she was holding you tighter against her. Instead, Wanda felt tense; the idea that you could feel about her in any similar way that you did for your friends made her feel like she was just as disposable and temporary.

“Did you go…?” Wanda asked, trying to keep her voice from sounding strained as she feared the answer might be that, yes, you did make plans and see other people in your life without telling her.

If your feelings of uncertainty were the same between her and your friends, and you ended up seeing them and not telling her, wasn’t that the same as you picking them over her? Leaving her behind like some afterthought, only to come up later when you felt a little insecure about something?

You shook your head, and Wanda took a breath through her nose, tension in her lungs dissipating. Then you lifted yourself from her chest and reached for your phone. Wanda pulled you back against her when you leaned back, but now your head was on her shoulder instead of her chest so you could both look at your phone screen together.

You showed her a picture on Instagram of your friends together at the market. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” Wanda said, brushing her nose against your temple then kissing your cheek. “But you wouldn’t have really enjoyed yourself if you were with them, would you?”

“I don’t know…” you mumbled, eyes still on the screen, obviously not really caring what she was saying, and still feeling rather down about it.

Wanda bit the side of her tongue a little at your passive insistence that you still cared about the fact that they hung out without you. “Baby, you always say that you don’t really feel like you fit in when you’re with them. Don’t you say that…?”

“Yeah.”

“And what did we do that day, anyway? We went shopping for decorations, right? And got dinner? Wasn’t that much more fun?”

You nodded and looked up. 

Wanda felt her breath hitch and snag in her throat when you met her eyes. She swallowed, wondering what you might be thinking when you looked at her like that. 

“I… I’m really happy we’re spending the holidays together,” you said quietly. Your phone dimmed then locked, the image of your friends forgotten. 

Her lungs filled with air and her expanding rib cage pushed gently against your upper arm.

“Me too, Y/N.”

A warm hand cupped your cheek, smooth fingers brushing against your soft skin. She looked over your face in great detail. 

When the thought came over her, wondering what similarities you held in comparison to your mother and father, Wanda looked away. She reached over to get her wine glass then settled back against your side.

You leaned your head on her shoulder and Wanda rested her chin on top of it. 

“Any movie you’d like to watch?” she asked, combing her fingers through your hair. 

You reached for the remote and turned on the TV. 

Early the next morning, you sleepily padded downstairs to see Wanda setting up the Christmas tree in the living room. She was still in her pajamas, but she had a sweater on and her hair was clipped back. 

When you stepped off from the stairs, Wanda turned around to greet you with a smile. She outreached an arm for you to come over and give her a hug. 

Wanda thought you were rather light on your feet; you would sometimes sneak up on her when you’d enter a room. It was a stark contrast to Vision, who was quite tall, and seemed to always walk with the frustrating burden that he’d woken into another day, living the same life as he did the day prior.

It was the recollection of painful memories like that, ones where you’d no doubt see her as a spineless, empty woman, that made Wanda all the more confident in her decision to keep truths about Vision from you. She wanted to be someone different, and better.

You walked over and wrapped your arms around her waist, tucking your head under her chin before she kissed your forehead. 

“You started putting up the tree without me?” you asked, lifting your head and looking up at her.

“Oh,” Wanda replied, turning her head to look at the tree. She had only just started with the ornaments, and the cardboard box she stored the tree in was still on the floor.

She looked back down at you.

“You want to help?”

You nodded and pulled away from her before digging through the box of ornaments to begin decorating. “You shouldn’t ever decorate a Christmas tree alone unless you’re actually by yourself.”

Wanda smiled at your boldness as she watched you from behind. She pinched your side playfully, causing you to flinch away. She wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into her, pressing a kiss to your neck and causing you to giggle.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” you replied. Then you shooed her away so you could continue with what you were doing. 

Wanda hadn’t ever decorated with anyone else; Vision wasn’t very festive, and when she was younger, her family often travelled for work, leaving her and Pietro to celebrate alone with the company of their neighbour who watched over them.

Their neighbour was a strict elderly man who didn’t speak much English and slept most of the time, whose dialect was that which only their parents understood, and was never taught to Wanda nor Pietro. Her memories of Christmas as a jointly-celebrated holiday was reminiscent of bitter black tea, imported from her neighbour’s hometown overseas, and television on its lowest volume in the late evening, playing old holiday sitcoms.

“My parents and I got in a fight a few days ago,” you said suddenly, still hanging up ornaments.

Wanda looked at you as she adjusted the position of some of them she’d put up earlier. She thought for a moment before responding, “Is everything okay?”

“It’s okay,” you answered.

You’d been having a hard time with your parents the past few months. They were upset you’d taken a temporary leave from your schooling without consulting with them first, they were upset you’d been spending so much time with someone they’d never met, and they were upset that you hadn’t been speaking with them.

You still had a large sum of money left from when you worked more often than you attended classes, and so you were rather glad not to rely on them for any financial support, not that you often spent money while being at home with Wanda.

The change, according to them — and according to you, too — had seemingly come out of the blue. But, still, you could pinpoint when it started.

After meeting Wanda, all you wanted to do was run away from things. You wanted to run from your parents, who’d always babied you and never gave you your own choice in anything, and from school, and from your friends, and from the world.

To word it more accurately, you’ve always wanted to run away from things. 

And Wanda let you. 

She took you away and kept you safe.

You hung an ornament on the tree, and instead of leaning down to take another out of the box, your arms stilled at your sides and you looked down at the floor. 

After a moment of silence while Wanda was busy reaching up to hang an ornament close to the top, you asked quietly, “Is it okay if I spend Christmas with you…?”

Looking up from the floor, you met Wanda’s eyes.

Wanda felt her breath hitch at the sight of you looking at her that way — expectantly, patiently, like what she said mattered to you a great deal. She leaned down and placed the ornament back in the box. She stepped towards you and wrapped her arms around your shoulders. “Of course, baby,” she answered quietly, speaking against the side of your head. “Let’s stay home for the holidays — just the two of us.”

By next week, your gifts for Wanda were wrapped and stored under the tree. You mixed them in along with the ones she’d gotten for you, so you could see them altogether.

Wanda was still at work, staying a bit later tonight, so you went out to walk through the Christmas market downtown on your own. You saw a beautiful jade hair clip that you thought would look perfect on her; you imagined the shade of green tucked within the brown of her hair, bringing out the green in her eyes, and her delicate fingers wrapping around the handle to clip it in.

Wrapped in a small box, you crouched down and placed it on top of a gift Wanda wrapped for you.

When she came back from work, Wanda found you dozing on the couch in the living room with a blanket draped around you. You were bathed in the gentle light of the Christmas tree that you’d put up together.

She quietly put her things down before approaching your delicate sleeping figure. She crouched down and carefully brushed your hair out of your face, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’m home, my angel,” she whispered softly, a smile growing on her face as she watched you awaken slowly.

[pressgforgoodgirl]

Arthur's Mare (Part 1)

Summary: arthur loses his long-time, beloved mare and you are there by his side to comfort him

Pairing: arthur morgan x reader

Word count: 2,421

Warnings: mentions of slavery and racism, animal loss, grief, angst, a bit of suggestiveness (18+, minors DNI)

Read part 2 here

Picture credit: pic 1 - wellington lage on pinterest; pic 2 - nyssa on pinterest; pic 3 - l666w on pinterest

The dreaded day had finally come, one Arthur knew had long awaited him. He had never loved a horse quite as much as he loved this one. He still remembered the day he had found her, rescued her, really. 

Arthur received a tip of a home, hidden deep in the woods, with a single occupant sitting on years of slave-earned money and guns. Folks say he had been a recluse since the modern-thinking folk of the town caught wind of just how depraved his treatment of black folks had been. Even some former slave owners were disgusted by the stories they had heard. Now, living alone and growing older and weaker by the day, he was just begging for a robbing, and in Arthur’s mind, a cruel beating. The thought of breathing the same air as such a person disgusted Arthur, but the thought of vengeance made the task an easier one. 

His former horse had become injured and grew sick beyond healing. Though it devastated him, he knew it best to leave the horse with an older man, a veterinarian, who could ensure she lived her final days in peace and what comfort he could provide her. Ever since, he had been riding one of the spare mares the gang owned, but never felt much of a connection with her. 

John offered to ride with him, happy to help give this old bastard the treatment he deserved. The ex-slaver didn’t live to share the details of his meeting the cowboys, and Arthur and John never regretted a thing they did, no matter how twisted it had been. They knew he deserved every bit. 

As they scavenged the house for what they could recover, Arthur noticed a beautiful, young mare outside near the dilapidated barn. He was captivated by her strength and beauty, though her coat was a bit mangy and her mane and tail in need of substantial grooming. Arthur knew he couldn’t leave her here, but knew he couldn’t sell her either, though not for lack of buyers. He knew there was something special about this horse.

As Arthur went out and approached the mare, she whinnied fearfully, eyes crazed, running around her enclosure. Arthur was sure to approach carefully, softly. He spoke gentle encouragements, “What a beautiful girl…. You’re alright now girl…. Easy girl.” He slowly dug a carrot out of his satchel and extended it to her. She hesitantly approached and quickly tugged the carrot out of his hand, running off to the other side of the pen to enjoy Arthur’s offering. When he offered another, the mare approached with slightly more trust and confidence, allowing herself to eat the carrot right there in front of Arthur. When he reached out a slow, gentle hand, the mare neighed hesitantly and bucked her neck away, but slowly returned her neck to Arthur’s open hand, allowing him to gently caress her neck. Arthur continued with his soft praises, “You’re a good girl…. You’re alright girl…. Come here pretty girl.” 

