#editing my tags: i made this prematurely

[witchofinterest]

Zelena’s song in the ouat musical episode is the best one btw

[pedrospatch]

softness

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: Joel’s a little unsure of doing skin to skin with his newborn daughter.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. established relationship. (TW) PREGNANCY. mentions of premature birth, minor descriptions of childbirth, mentions of birth weight, it is implied that reader is breastfeeding her baby, semi accurate medical journal research, girldad! Joel, mentions of scars (Joel), mentions of insecurities and anxieties, if i missed anything, please let me know! NO MENTION OF READER’S AGE. NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER. no physical description of child except for her hair color/type. very minimal editing.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: i had this outline sitting in my drafts and i decided to finally just write it out and post it. it ain’t much, but it’s honest work. it is part of the safe and sound universe.

She’d made her entrance into the world early.

About four or five weeks, the commune’s doctor thinks.

Without ultrasounds, it’d been a guessing game.

And a fucking terrifying guessing game at that.

For several months, all you could do was hope.

Hope for a smooth pregnancy.

Hope for a safe labor and delivery.

Hope for a strong, healthy baby.

When you went into labor earlier than the doctor had predicted you would, all of your hopes shattered, the pieces falling around you like shards of broken glass you couldn’t put back together even if you tried.

“No! No, it’s too soon! It’s too fucking soon!” you’d cried out, the sheer panic setting in and seeping into your bones as a warm, clear liquid dripped down the insides of your legs and pooled around your bare feet. You had been in the kitchen making Ellie breakfast and packing her lunch for school—one second you’re standing there in front of the food pantry debating with yourself on what vegetable to throw into the kid’s lunch bag with her sandwich and the next you’re calling out for help as an intense pressure nestled itself between your hips. It wasn’t until you heard a faint popping sound and then felt the gush of fluid between your thighs that you’d realized what was happening. An unmistakable first sign of labor, you’d experienced your water breaking. “This can’t be happening, it’s not time yet!”

Joel, who by some stroke of sheer stupid luck had the morning off from patrol duty, instructed Ellie to run upstairs and gather some clean clothes along with a pair of boots and the warmest coat you owned that still fit. November had brought along the first snowfall of the season—the frigid temperatures outside were anything but kind and the clinic was on the opposite side of the commune, a fifteen minute walk he wished you didn’t have to make in your condition. “I know this is real fuckin’ scary darlin’ but y’need to stay calm. I need you to stay as calm as possible. Y’think that you can do that for me, sweetheart?”

He’d been just as terrified, but he masked it well.

On the outside, he kept a calm, collected composure for your sake and for Ellie’s too, shoved aside his own fears so he could be the support you both needed, act as the glue that held yours and his little family unit together should anything were to happen. But on the inside, he was scared shitless, to say the least. He couldn’t be certain he would have the strength to hold himself together if something went wrong, if he lost you—or his unborn child.

Admittedly, it had taken him a few months to come to terms with the fact that he was going to be a father again at this stage in his life. The thought of him changing diapers at his age was one he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around—but the moment he felt that first little flutter of movement one night as you lay curled up against his side fast asleep, something shifted. That night, he had stayed wide awake, his large hand splayed over your belly in hopes he would feel that little flutter again.

“Joel, I’m really fucking scared. What if it’s too early—”

“Baby, look at me.” He reached up and gently took your chin, holding it between his thumb and index finger as he coaxed your gaze to meet his own. “S’gonna be okay,” he’d assured you, softly. “If this is happenin’ now, it’s because she’s ready, alright?”

For a split second, that panic had ceased.

“She?”

Confused, Joel’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“You just referred to the baby as a she, Joel.”

“I did?”

“Yeah—just now.” You’d stared at him with curiosity and took a step back, cradling your belly in both of your hands. “Do you think we’re having a girl?”

Sheepishly, he had shaken his head at you.

“No, I just—m’sorry. I ain’t all too sure why I said that.”

He truly, honestly hadn’t.

It’d slipped before he could even think about it.

But his accidental slip had been right.

After thirteen hours of grueling labor in Jackson’s small clinic, you’d given birth to a little girl, the sound of her loud wailing filling the whole room like a sweet melody eliciting a sob of joy from you and a shaky sigh of relief from Joel.

“Holy shit, she’s here! She’s actually fucking here,” Ellie breathed, her eyes going wide. Her arms were still wrapped around one of your legs—despite you warning the teenager about what she would see, it hadn’t stopped her from volunteering her assistance in the childbirth process. She watched on in a mix of both fascination and disgust as Dr. Porter, a woman in her sixties who served as Jackson’s sole physician, lifted the infant and immediately placed her onto your bare chest to clean her off. “This has gotta be the grossest, most amazing fucking thing I have ever fucking seen in my life.” Gently, she set your leg down onto the bed before walking around it to stand beside Joel. His hand was stroking your hair, his dark eyes trained on his crying newborn daughter. It was the perfect moment for Ellie to run her mouth and tease, “You’re not gonna cry, are you, Joel? I’d think you’re a lot fucking tougher than that, old man.”