John met Arthur by the pen a few moments later, sure to walk carefully so as not to startle the mare. The mare looked over hesitantly, but was beginning to feel safe under Arthur’s touch. “That’s a beautiful horse there, Arthur, though the bastard could’ve afforded some more love and care.” 

“Sure is… sure is,” Arthur replied without turning his eyes from her. 

“Well, we can’t leave her out here, Arthur. I’m sure with some grooming we could sell her off to some fencers for good money. She sure is a beaut underneath the dirt, though, and you seem to have a way with her,” John offered.

Arthur continued to pat and stroke the mare as she began to sigh and snort in response to his comforting care. After a moment, he turned to John and decided that he had to keep her. He felt a connection to this horse after only a few moments of caressing her and earning her trust. He carefully led the horse to where they had hitched the horses they rode over. Arthur tethered the mare to his saddle and carefully began to lead the horse back to camp, taking his time and John and Arthur offering plenty of treats. He didn’t want to try and ride the horse until she felt clean, groomed, and more trusting of Arthur. 

The rest was history. Arthur had carefully loved and spoiled his horse for the greater part of two decades and his horse had carried him through thick and thin in return. Over the last few years, however, his mare began to show her age, getting slower and losing stamina as the months passed by. Arthur was thankful that his mare had avoided sickness and had been nursed through any ailments she had faced. Still he was devastated to see her grow older and he knew it may only be a matter of months before he laid her to rest. He cherished every ride, knowing it may be her last. 

In the months leading up to today, he knew his horse didn’t deserve to be pushed and driven on his dangerous missions any longer, though he knew she would be glad to continue to carry him ‘til her final breath. “You done good, girl” he often praised as he patted and stroked her gently, being sure to feed her her favorite foods and treats. He couldn’t yet bear the thought of riding a different horse out into town, however, so he often asked to join you on yours. You never minded, of course. Hell if it wasn’t for the sorry circumstances you would have wished for this a lot sooner, feeling his big, strong chest and arms enveloping you and pretending you didn’t feel his member pressing up against your rear, though you both pretended to be apathetic about the whole thing. 

Today, however, your heart was broken for Arthur. You had woken up early to care for your own horse, who was in need of a good, thorough clean. You had seen Arthur’s horse getting slower, eating less, and opting to lay down more than she stood, especially in the last few days. You knew she wouldn’t have much time left. But today the final dagger had been sunk through your heart as you walked out to see her at the edge of camp, laying in a secluded, sunken spot in the grass, breathing raggedly, eyes crazed and confused. She had managed the strength to rip the rope off the hitching post, finding a private spot for what she knew would be her final moments. You stopped in your tracks, tears welling, heart racing. Your body was frozen but you knew you needed to wake Arthur, and quickly. 

Oh, Arthur. How would you tell him? What would you say? The morning sun was just beginning to light up the horizon as you ran through the dew-covered grass to Arthur’s tent, trying not to wake the others. You stopped at the entrance to his tent and took a few deep breaths, trying to gain your composure, attempting to steady your breathe and suck in your tears. You wanted to be strong for Arthur, unsure of how he would handle this loss. You knew time was dwindling, so you forced yourself to open the flaps and approach Arthur’s sleeping form. His chest rose and lowered slowly with each breath and his face held the peaceful look of a man lost in deep slumber. Oh, how you hated to wake him, knowing the news you bore would bring such devastation and pain, none of which Arthur deserved. You knelt beside his bed, body trembling, and gently began to rock his shoulder. You whispered his name softly as you caressed his arm, pulling him out of his slumber. 

“Y/n?” Arthur mumbled sleepily. “What time is it? Is something wrong?” he asked as he struggled to open his eyes, trying to wipe the sleep from his face. You couldn’t bring yourself to reply, only stroke his arm, wishing desperately you could spare him from the pain lying seconds ahead.

Once Arthur was awake enough to notice your body language and lack of response, he knew why you were there. He sat up slowly, consciousness returning to him like a runaway freight train, then froze, searching your eyes for confirmation of what he dreaded was true. You couldn’t help but allow the tears to once again fill your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek. You reached for his face, gently caressing his cheek. “She’s still alive, but you need to get dressed now, Arthur. I’m not sure how much longer she can hold on,” you whispered, your voice catching on a suppressed sob. 

Arthur’s breath caught at your words. Then he stumbled out of bed and you passed him his clothes. He didn’t even bother to button his shirt or fasten his suspenders before he quickly walked out of his tent toward the horses, stumbling into his boots as he searched for her desperately. When his eyes caught sight of her, he rushed to her side, slowing his footsteps as he approached, however, as not to startle her. He laid by her side, his head next to hers, gently running his hand through her mane and along her neck. 

You followed from a distance, wanting to be there to support Arthur while also allowing him this final moment with his beloved mare. You watched as the mare’s eyes lost the crazed look, softening at Arthur’s presence, holding his gaze. She grunted lovingly in response, though the underlying pain in her noises was undeniablel. Arthur’s face was consumed with grief and heartbreak for the mare that had been by his side for the greater part of his time with the gang, carrying him, protecting him, trusting him. He barely made out whispers of loving assurance, his voice cracking, throat closing in on him, “That’s my girl…. You done good girl…. You go to rest now…. I love you girl….” With that final phrase he finally choked on his words, allowing sobs to rack through his body. He never knew this mare would make a burly, tough outlaw such as himself cry, but cry he did. Silent tears fell against the mare as he continued to stroke her lovingly, hands unsteady, chest heaving.

After a few moments like this, Arthur whispered in her ear one last time, “Goodbye, good ol’ girl. You go on now, you done more than enough for this ol’ cowboy. You’re okay now, girl. Go to sleep, pretty girl.” With that last reassurance from her beloved Arthur, the mare’s ragged breaths stilled, her pained grunts ceased, her muscles relaxed. Arthur’s gaze traveled the mare’s body and another set of racking, silent sobs overtook his body. You allowed him a few more moments before approaching him quietly from behind. You sat behind him as he continued to lay next to the mare and gently stroked Arthur’s hair and neck. You weren’t sure your heart had ever ached so much before as you sat there in silence, trying to console a man so consumed by pain. 

The sun continued to gain over the horizon, the bright cheery rays casting a sharp contrast against the devastation of loss. As the camp began to stir, most allowed Arthur space, working quietly with an unspoken sorrow for him. 

John watched from the fire as you stroked Arthur, his sobs eventually dying to a sniffle, followed by a dissociated gaze held on his mare. He remembered the day he had helped Arthur bring the mare home and knew how much the horse had meant to him from their first meeting. He was sure thankful Arthur had you to console him. After allowing you and Arthur some time, he knew he should be there to comfort his friend, too. John joined you on the grass, sitting criss-cross, gently stroking the mare’s back as he gazed off into the distance. 

Eventually, Arthur’s gaze returned to the present. He wiped the tears from his face as you continued to stroke his head. 

“You were the best thing that ever happened to that horse, Arthur Morgan. She’ll never forget the time she had with you,” you whispered softly. 

This brought a few more tears to spill over onto Arthur’s cheeks, but also a soft, pained smile at the corner of his mouth. You felt more pangs in your heart as you watched him. 

“Oh, what am I doin’ cryin’ like this, makin’ a fool of myself” Arthur muttered, lifting his back off the ground to sit in the dirt, wiping more tears from his cheeks. 

“Nothin’ foolish about mourning your loss, Arthur. You were a good man, and boy did this horse know it,” John asserted. “You just let us know what you need, brother.”

And so you and John continued to sit with Arthur until he was ready to get to his feet. Arthur said one final goodbye to his beloved girl, planting a kiss between her eyes, and then left John to take care of her. You supported Arthur’s elbow as he walked slowly, his eyes cast down to the ground with a look of pained longing and loss amidst the beautiful blue that adorned them. 

You led him, neither of you saying a word, to one of his favorite spots by the edge of camp. You helped Arthur sit, and after a few moments, you listened as he told you his favorite stories about the mare, including the day they had met. You listened carefully, and his eyes began to soften, occasionally stealing a glance at you. He began to lean into your warm side, and you supported him, a hand drawing gentle circles on his back as his deep voice began to vibrate between your connected bodies. He began to get up as his appetite began to return and hunger pains gnawed at him, but after you demanded he stay put, he finally allowed you to return to camp to fetch him a bowl of soup. You returned, and without a word, began to spoon the warm, comforting food into his mouth. You gazed into each other’s eyes a while, Arthur always in awe at the love and care you showed, feeling undeserving. When you were done feeding him, you set the bowl aside and embraced him. You kissed him gently on the forehead before returning your head to the crook of his neck and joined him in admiring the beautiful country before you. 

Part 2

[alohaasaloevera]

guys I’m honestly happy that klance didn’t become canon because I love how as a collective group of people we utilize our right to explore what could have been and create the most smoking hot scenarios ever and yes I obviously wanted more of their friendship growing into this bond stronger than anything else in the universe especially since Voltron has teamwork and family as one of their main lessons but that’s more of a development issue all around…ok besides that there’s something about klance where it provides this PERFECT environment for shippers to inhabit and FEAST upon. With klance, there’s a solid, engaging dynamic between the two set up, which is this weird one-sided rivalry that stems from Lance’s insecurity and his need to prove himself of his worth and Keith literally being one of the best pilots for his age but since they’re flung into space and chosen to become child soldiers in this 10,000 year old intergalactic war so they have to work as a team which surprise surprise forces them to put aside their differences and work as a team which is shown a bunch when Keith needs to become a leader and Lance steps up as his right hand and and they have some kinda tender moments that won’t definitely drive shippers into a shipping craze (or worse) SO YEAH you could see why people loved it with all the classic tropes and mutual growth all that schmooze (ALSO THEY KNEW EACHOTHER BEFORE THE MAIN PLOT??? Well maybe not like friends or even acquaintances probably BUT HELLO?????? EVEN MORE SHIT TO EXPAND ON????), and they share multiple scenes that could be interpreted as romantic but there’s no explicit romance. This environment is fucking dripping drenched flash flooded cornered by 1000ft tsunamis in all directions with potential for shipping, so when people saw this relationship between two bros with this sort of homoerotic (IM JOKING. Kinda.) unresolved tension towards each other and the POTENTIAL for a good slow burn rivals to friends to lovers, it was to no one’s surprise that they went APESHIT. Klancers made countless different ways where they get together whether it be pre-Kerberos, post-gettingthefuckoutofearth, the start of the show, the end of the show, after the end of the show, right smack in the middle, anywhere, anytime, for who the fuck knows why just ANY REASON DAMN IT it doesn’t really matter because people were pumping out fanfiction or fan art or any fan media of klance faster than I spit out a raw baby carrot after chewing it for one second and now we’re all wallowing about how it should have been KICK but the thing is that if VLD did KICK all the way to Altea, the production of these beautiful stories that so many people have and still are coming up with about klance kissing in midst of a battle, helping each other with their crippling nightmares, smiling for the stars or some other sad premise, and whatever is nestled in his pulse…just like uhhh the amount of fics like these that go into great detail about Keith and Lance in these random situations that end up with them getting together being produced would go down to some degree because of the fact that if the people’s beloved sharpshooter and samurai had ended up together like we had wanted, and the majority was satisfied with the ending the creators had given, people would have shifted from writing about “How could Lance and Keith get together?” to writing about “What could Lance and Keith do now that they’re together?” And like. There’s nothing wrong with that honestly I would be HYPED if klance was ever canon but there is profound beauty in the way the community is able to create more from less and turn a show that went to shit in the last few seasons shine even brighter than it did at its prime. Like I wouldn’t trade my favorite fics 4 anything.

—

Ok another little thing I’m going to put here: With Klance, all I wanted was for them to be great friends 😭😭😭. I tend to prefer klance becoming canon in later seasons or at the end or even an open ending with no confirmed romantic relationships because I am a sucker for character development and the idea of Keith and Lance both harboring these feelings that at first are just admiration and respect but then escalate to yearning for one another or becoming close friends at the end of the show and getting to imagine anything I want post canon is EVERYTHING if you give me S7 Garrison klance I’ll keel over and thank you like I was a second away from dying of thirst and your gift was a truck load of water

[animasolaoriginal]

INFATUATED ♦️ TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER ONE ♦️ SERIES MASTERLIST ♦️ AO3

After tormenting her for three nights straight, he decides to give her a little break, but that doesn't mean he can't still give and receive some pleasure.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dom/sub dynamic. Free use/power play. Collars. Cunnilingus. Overstimulation. Squirting. (Assisted) masturbation. Frottage. Fluff? (For even more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 4.7k

TWENTY-TWO 🟥 TWENTY-THREE 🟥 TWENTY-FOUR

Her outburst (slash panic attack) surprised him. He's seen her pleading eyes, sure, but hearing her sobs and whines as she's confessed to missing him, asking him to forgive her (him of all people), it came a little unexpected. She must have been in pain, sore from all those nights where he used her, spanked her, bruised her, nights she can't recall, but she's endured, leaned into it, too happy to finally be with him again to care about the ailments of her body.

The way she's taken his cock down her throat... There's been no struggle, no fight, just pure submission, complete obedience, as he kept her from breathing, chasing his own release. He's missed her cute little mouth, her tight little throat, and it's been a great reunion.

Initially, he's wanted to wait it out one more day, let her simmer in her dark thoughts, but when he saw her confused face on the camera feed, how she's stared at the leash he hasn't put on her this morning, as if wanting to wear it again, he knew she was ready, ready to be forgiven, to move on.

He's watched her during those last days, in his office or on the go, how she's tried to busy herself, but mostly she's been lying on her side, staring blankly ahead or out the window, just a frail little body, a barely moving shadow on the black and white feed on his phone. He's seen her attempts to touch herself, he knew she would try it, she had to after spending so many days with a sex-crazed guy like him who's forced her libido out of hiding, among forcing her to do other things, but he's also seen the fight, the struggle, to deny herself.

There's no need to punish her. She's done it. She's his perfect little girl again.

After drying off together, he dresses in some sweatpants and lets her stay in the nude, with just the collar adorning her beautiful body. She didn't fuss, and how she sits on the counter in the kitchen now, feet dangling off the edge, arms propped up on either side of her hips, squishing those bruised little breasts, wet hair falling over her slim shoulders, she looks downright comfortable, or just happy to be out of her room and with him again.

She watches him curiously as he starts cutting up vegetables, first onions and garlic, then carrots and potatoes, before he starts roasting the first, then adds the latter with a bit of broth he's prepared a while back and lets everything simmer for a bit. He's promised to cook for her, and what better time and occasion than as a little reward after her punishment is finally over. It's a simple vegetable stew, nothing too fancy, and it doesn't even matter, he could have opened a can of soup and they'd still have a nice time together in the kitchen.

Occasionally he'd come over to her and lean down, waiting for her to lean up, their kisses chaste and promising, other times he'd come by and brush his hands over her thighs, between them, a short little dip into her warmth, and she'd giggle softly, biting her lip, before he'd stop that motion with another kiss. It's domestic in a way he's never experienced before, comfortable, tender, so far from anything he's ever done in a kitchen, to be honest.

It's been a long while since he's cooked something here, he sometimes helps out in one of his restaurants, just to hone his skills again, but when he's home he'd rather order in. It's different now that he has a permanent house guest, if he could call her that.

While the stew is on the burner, bubbling softly, he cleans up the waste, then sees her perking up. “Can I help?” she asks quietly.

He shakes his head. “It's okay, already done,” he says while throwing out the last bit of carrot peel, then washes his hands. “But you can entertain me a little...”

She frowns at him, licking her lip nervously.

“Lie down on the island, baby,” he tells her, leaning against the opposite counter, watching her. “On your back.”

She nods and stretches out, visibly struggling when she has to shift her weight on her bruised ass. He'd figure it's easier than to squish her tender tits on the hard surface. Her arms lie stiff beside her, she's very stiff in general, and he suddenly sees her as a display piece in one of those sushi bars he's been to before, where the waitresses double as platters, and the idea of eating off her slim little body makes his cock twitch.

He pushes off the counter and walks towards her, lets his hand run from her foot up her leg to her stomach, then circles her left breast before he puts his hand on it, squeezing softly. She winces, blinking a tear away. He rubs gently along her bruises, then presses the pad of his thumb against her nipple.

“W-why did you... spank my b-boobs?” she then asks out of the blue, making him look at her with raised eyebrows.

Of course she knows, his clever little girl. “To show you one of the worst outcomes if you ever disobey me,” he tells her quietly, moving his hand to her right breast now, caressing it mindlessly. “Does it hurt?”

“Probably hurts more when I'm conscious while you do it, right?” she counters in a soft whisper.

He holds her gaze. “Yes, probably.” He slips his hand up her neck now, rubs it over her collar, then squeezes slightly. “But I will never have to do that to you, won't I?”

She swallows against his grip. “No, sir. I'll be good, I promise!”

“Don't promise,” he replies, hand curling around her head to grab it. He makes her sit up and she follows. “I know you will be good, but sometimes things happen, beyond our control...”

“But I'll try my best,” she insists quietly.

He smiles at her and leans closer, cradling her nape. “I know you will, darling,” he whispers, brushing his lips against her cheek. She turns her head and meets his lips fully now, and he indulges her with another soft, deep kiss.

As their tongues wrestle, he pulls her legs around so they hang off the edge, then spreads them wide and steps between them. He breaks the kiss, followed by a little whine from her, and leans over her until he catches a nipple between his lips. She arches her chest into his face, hands grabbing his shoulders, soft gasps rolling out of her throat.

He watches her intently, suckling on her swollen bud, his tongue flicking around it before he draws back a little and teases it with his teeth. She inhales sharply, but then relaxes again when he continues sucking, pulling more of her breast into his mouth. As he does so, he rubs his hand over the other mound, rolling her nipple between his fingers, pressing onto the soft flesh, coaxing more and more mewls out of her.