“Shut up,” he’d muttered under his breath, putting an arm around her and pulling her against his side. He almost couldn’t believe this was now his life—a life he would have never even known if he hadn’t flinched twenty years ago when he had pulled the trigger.

Though she’d been born a few weeks prematurely, Rosemary Miller was deemed to be healthy—a tad underweight, but nothing to be worried about just yet, according to Jackie, the commune’s nurse. At about four pounds, eleven ounces, Rosemary was the tiniest thing you’d ever seen and somehow even tinier when Joel would cradle her in the palms of his large hands. Despite the fact that you’d been reassured that the baby’s low birth weight was nothing to be alarmed about, you and Joel had been advised it was best if you didn’t take her home until she gained a few more ounces and tipped the a scale at what the books state is a normal birth weight of five pounds, eight ounces.

“We just would feel better if she were here at the clinic where we can closely monitor her weight,” Jackie had said upon seeing the crestfallen look on your face. “Besides, you tore a little and you need time to heal as well, you know.”

Left with very little choice, you’d agreed to it.

“I’m losing it,” you say with an exasperated sigh as you stare up at the drab, gray ceiling. It’s been three days since you had given birth and all you want to do is take your daughter home. In an effort to lift your spirits, Maria had tried to warm the place up and make it feel more comfortable for you. She had swapped out the rough, scratchy bedsheet the clinic provided for you with a soft, knitted blanket she had made herself. She also took it upon herself to pack you a bag with your own clothes, a couple of books to read, and your favorite polaroids of Joel and Ellie. While it had been incredibly sweet of her to do for you, you still wanted out of that clinic sooner rather than later. “I miss our house. I miss our bed. I miss our kid.”

Joel, who’s sitting in an old, worn leather armchair tucked over in a corner of your room next to the frosted window, raises an eyebrow at you and then juts his chin towards Rosemary, who is swaddled up and sleeping soundly in the plastic bassinet beside your bed.

“Our kid’s right there, darlin’.”

You lift your head off your pillow and glare at him.

“I’m talking about Ellie, Joel.”

He chuckles and leans forward in his chair. Next to him sits a brown stuffed bunny rabbit—Ellie had traded a precious comic book for it and gifted it to the baby the same afternoon she was born. 

“She’s been comin’ to visit every day after school.”

“It’s not the same,” you pout, shaking your head.

Joel sighs and glances at the cot that he had been sleeping on for the last few days—truth be told, he misses the house too. His back certainly misses the bed. “It ain’t the same,” he agrees, tiredly. His face is worn with exhaustion. Despite you insisting that he go home and get some proper rest, he’s too stubborn to listen and only leaves the clinic to take a shower and change his clothes���and to check on Ellie, who’s got a bad habit of not doing her homework unless you or Joel nag her to get it done. “M’real sorry, darlin’. But you heard what they said. Baby’s gotta gain a little more weight before we can take her home.”

Even from where he’s sitting, he can see your eyes glaze over with tears of frustration. Since the baby was born, you’ve been very sensitive, more so than when you’d been pregnant—something he didn’t think was even possible.

“If she keeps on eatin’ the way she’s eatin’ we’ll be home by the end of the week,” Joel adds in an effort to cheer you up. “Besides, you need to heal before we make that long walk across town and back to the house, sweetheart. S’not like I can just pull up the fuckin’ minivan and drive you girls home like back in the day, y’know?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Ew, Joel. We would not have a fucking minivan.” Dabbing at your eyes with the back of your hand, you can’t help but laugh at the thought of Joel Miller behind the wheel of one of those things. Then, you realize how endearing it would be to watch as he’s loading up Rosemary’s car seat into the van, the muscles of his broad back flexing underneath his shirt as he pulled on the straps to make sure it was safe and secure. You’d climb into the backseat with her and on the way home, you would ask Joel to swing through the nearest burger joint drive through because you’re fucking starving and in need of a proper meal after being subjected to boring, bland hospital food. You shoot him a small smile. “On second thought, that doesn’t sound all that bad. Maybe we would.”

Suddenly, there’s a light knock at the door.

“Come in,” you call, careful not to be too loud.

Dr. Porter walks into the room.

She had been a primary care physician prior to the world ending, according to Maria, who a couple of months ago had given birth to her son while under Dr. Porter’s care. Maria had assured you that, even though the woman never trained in obstetrics, she always went above and beyond for all the mothers to be in the commune. She dedicated her spare time to studying, lost herself in medical books she found on the shelves of the town’s library—kind of like the one that’s currently tucked underneath her arm.

“Hi there mama,” she greets, her eyes shining brightly behind her coke-bottle glasses. Wearing jeans and a sweater, she doesn’t quite look the part—maybe she’d worn a white coat once in her life, but now it was only the old, silver metal stethoscope she had draped around her neck that gave her profession away. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“I’m okay,” you say with a shrug. “Can’t complain.”