Eventually he switches sides, lets her wet tit go with a pop before latching on to the other. His hands slide along her body, curl around her shoulders, holding her as she starts squirming on the counter, her noises growing in volume and confidence. She's shivering, goosebumps pebbling her skin, her thighs twitching against his hips. She must be so sensitive, but she takes it like a champ.

“My... good... little... girl,” he mumbles against her skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses all around her bruised mounds, accentuating every word, before going back to her tender nipple, sucking it hard until she lets out a drawn-out moan and arches her back, her fingernails digging into his skin, her hips jerking against his chest.

He lets go abruptly and captures her mouth for a searing kiss, delving his tongue deep between her lips, tasting her, making her gasp against him before she meets his motions. He doesn't linger, though, and moves down her neck, teasing at the bruises above and below her collar, kisses a line down between her breasts to her fluttering stomach, his hands slowly pushing her down until she's lying flat on her back, legs dangling off.

He grabs her ankles and angles her legs, spreading her wide while he finally reaches her warm center. She mewls, squirming on the counter, her fingers digging into his hair, gripping tightly. He lets her and groans into her skin, lips dragging over heated skin until he dives right between her thighs, tongue lapping a line between her puffy pussy lips. Her knees are shaking as she tries to close her legs, but his hold is too strong, and they just press helplessly against his shoulders.

He inhales deeply, filling his nostrils with her sweet scent, the fragrance overwhelming as he brushes his nose against her clit and starts kissing her lower lips like he's kissed her mouth before. Her soft moans hum through the air, barely audible over the hammering heartbeat in his ears. She's driving him insane, the way she smells, tastes, sounds, moves... it's all an infuriating package he cannot get enough of.

He leans back a little when she threatens to rip his hair out with how strongly she's gripping it, and he pries her fingers off and grabs them between his, holding her hand while he finds her hooded gaze. Breathless gasps escape her, face flushed, lips quivering, and when he lowers his mouth again to tease against her clit, she throws her head back with a louder moan.

His lips close around the throbbing bundle of nerves, and as he sucks on it gently, nudging his shoulders against her legs to keep them open, his free hand finds her wet folds. One finger slips into her easily, the second too, and he feels her heat and the last load of cum he's pumped into her. A third finger is added, and he starts pumping slowly, pushing his seed deeper, the squelching sound loud in his ears as he continues assaulting her sensitive nub.

She's a writhing mess before him, her hand squeezing his tightly, the added hold a comfort for both of them as he savors the taste and smell of her sex while she fights the sensations crashing through her. His fingers push deeper, as far as his knuckles allow, and when he turns them inside her clenching cunt and curls them, she cries out loudly, her hips bucking against his face, legs spasming around him, her back arching off the counter.

He keeps bullying that special spot inside her while staying focused on her clit, his tongue lapping around it, his lips sucking it into his mouth, as it throbs and twitches against him, and then she comes with a high-pitched squeal, and as soon as he feels her release spraying against his chin, he leans back and watches her come undone completely. He pumps his fingers through her orgasm, witnesses how her overwhelmed pussy squirts out load after load of clear liquid that squelches between his fingers, hitting the floor beneath him.

“Good girl,” he praises as she squirms and whines, her free hand covering her face while the other has a death grip on his fingers.

Slowly he eases the motions of the fingers assaulting her clenching cunt, rubs gently along her tensing walls before he pulls them out, and she squirts again, hips bucking, body convulsing uncontrollably. So sensitive, so responsive. He watches her wail, probably in shame and embarrassment, but he doesn't care, he leans in and laps his tongue along her wet skin, savoring the tangy taste, her sweet essence, licks her clean until she convulses all over again.

Now she's sobbing, little hiccups shaking her body, stomach fluttering, legs trembling, and he lets up eventually, giving her puffy cunt another deep kiss before leaning back, rubbing his wet hand over her mound. Straightening up, he eases his fingers out of her grip and wipes at his chin, then leans over her.

“Look at me,” he whispers, waiting for her to lower her hand. Her face is bright red, eyes glistening, a little bit of snot mixing with the tears streaming down her face. “No need to be ashamed. That was wonderful,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to her warm cheek. She sniffles, averting her eyes. He clicks his tongue, and she looks back, frowning but holding his gaze. “Good girl. Be proud of yourself. Not everyone can do that...”

She huffs in shame, squirming slightly. His hand finds her jaw, and he grips it tightly as he leans even closer and captures her trembling lips, moving his tongue into her mouth, letting her taste herself. She writhes beneath him, but then kisses him back, her eyes fluttering close. He pulls his arms around her and scoops her up, still tangling his tongue with hers.

She clings to him, arms and legs wrapping around him needily, quiet little mewls vibrating between them, and he adds a few groans of his own as he presses her against his chest and rolls his shoulders before he carries her out of the kitchen, throwing a side glance at the large pot simmering on the burner. He's almost forgotten about lunch, too preoccupied with dessert. He could even skip his midday training, dealing with her and his undying libido seems like enough of a workout for today.

His cock certainly wouldn't mind the release with how it tents his sweatpants just beneath where she presses her wet cunt to his stomach. His mind is reeling on the way to the bathroom, fantasizing about how he should take her, but when he sees the fucked-out look on her face, the happy little tilt to her lips, the glazed over eyes, he decides to give the girl a break.

Setting her down on the vanity, he puts a wet washcloth into her hands, telling her to clean herself in a gruff grunt that makes her frown a little, then pushes his pants down and goes back into the shower, hand already fisting his angrily throbbing erection. He's barely gotten any pumps in when he feels her hands sliding around his sides, finding his wrist, before she presses her body against his back, trying to assist him.

She's peeking past him, a curious glint in her eyes, but he shakes his head, and she purses her lips, her hand hovering on his arm, unwilling to step away. He turns slightly, gently grabbing her hand to pull her fully to his side. Holding her gaze while still moving his fist up and down his shaft and around his tip, he guides her hand to his groin, and without prompt, she curls it around his balls, her tongue sticking out between her lips as she concentrates on massaging him with nimble fingers.

Watching her as he handles his cock roughly (while she is so delicate to the rest of him), he can feel his stomach tensing up, his breaths becoming labored, a shudder rushing down his spine. She looks up at him, with those big curious eyes, and he groans, gritting his teeth, her soft gasps in his ear when he shoots his load into the spray of the shower. His pumping balls remain in her small hand until the aftershocks of his orgasm subside, then he inhales deeply and lets his deflating cock bounce against his thigh before he grabs the girl beside him and lifts her up by grabbing her waist.

She squeals softly, arms flailing, legs kicking, but he only presses her against him, savoring her warmth, her soft skin, then moves them under the water to rinse off the remnants of yet another exercise. He wraps one arm around her legs, feeling the soft slope of her rear against his forearm, and carries her out, not caring about leaving wet footprints as he exits the bathroom. She's gripped his shoulders, leaning onto them, by now stock-still in his embrace while he walks back into the kitchen, pulls the pot off the burner and turns it off, then moves on, taking her to the large doors leading onto the balcony wrapping around his apartment.

The sun is high in the sky, warm and bright, the chaotic hum of the city wafting up to them. The fresh air tickles his skin, and he feels her shivering against him. His feet tap loudly over the cool stone floor, the girl's soft breaths warm against his temple. He looks up at her, meeting her curious gaze, giving her a smile and a wink, watching her blush deeply – before the smile turns into a grin and he hurls her off his arm and right into the pool.

Her shrill shriek is swallowed by the loud splash of water, her body contorting in the air, arms flailing, legs kicking, and then she sinks, hair billowing around her head. He waits for her to come back up, spluttering, throwing him dark stares, but then she doesn't, and something he's not felt much in his life bubbles up low in his stomach: concern.

He stares at her form, distorted under the surface, the rippling waves of her struggle, arms thrashing through the water, one rapid heartbeat, two, three, then he dives in after her, his hands finding her squirming body, arms snaking around her waist, his feet meet the bottom and kick, and they both emerge again, water splashing. He holds her tight against him, head tilted back, and it takes her a moment before she starts gasping and coughing and spluttering.

“It's okay, I got you,” he murmurs as he treads water to get them back to the shallower part of the pool, where he leans his elbow on the edge, pressing her to his chest, waiting for her to calm down again. After the initial shock, she slowly relaxes against him, her hands gripping his forearms, nails sinking into his skin, a desperate hold as she tries to stay afloat and as far away from the treacherous water as possible.

Eventually he pushes her up, so she can sit on the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the glistening water. He stays inside, a solid stance on the ground, soft waves crashing against his chest and biceps. His hands find her thighs as he gently pries her legs apart and steps between them, looking up at her. She is still breathless, cheeks bright red, wet hair caked to the side of her face. Her eyelashes flutter as she blinks away water and tears.

“So you can't swim, huh?” he muses, and she nods, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. His thumbs rub along her inner thighs, and he feels her relax a bit more under his ministrations. “Well, that's good to know.”

She frowns a little, averting her eyes. “Sorry...”

He shakes his head, reaching one hand up to brush his fingertips against her jaw. She looks at him, still a little troubled. “No, I'm sorry, I didn't know. I didn't mean to scare you,” he says softly, watching her as she leans into the palm of his hand, her own moving up to hold onto his wrist.

Something warm flashes in her eyes, a timid smile grazing her trembling lips. She shifts on the edge, scooting a little closer to him, her hands moving to rest on his shoulders. He watches her curiously, trying to read her flushed face. When he grabs her waist and lifts her up, taking a step back into the pool, she stiffens, but holds onto him, her eyes never leaving his, before he gently lowers her into the water.

Her chest stays above the surface, his arms tight around her rear, holding her up. “This okay?” he whispers, and she nods shyly, her fingers kneading his shoulders, an unconscious little massage that makes him inhale sharply. He slowly lowers his arms, shifts them, presses them into the hollow of her back as she slips a little further down, allowing her to wrap her arms around his neck instead.

He moves them back to the edge, caging her in between his body and the wall of the pool. She relaxes against him, focused on him and him alone, her legs floating up around him before they wrap around his waist, little pointy feet digging into his lower back while her warm crotch grinds into his, his cock already hardening again. This fucking girl.

Tilting his head, he leans into her and she meets the motion, meets his lips when he captures hers, the kiss slow and gentle, a sensual gliding and pressing, and it's her tongue who seeks access into his mouth first, the warm tip licking along the seam of his lips. He parts them and pushes his tongue against hers, a hungry grunt escaping him as he tastes the inside of her mouth. She hums into him, clinging to him, arms hooked around his neck, hands sliding up and down his back and shoulder blades, nails scratching softly.

Her pelvis is still grinding into him. He tightens one arm around her, holding her, while slipping the other under her rear, adjusting his cock so the length of it is pressed right into her warm slit. A moan slips into his mouth as she stills against him. His hands find her thighs under the water, a tight grip as he starts pushing her up and down, pressing her into him. He's tempted to slide fully inside her, really fuck her against the wall of the pool, but his decision stands, he wants to give her a break, which doesn't mean he can't find pleasure in just rubbing against her.

She adjusts her hold, leaning back to place her hands on his shoulders, her hips undulating into him, meeting his grinding motions. He can feel the head of his cock catching on her clit, each downward motion making her mewl, her lips parted, eyes hooded, cheeks burning, panting breaths that fan over his face. He watches her, witnesses how she melts into the steady up and down, into every stroke and glide and slide and press, the friction hot between them, the water splashing more and more around them.

He's achingly hard, the wet slip of her cunt setting his nerves on fire, the blood pumping furiously. He feels his balls tightening, that tension in his lower stomach bordering on painful. His hands dig into her soft thighs, holding her, their joined grinding becoming faster, more uncoordinated, desperate. She's moaning, mewling, gasping, her nails sinking into his skin, her whole body shaking against his, and he feels the same tremors, his legs cramping from how tense he is, holding her, standing upright in the pool, grinding her against him.

He tilts his head up, his throat working when he swallows. “Come for me, baby,” he rasps, increasing the up and down frenzy, his cock throbbing against her cunt. “Come on my fucking cock!”

She's waited, he can tell, holding back, waiting for his permission, and as soon as the words leave his mouth, she throws her arms around his neck and presses into him, her hips stuttering as she gasps, almost whines, when her body convulses against his. He keeps sliding against her, prolonging her orgasm, until his own crashes over him, making him stumble into the wall, almost losing his balance.

One hand finds the edge of the pool, steadying himself, while the other splays around her rear, holding her up, savoring the throbbing of their sexes pressed together, his balls drawing up as he shoots his spend into the water and against her body. A long groan slips out of his throat as he leans into her, resting his chin on her shoulder, breathing harder. She clings to him, one of her hands rubbing soothing circles over his broad back.

They relax in each other's embrace, his cock giving the occasional twitch before he calms down again. Turning his head, he kisses the soft slope of her neck, nuzzles into her collar, her pulse that erratic flutter against his lips. He can feel her hand sliding into his wet hair, the scrape of her fingertips over his scalp sending shivers down his spine. Inhaling deeply, filling his nostrils with her sweet scent, he straightens up slowly, rolling his neck as he looks at her.

She's biting her lip, and he brings his hand to her face, his thumb pushing between her lips before she starts sucking on it softly, her eyes glazing over slightly. He smiles at her, watching her blush an even deeper shade of red. His fingers curl under her chin, nudging her to lean closer. When she does, he pulls his thumb away and replaces it with his tongue, kissing her slow and deep, and she mirrors his motions, her eyes fluttering shut, her fingers digging into his hair.

He pushes them away from the wall, gently sliding into the water until he's on his back and she's perched on top of him, halfway submerged, but still glued to his mouth. Extending an arm, he holds onto the edge of the pool, keeping them afloat, while the other wraps around the girl clinging to him. She's almost straddling him, back arched, pelvis still pressed to his groin.

“Relax, baby,” he breathes against her lips, and she tries, shifting her body onto his wider frame, her legs floating between his. He lazily treads water, watching her adjusting her position, her hands in his hair, her elbows pressing into his pecs, her chest hovering above him. “I won't let you drown,” he whispers, pulling her attention by nibbling on her bottom lip. “Relax your arms...”

She does, tentatively, fingers still slipping along his head as she lowers herself, neck arched, but her chest is now flush to his, and he could swear he can hear her rapid heartbeat thundering against his own. Water splashes occasionally when she shifts and almost slips, but he holds her, his arm tight around her back, pressing her into him. His cock is trapped between them, but he ignores it for now.

Above them the sun is bright and warm, the city still echoing around them. But here, atop the noises, it's just them, alone in the blue sky, a tender moment after everything they've been through. It feels surprisingly nice, another instance of domesticity, a pause in his busy lifestyle, a change he's still fighting but accepting more and more. His arm eases around her, fingers brushing up the curve of her spine, tangling in her wet tresses before he slips them under her tight collar.

She gasps, blinking at him. For a moment he rests his hand there, heavy on her nape, the collar pressing into her throat, and he watches her, a sliver of panic settling in her big eyes as she struggles to breathe, but then he presses his thumb to the lock, and with another soft gasp and a little clicking sound, the collar opens and releases her. He peels it off her, raising it up for a moment before tossing it onto the stone floor next to the pool.

“You're still mine,” he whispers, brushing his nose against her cheek. “But you're allowed breaks too, aren't you, darling?”

She swallows, a shy and surprised smile playing around her lips. “Thank you,” she breathes against him, before she rests her head on his shoulder, face turned to his neck, her warm breath tickling his pulse. Her arms relax around him, slipping under his as she wraps them around his torso, holding onto him, no longer afraid to drown as they float about, just focused on him.

He finds himself smiling into the sky, his arm back around her body, hand splayed out over her warm skin. He's gone soft, for sure, but he's accepted it, knowing he can allow her these tender moments because in the back of his mind he is already planning out other things, darker things, more depraved, things that'll push her limits, but he knows she can handle it, she's proven it to him so many times. And when her bruises finally fade, she'll get another chance (and another chance) to show him just how much she can take now.

TWENTY-TWO 🟥 TWENTY-THREE 🟥 TWENTY-FOUR

End notes: Was this fluff?? What's happening? Don't worry, Sir hasn't lost his edge (or has he?), he was just giving Darling a well-deserved break.

By the way, if you like moodboards to your stories, I have a few Pinterest boards you can check out.

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Saturday!

TAG LIST: @untamedheart81 @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290

CHAPTER / / / ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE

SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN

ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE TWENTY-TWO

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

[beddybites]

hi bite :D I just binged your tiny 21 trio tag (I’ve been on a 21 trio craze recently) and I love them so much. If you have any concepts or cute little head cannons for them I’d love to hear them. They’re just perfect😭🫶🏼 I adore your art sm

awhh hello!!! thank you thank you, this is so kind!!!

hmmm... concepts/headcanons... i do have a bunch! I've posted some in the past so i may accidentally repeat myself a bit haha

also, apologies in advance-- a lot of these are going to be centered on obanai, since he's my favorite among the three..... unfortunately i am biased :(

sanemi can't stand the heat, and he warms up really easily. he's also really picky about his textures and he gets really worked up if he's wearing something he deems bad

a lot of the time he's just left in a shirt and a diaper. he just needs a lot of skin showing otherwise he feels constricted

obanai is the opposite--- he needs to be warm at all times. he shivers like a leaf if he's wearing anything that isn't long sleeves and will wail his little heart out if he's cold

giyuu always has his blanket. big or little brained he always has his blanket with him. he hides under it a lot, whether it be to avoid everyone else or just to take a nap

when sanemi cries he is so god damn loud. he shrieks and screams and will kick and throw things; he just doesn't know what to do with himself...

again, obanai is the opposite to sanemi in that he's a silent crier, and he even muffles his little wails with his mittens or by burying himself against someone :(

giyuu and sanemi have an easier time falling asleep compared to obanai. someone has to sit with him to make sure he falls asleep and stays asleep--

otherwise he'll pretend he fell asleep or try to get himself out of his crib

they all have nightmares. all of them.

sometimes they have to sleep separately Or Else

tengen's favorite baby to take care of is, surprisingly, obanai. he likes getting to hold him and coddle him and he always really looks forward to feeding the little guy from his bottle or rocking him to sleep

sanemi was originally his favorite, but then big brained sanemi threw mushed up carrots and rice in his hair, and it took days for tengen to properly clean himself up

giyuu is the only one who is obedient when it comes to food, so long as he gets to feed himself

sanemi is a nightmare. he makes a huge mess every time. he loves playing with his food and trying to feed others (specifically genya) handfuls of said food. he will giggle like a lunatic as he covers himself and his loved ones in food

again since obanai is so small and weak he has to nurse from a bottle which is a nightmare when he's big and small

when he's little brained its a lot easier but he'll still get sick on himself sometimes :( he has a sensitive tummy

baby giyuu LOVES bath time. he would sit there for hours if he could. he has lots of bath toys and goes splash splash

all three of them are obedient with gyomei and kagaya. otherwise at least one of them is being difficult for one reason or another

big brain obanai hates touch but baby brain obanai loves cuddles... it's another way to keep him warm

he also likes to be swaddled

the babies do arts and crafts sometimes and its always a disaster

kaburamaru gets paint and glitter on him and obanai freaks out

sanemi and giyuu try to eat the paint then both start coughing and spitting and losing their minds

mitsuri and tengen teach them how to be more gentle and careful and such and they learn how to finger paint

obanai always paints a snake

mitsuri keeps every single piece and hangs them up around her estate

muichiro helps them make tiny paper planes

obviously they're babies and they can't actually make it but muichiro helps them and lets them think they did it

uhhh thats all i can think of right now, sorry!! i hope this will suffice :,D sorry for taking so long to respond!!

[sleepyhollowtimburton]

Origins of the Headless Horseman legend

Despite the legend of Sleepy Hollow being one of the oldest American written horror stories, the origin behind the Headless Horseman is a lot older and originates in Europe.

Washington Irving first published the legend of Sleepy Hollow between 1819-1820. In this story, it is explained that the Headless Horseman was a German mercenary soldier, a Hessian hailing from the German state Hessen, who unfortunately lost his head during the revolutionary war after being hit by a canon ball to the face. It is interesting that Irving chose for a German origin for the Horseman in a Dutch town as both Germany and the Netherlands have legends of headless horsemen, talking decapitated heads, ghost riders in the dark that have its origins in pre-Christian times.

Here are some examples of the headless horseman myth from different countries in Europe:

Netherlands: The belief in the wild hunt was once quite important in pre-Christian times, it's in fact the origin of the modern Dutch holiday of Sinterklaas which was introduced in the USA as Santa Clause. As the days shorten and winter arrives, the Germanic God Wodan, or in some instances the Goddess Hel/Holle, rides through the sky followed by a horde of the undead. Anyone unfortunate enough to see the riders in the sky, would soon die and join the hunt. To please the hunt, people began to give offerings to the God Wodan and his horse Sleipnir, placing carrots in shoes, this tradition is still being done in the Netherlands until this very day. I am myself a Germanic Pagan and I honour the wild hunt by making offerings to Wodan and his horse and blowing the midwinter horn.

There is also a Dutch medieval song 'Heer Halewijn', the origins of which are assumed to be older, an oral tradition before being written down around the 15th century. This song tells the tale of a princess set out to meet Halewijn who in turn ends up being a murderer who decapitates women in the forest. The princess manages to decapitate Halewijn instead and takes his head with her to her father the king, Halewijn's decapitated head however continues to talk to the princess.

Ireland: In Irish folklore, the Dullahan is a headless evil entity who rides a horse while carrying his head under his arm. This spectre is perhaps the most famous and classic example of the visual origin of the Headless Horseman. Not only does the Dullahan carry his own head, he also wields a whip made out of a human spine. Whenever the Dullahan halts his horse, a death will happen by calling out that person's name. Some say that the Dullahan is the spirit of Crom Dubh, a Celtic deity who was worshiped by means of human sacrifices.

There is also the Cóiste Bodhar, a strange headless entity who drives a black coach. Bodhar is a harbinger of death who arrives to announce the passing of a relative or a loved one, quite similar to the grim reaper.

Wales: Now the country of Wales is home to quite a few headless mysteries. One of the more famous stories tells about a headless woman: 'Fenyw heb un pen' who eerily also rides a horse without a head. Another story tells of how Bryn Hall was haunted by a headless horseman until the horseman pointed towards a body which turned out to be the dead body of an illegimate child of Bryn Hall. This version of the Headless Horseman seems to have been more benign, rather than being a harbinger of death or a crazed killer.

Germany: Germany is also home to several Headless Horseman legends and is of course the home country of Irving's version of the Headless Horseman. Most of Germany's legends originate from the Rhineland area and were part of a morality tale. Many of these Headless Horsemen were doomed men, being punished for their sins on earth so they had to wander until they had atoned for their sins. Sometimes these Headless men would perform good deeds, most times however they would kill victims, not by decapitation but simply by touching them. Both Germany and the Netherlands believed in the Wild Hunt legend and it is alleged that many of these Headless Horsemen have their origin in the pagan wild hunt.

England: England also has several legends concerning Headless Horsemen, one of these is part of the legend of Arthur, the Green Knight. This knight challenged one man in Arthur's court to strike him down with his axe but the Green Knight warned the man he would strike the man back later in a year. As promised, the knight got decapitated, picked up his head and later decapitated the man whom he challenged. Another headless horseman legend originates from the Dartmoor area, nothing much is known about this legend other than that people have seen a headless man riding around the countryside.

In the end, the Headless Horseman has its origins in both Celtic and Germanic mythology and new versions of the legend keep on popping up throughout history, either as a bringer/omen of death or as a killer waiting for his unfortunate victims. Seldomly is the Headless Horseman a benign person helping people in need.

The legend found its way to the USA thanks to Dutch, Irish, English and German settlers and was immortalized by Washington Irving in his 1820 story 'the legend of Sleepy Hollow'. Washington Irving himself probably based the story on the old Dutch and German stories as he was familiar with them thanks to his travels. The retellings of German folktakes 'Volksmärchen der Deutschen, 1783 was especially a big source of inspiration for Washington Irving.

[witchofthesouls]

You know the film Who Framed Rodger Rabbit where humans and Toons live there together?

Imagine the sheer chaos to occur if any Transformers iterations landed on that type of Earth. No one knows who the fuck these giant robots are as they definitely aren't Toons. Meanwhile the bots can't help but be confused by these strange creatures living alongside the organics.

The Toons however see both factions as perfect targets for mischief. Starscream crashing into a wall via a super realistic painting, poor Optimus getting flowers full of dynamite or Bumblebee having multiple 'Kick Me I'm Fake' signs plaster on his bumper by Toon cars. Megatron feels like they landed in a looney bin as he fails to intimidate the 50th cartoon rat on the ship.

This probably lead to kidnapping a human cause no one is making progress when they're constantly getting menaced by law defying entities.

Oh man, the childhood nostalgia is so real here 🤣🤣

Look, the Toons would break the Autobots and the Decepticons. Cybertronians are not strangers to special powers, but beings that regularly defy all sense of laws in such a blase, hilarious manner without one ounce of logic yet yield so much damage?

The factions' respective medbays will be constantly full of mecha with processor crashes and circuit burnout. Soundwave, Prowl, and Red Alert will have to be put into long-term stasis for their mental and emotional health.

You want peace? Or a long-term armistice? Send in Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck as Trojan Horses.

There is no escape from their antics. Those creatures are everywhere.

Land. Sea. Air. Fucking space in a random astro-suit.

(Mechs would be driven mad trying to find who the hell is Marvin the Martian in any database. Including the Galactic Alliance.)

Even Megatron will break.

He will become hollow mech, desperate for respite, and beg for mercy. A new phobia for the fear of the sound of carrots being crunched and chewed would be implemented in their disorders. As well as Daffy's crazed laughter once they can reliably track it.

But the biggest kicker? All the humans would just chuckle or outright laugh at their declarations. Aliens? Really? Are you sure? What's the gimmick?

Many humans shake their heads, elbowing people around them because there's a new joke going around. Apparently, the Toons caught into the mecha anime explosion, so now they have sentient Gundams walking around with an epic battle of good versus evil.

(Que some Americans shouting things in Japanese. Some want to improve or keep up their language skills. Others just want to be dicks. It would be funnier if humans had so much experience picking out the robots in disguise from the Toons' general mayhem and shenanigans.)

The Toons know that those are real aliens but are too delighted by the sheer potential chaos of having fresh meat, ahem, new neighbors.

[leashybebes]

Random question incoming.

What is you favorite Discworld subseries? (Watch, Witches, Wizards, Death or stand alones?)

ohhhh okay so by random question, i assume you meant "ramble for ten solid minutes about one of my oldest special interests", right?

SO. gun (gonne) to my head, i would probably say the watch books because night watch is one of my favourite books of all time, not just my favourite discworld books. i also read books like jingo at a formative age and they have stayed with me SO MUCH. ALSO. the subversion of the fantasy tropes in discworld is one of my favourite things about the series, and one of the subversions of all time has got to be carrot's "birthright" stuff. as someone who is pretty strongly anti-monarchy, this storyline and the ways it informs the relationship between carrot and vimes is SO GOOD. also also, some of my favourite secondary characters come to us via the watch books, and sam and sibyl are one of my all time favourite fictional relationships ("not a gentleman but a gentle man" rewired my brain istg)

THAT SAID. the first discworld book i read was reaper man, and i do think some of the best philosophy in the series comes in the death books. what can the harvest hope for, if not the care of the reaper man? i'm not religious or spiritual in the slightest but GOD that line makes me wish i was. and of course the whole discussion in hogfather about justice and fairness, the big lies and the little lies. they're just untouchable. and without the death books, we wouldn't have SUSAN. character of all time, SUSAN STO HELIT. she's cynical, she's stern, she's a born educator who knows that children are horrible little gremlins, she's DEATH'S GRANDDAUGHTER. no one's doing it like her.

and then THAT SAID, the witches??? idk man, i really really struggle to separate these from the death books in terms of my ranking because granny?? hello??? i have been able to read the shepherd's crown only twice because i can't see through my fucking tears, good lord. the part in witches abroad where she confronts lily ("because i had to be the good one") speaks to some complicated family stuff of my own and will forever have a place in my heart. and the part where she's trapped in the mirrors and has to find "the real one" and just immediately looks down at herself and says "this one" is like. that's what i aspire to be and to have. and GOD, as a fat, anxious little kid, agnes/perdita was just such a revelation to me. and of course, via the OG witches we get tiffany aching, my queen of cognition and meta-cognition. and of course, because i love a horny old lady, NANNY OGG. and GREEBO. and MAGRAT, my beloved. god, there's just so much in these books to adore.

so the wizards, i adore them as characters, but the wizard focused books generally aren't my favourites, possibly because so many of them are from so early on when i feel like pterry was still finding his voice/world etc. so while the archchancellor (aka fantasy ron swanson c'mon) is a delight and while as someone who works in academia, the commentary on universities is EVERYTHING to me, they don't tend to make the top of my list.

the standalones are easy to lose sight of, because of the (general) lack of tie-in to the wider world BUT a couple of special shout outs:

moving pictures (or is this considered a wizards book?) for the NEVER ENDING parade of puns and references, some of which i STILL get for the first time when i re-read

small gods. THIS BOOK. THIS BOOK, y'all. there are so many things i adore about it, but possibly nothing more than the scene in the inquisitors' office that gives rise to these lines: "And it all meant this:  that there are hardly any excesses of the most crazed psychopath that cannot easily be duplicated by a normal, kindly family man who just comes in to work every day and has a job to do."

monstrous regiment. WHAT IN THE GENDER. i feel like this, along with things like the development of the dwarfs throughout the series really show what an amazing, kind, loving and thoughtful a person pterry was. GOD i miss him.

lol okay this got even longer than anticipated and i'm STILL NOT DONE. one of the things i love best about this series is that there really is something for everyone. my dad is NOT a fantasy reader in the slightest, but even he liked men at arms and guards! guards!. a friend of mine was struggling to get into the books but because i Know Him and his interests i was able to say "bro. carpe jugulum. immediately." my mum wasn't much of a reader at the time, but i knew that equal rites would get her, and it did.

exTREMEly tl;dr:

1. watch books 2/3. (impossible to separate) death books and witches books 4. standalones 5. wizards

lmao, thank you so much for the ask, i just enjoy thinking and rambling about these books so much 💕

"do you not know that a man is not dead while his name is still spoken?" gnu sir terry.

[sparklearchive]

Spinch Illnesses

(Not including the hospital's fake names for illnesses!)

The Uncommon Cold (TUC) - Illness borne from consuming unfiltered winter plorb milk. TUC causes the body to become frozen and frigid and extremely cold and leads to constant sweating from condensation and other side effects such as mobility issues, joint stiffness, memory loss, emotional numbness, and increased sexual arousal. The brain is frozen in the process.

Beaver Fever - Illness borne from consuming unfiltered summer plorb milk. Beaver Fever makes the body extremely hot and overheated; it's a severe fever that technically should be fatal, but it does not kill you. Side effects include high body temperature but shivering, other fever symptoms, and a lack of sexual arousal.

Goopy Gooey Guts - An illness where the insides of an anthry become goopy and jelly-like. Caused by consuming unfiltered jlorb jelly. Side effects include internal jelly-fication, stomach pains, and body aches.

Glows-a-lot - A condition in which parts of the body glow and you develop a cold, and snot becomes bright pink. Caused by making contact with the liquid luminescence excreted by glowrb.

Candy coughs - A condition in which you cough up different kinds of candy uncontrollably. This illness develops and is caused by eating too much candy. Candy types vary.

Etsfuhkinredd - A condition which turns all bodily fluids into orange juice, extremely contagious. Caused by consuming unfiltered orange blorb juice.

Lifegivsya - A condition which turns all bodily fluids into lemon juice, extremely contagious. Caused by consuming unfiltered lemon blorb juice.

Seein Red - A condition which turns all bodily fluids into tomato juice, extremely contagious. Caused by consuming unfiltered tomato blorb juice.

Carrot Craze - A condition which turns all bodily fluids into carrot juice, extremely contagious. Caused by consuming unfiltered carrot blorb juice.

Systemic greenus evergreena (SGE) - A condition which turns your body green. The cause of SGE is not known, but it is not contagious.

Teeths-a-lot - A condition which you grow teeth uncontrollably. Teeths-a-lot is a dental condition caused by poor dental hygiene.

[clochanam-archive]

aisling loves food but there are some foods she straight-up refuses to go near, and others that she just doesn't like (but she will prepare them for other people) so here's the list so far:

bananas (absolutely not. nope. never in a million years. her kids eat banana bread made by stanley, and they never peel one in the same room as her, she just hates them so much. the smell, the taste, the texture, EVERYTHING!)

turnips (we know this bc of the on-going saga, but let me tell u more: same as with bananas, it's the smell, taste and texture. during the turnip fry craze, she made posters to deter customers from asking for turnip fries. sweet potato, carrot, parsnip, all fine, but never turnip.)

PB&J sandwiches (she'll make these but she's never eating one again. she had one once on a picnic with advik at a wildlife reserve and had to spend a month avoiding all the involved ingredients. she loves each ingredient separately, not altogether.)

smoothies (texture. she'll drink juice and milkshakes all day for you, but the texture of most smoothies? no. that said she'll be too polite to say it if she's given one)

peas and sweetcorn (texture again. god help you if you try to give her mushy peas. she'll never trust you again.)

very specifically the inside of the tomatoes. just the seeded bit.

[mommaboyhalo]

Oh my gosh I finished the new episode and I wanna know so much more about Flower's cult. We've gotten snippets and it feels like a Heavens Gate situation with the meteorite and being a doomsday cult. Sure it was clearly just a front for a bunch of drug crazed hippies having sex in the woods but it's so fun to think Abt.

The men don't get names like the women, "male number 11" (Except Ira, but maybe only Flower calls him Ira) and it looks like they arrive to the cult in pairs? Or maybe they try to recruit women only but sometimes they just bring their preexisting partners in too.

The meteorite "speaks" to their leader, conveniently the only person who can hear it speak.

Were they building any underground structures? With the previous death date being "Next week" maybe they were planning on a mass suicide or similar to Heaven's Gate, thought they'd be relocated somewhere else by the meteorite. Maybe the meteorite was going to protect them from harm. Looks like from what we have to go off so far, the leader was interested in control.over anything else. Rationing food for the members too. "Flower will receive extra carrots at dinner".

She says she was in a throuple situation, but it sounds like the leader wanted to sleep with everyone's wife whenever he wanted so maybe it was different when it was his turn.

How far away from Woodstone was this cult ground? Couldn't have been more than a mile or so. The ghosts couldn't go see it so it was out of the boundary. But if you've ever been with someone on shrooms or LSD, they can't go very far. At some point they get scared of everything and kinda veg out on the ground or in a seat if you're a good trip setter. Is the area they used to live in still there? Surely there has to have been one survivor of the cult that told their story online that Sam can look up at some point.

I'm just so curiousssss

[banannabethchase]

10 and C for codyjey

French Fries and Thievery

~

10) "Absolutely not. Unless you ask nicely.", c) While stealing each other's food

~

“No.”

“What?” Cody asks, and it’s innocent enough that Jey almost believes it was unintentional.

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” Jey says. “You were going for my French fries.”

“I was not!” Cody says. There’s mischief behind his eyes that makes Jey want to forget their fast food dinner in favor of other things. “I was inspecting them. You can’t be too careful. Maybe a crazed fan made those French fries.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Jey says. He rolls his eyes and adjusts his seat. “That’s why you should have gotten fries with that stupid sandwich.”

“It’s a great sandwich!” Cody argues. “Delicious.”

“It’s a grilled chicken cutlet with lettuce wrap and a bunch of carrots for a side.” Jey stares at Cody as he puts a French fry in his mouth. “And you’re trying to steal my fries.”

“I am not!”

“If you lie again, I’m not having sex with you tonight.” He bites a French fry.

“You and I both know that’s not true.” Cody takes another bite of his so-called sandwich.

“I know you have to keep that champ body tight,” Jey says, “but it wouldn’t kill you to get the French fries every once in a while.”

“So that means I can steal yours?” Cody leans in. “Pretty please?”

“Nope,” Jey says. “But if you ask nice, I’ll give you something else.”

Cody cackles his way through another bite of his sandwich and Jey makes a very big show out of eating the fries.

[ragingstillness]

Rewatching Swing yet again and struck once more by what an absolute gem of an episode it is. I haven’t seen an episode that loves Elliot this much until I watched OC. I really think the writers for season four watched this episode too before writing that season.

It’s foreshadowed in little pieces over the course of the season and the previous one and there’s so many amazing performances in it. Chris Meloni and Ellen Burstyn are of course the stars but Allison Siko gets to shine this episode too.

The writing is amazing:

“I just needed you to know…that I tried to be a good mother”

“Maybe god remembered how cute you were as a carrot”

“I’m through the looking glass here, Liv”

“I can see why you scare the pants off of Kathy”

“It was kids stuff!” “It was your passion! Where did it go?!”

“Like someone had reached inside of me and scooped out my soul”

“Remember how he laughed at you? Because that was only the millionth time he’d heard that from you”

“You pay a pretty steep price” “Maybe I do but it’s my life.”

“Grandma do you think I’m crazy?” “Do you feel crazy?”

“That’s the price we pay for greatness honey”

“If he hated you he’d just walk right out of your life”

“But I was chasing snowflakes”

“That’s because he’s erased his childhood”

“Bottling it up inside hasn’t worked for you. And neither has beating up perps, or walls, or garbage cans. Kathleen may be sick but you’re the one with the problem”

“They just wanted sex. And I gave it to them. A lot of them. Even ones I didn’t know. When I think about it, it makes me wanna die.”

“But you can always start fresh tomorrow” “How?” “By hugging the ones who love you even when you think they might not want it.”

“I’ve lived the life I wanted to live. And I’ve paid a terrible price.”

“Anything that doesn’t fit into your neat little boxes, you just can’t take it.”

“I heard that line for 27 years every time your father didn’t want to do something he suddenly had to pull a double”

“Couldn’t breathe around your son?” “You didn’t need me. Until now.” “You’re wrong, I always needed you in my life.”

“But it wasn’t your life it isn’t your life you’re living your father’s life all over again. If you could only find a way to be your own man.”

“I don’t have the luxury of staying in bed for a month when things don’t go my way”

“And when I cried you lifted up the revolver and you shot at us…I remember that crazed look on your face…I wondered why you hated us so much you wanted us dead.”

It’s like this beautifully orchestrated piece of media that delivers a boatload of exposition about Elliot’s past that at this point we hadn’t gotten any of. Not to mention the story does a really good job of striking the balance between clarifying that bipolar disorder is a serious thing that can be quite dangerous but also isn’t a moral failing.

I also really like the emphasis on mental illness as being of much greater risk to the individual with the illness than to others. Kathleen may have scared the couple whose house she broke into and stole some jewelry but she didn’t truly harm them, instead her disorder harmed her, leading to risky sex of questionable consent, a near drug overdose, legal trouble, conflict with parents and peers, all those events hurt her more than they hurt others and so often mental illness in media is portrayed as a force that turns a “regular” person into a “monster.”

They also take the time to clarify that medication is not the easy fix it may seem to be and that for some individuals it can be harmful or painful and that understanding and therapy is a boon to many.

But while Kathleen and Bernie were both hurt by their illness we also get to see the effects on others. This is handled in a way that both explains how the disorder affects people and also making it clear that actions taken were still choices.

Elliot’s personality begins to click into place a lot in this episode in ways that it previously felt rough and out of place. While he does punch a garbage can outside the hospital, before that he’s breathing heavy and not paying attention to his surroundings, clearly on the edge of a panic attack. He withdraws from talks on how to work with Kathleen because he literally can’t handle it and is having flashbacks to his life with his mother. For all that Elliot’s father was an abusive drunk, he has trauma from his mother too. The story about his mother shooting at him and his father in a manic state and how he internalized that as hate, the fact that his mother ignored his fears and broke his arm in a high speed car crash that could have been much worse, the way he avoids her whenever she comes into town, he’s clearly been messed up by these events. And you can see that in his actions in other episodes.

Elliot is incredibly sensitive to cases of child abuse and neglect and while a lot of that is put down to his being a father, it’s likely also because of the abuse and trauma he’s experienced himself along with his brothers (or older brother at least). He beats the shit out of that one cop who kept hitting his son to tell him to man up. And Elliot and that guy were friends!

When Kathy dies and Elliot ends up getting into a car accident with Eli in the car he sends him away to Maureen’s because he knows he literally isn’t safe for Eli to be around and he’s not going to risk turning into his mother.

He’a so gentle with child victims and gets along with them great, in early seasons he’s much more comfortable than Liv is and in the very first episode Liv is asking the questions while Elliot cares for one of the victims’ son. Elliot’s entire personality so clearly revolves around three things: his anger, his desire to not turn into either of his parents, and his duty. Liv, on the other hand, revolves around these things: her anger, her self-flagellation, and her purpose. From the very beginning Elliot and Liv connect on their anger, recognizing something similar in each other unconsciously and it’s why they’re such loose canons.

All three of Elliot’s core values are on display in this episode: his anger as a negative coping strategy, his action taken to save his daughter despite his own pain, and his reference to how he redirected all his creative energy into caring for his family. (It’s very interesting that he doesn’t mention his wife, just his kids, and fits into my personal hc that the love he feels for Kathy is more familial than romantic but that’s a whole different essay) The OC writers get this and write it into their seasons often. And I hope it continues.

Other gems from the episode include:

Liv and Kathy sitting next to each other in the courtroom without Elliot like the co-wives they so clearly are

Our first introduction to Bernie’s excellent wardrobe

That super cool undercover cop who was crazy attractive and is also the reason Elliot even found Kathleen when she overdosed

Kathy slapping Elliot

Some defense attorney snark

Kathleen’s beautiful shower singing voice

[c-40]

A-T-5 054 From Funkin' Keith to Jackmaster Funk

Farley 'Funkin' Keith was a member of the DJ team Hot Mix 5 with Mickey 'Mixin' Oliver, Ralphi 'Rockin' Rosario, Kenny 'Jammin' Jason and Scott 'Smokin' Silz (Silz was replaced by Julian "Jumpin" Perez in 1985 and Mario "Smokin" Diaz joined later as a sixth member). The original DJ team had been put together by Chicago radio station WBMX Program Director Lee Michaels in 1981. People in the know might say Hot Mix 5 ushered in the second wave of house DJs with Frankie Knuckles, Chosen Few DJs, and Ron Hardy being it's first wave They laid the foundations of house music, first, by mixing disco and contemporary European imports (what was getting called 'Punk Out' at the time) in their intricately sequenced and edited collages (clearly influenced by Shep Petibones' Mastermixes and the Latin Rascals edits). When local productions began appearing they incorporated them into their sets. They broke all the early Chicago house records on the show, these included many of their own productions. There are references in what the DJs were playing in the early Chicago productions, baselines, drum patterns and melodies mimicking 'Feels Good (Carrots & Beets)', 'Peaches & Prunes', '119', 'Walk The Night', 'Life Is A Jungle', 'White Horse', 'Beat The Street', 'Disco Circus', anything Kraftwerk etc

Hot Mix 5's Friday Night Jams were recorded and passed around and many still exist online, like the one below

https://www.mixcloud.com/uniquesoundsofamerica/farley-jackmaster-funk-friday-night-jam-1985-hot-mix-5-wbmx-chicago/

Farley ‘Jackmaster’ Funk - Friday Night Jams 1985 - Hot Mix 5 WBMX Chicago

Farley 'Funkin' Keith changed his name to Farley 'Jackmaster' Funk around 1985. As well as radio show he was resident at The Playground (later the Candy Store) which was one of the clubs that grew the young, then nameless (well, called anything but House!), scene on the South Side (and West Side) of Chicago

Chip E. and Farley go in together to create the label House Records which puts out the foundational EP Jack Trax. But according to Chip E. in a post on Discogs "House Records was MY original label. Farley (Jack Master Funk) was supposed to be the executive producer (come up with funds) but somehow it fell through after the label art was done (wasn't as easy as it is today). Long story short, I sold my nearly new SL1200 MK2 turntables to afford the studio time, and my mother loaned me her tax return funds to have the first 500 pressed at QCA" - so according to him Farley didn't hold up his end of the bargain

As well as putting out records on House Records Farley 'Jackmaster' Funk is among the first artists on the influential Trax and DJ International labels, deified in the UK

Farley 'Jackmaster' Funk with his roommate Steve 'Silk' Hurley (below as J.M. Silk - Jack Master Silk) led the Jackin' craze when their records became pop hits in the UK (remember The Reynolds Girls 'I'd Rather Jack Than Fleetwood Mac'?) I read the other day the term 'Jack' which was initially more popular as a name for the music than 'House' was short for ejaculate? In all my years I'd not heard this before

Farley 'Jackmaster' Funk - Farley Knows House from Funkin With The Drums Again

Farley 'Jackmaster' Funk - Jack The Bass - borrows heavily from the Laidback track 'White Horse'

Farley 'Jackmaster' Funk - Aw Shucks (Let's Go Let's Go) - reproduces the bassline from Sharon Redd's 'Beat The Street'

Some other artists mixed by Farley

J M Silk ‎– Music Is The Key (House Key) - Steve "Silk" Hurley with vocals from Keith Nunnally on the main mix

Razz Featuring Matt Warren & (fellow Hot Mix 5 DJ) Ralphi Rosario - Razz-Matazz - usually you hear 'Kill Yourself Dancing' or the rhythm trax type track 'Pump It Up' off this release but I like 'Razz-Matazz'