Over in his corner, Joel can’t help but snort.

Ignoring him, you add, “Bleeding’s slowing down.”

“Good, that’s good,” Dr. Porter tells you. “And how about this sweet little girl?” She smiles and makes her way over to the bassinet, keeping her voice low. “She eating well?”

“She is. Her last feed was about two hours ago.”

“How’s she sleeping?”

“Like a rock.”

“And you’ve been doing skin to skin as well?”

You nod. “Yes, before and after her feedings.”

“That’s perfect.” Dr. Porter beams at you with pride. “Keep it up and do it as often as possible. There are a ton of benefits of doing skin to skin with her. It’s one of the most incredible things that a mother can do for her baby. Actually—” She pauses for a moment and pulls the book out from under her arm. “I have been doing a bit of research and as it turns out, there are also benefits if dad does skin to skin with baby as well.”

Joel stiffens slightly in his chair. “S’cuse me?”

“I found this book in the library. It talks about all of the benefits of fathers doing skin to skin with their newborn. It was written some time in the nineties and studies were still being conducted, but I really believe they were onto something.” She hands you the book. “For being preterm, Rosemary’s healthy, but it doesn’t do any harm to try whatever you can to make sure that she builds up that immune system and stays healthy, especially now that winter’s here.” Flashing you a smile, she informs you, “I went ahead and folded the pages for you and made some notes. There’s a few benefits in it for Joel as well. Could be worth a try.”

After telling you she’ll be back in a couple hours to check on you and to weigh the baby, Dr. Porter excuses herself from your room, quietly closing the door behind her.

Curiously, you open the book to the first page that she’d folded for you and start reading the first passage out loud.

“Ongoing studies have found skin to skin between father and child have similar benefits to those that come from skin to skin between mother and child. It regulates the baby's body temperature, blood sugar, and stress levels.” You pause and look over at Joel, who appears thoroughly unimpressed. “It also helps to regulate the baby’s heart rate and breathing rate. Joel, this is incredible! I think you should—”

“No.”

Joel winces. He doesn’t mean to sound so curt.

Your face falls. “Why not?”

“That’s for mothers,” he grumbles. “Y’know, for feedin’ the baby.”

“It’s for much more than just that.” You shake your head and flip over to the next page, scanning both the text as well as Dr. Porter’s notes. “It says here that it also helps the baby pick up their father’s natural scent and promotes bonding.”

“Sweetheart, I can bond with her just fine with my fuckin’ shirt on, there ain’t no need for me to—what in the world are you doin’?” Perturbed, Joel watches you as you take a handful of your blanket, throwing it off yourself. He jumps up to his feet the second he realizes that you’re about to get out of bed. “Don’t—”

“Oh relax, Joel. I should be moving more anyway,” you say, wincing as you sit up and swing both legs over the side of the bed. It isn’t so much pain as it is discomfort—everything had been shoved up and out of place for months, after all. As soon as you stand, Joel’s there at your side, one hand on your arm and the other on your back, trying to guide you back onto the bed. You lightly swat him away with your hand. “Joel, stop fussing over me! I’m fine!”

“Baby, y’need to lie down right now—”

“Take off your shirt.”

His hands fall away from you and his eyes widen.

“What?”

“Take off your shirt and go sit down in the chair.”

The blood drains from his face and he pales. 

It’s not that Joel doesn’t want to do it. He does.

He’ll do anything if it’s for his daughter’s benefit.

Still.

The idea of laying his innocent little baby girl on him without his shirt on—it’s uncomfortable. His chest and stomach are littered with several scars. Rough, raised patches of skin that serve as reminders of a brutal past he doesn’t want her finding out about, not for as long as he can fucking help it.

Rosemary deserves to be wrapped up in softness.

The softness of your smooth, blemish free skin.

The softness of the blankets you’d knitted for her.

The softness of the stuffed bunny Ellie had given her.

Joel?

He isn’t soft.

Nothing about him is soft.

Even holding her in his hands for the first time had been something of a battle. Hands that once snapped necks and slit throats didn’t deserve to hold something so pure and innocent.

“This sounds really promising, Joel.” Slowly, you make your way over to the plastic bassinet, ignoring the dull ache between your thighs. With your back to him, you carefully begin to unswaddle the baby. You try not to wake her as you peel off her warm, knitted onesie and matching socks, leaving her in nothing but her teeny, tiny cloth diaper. Gingerly, you pick her up and turn around to face him. “If Dr. Porter thinks we should try it, then it’s for a good reason, don’t you think so?”

Joel swallows harshly.

“What is it?”

“S’just that I—I’ve got scars everywhere, y’know?”

Your expression instantly softens for him. “Joel, you’re her daddy,” you remind him, gently. “She’s not going to care about things like that.” Pausing, it suddenly occurs to you that it’s not just about his scars. It’s about something else, something that runs so much deeper for Joel. He’d done what he had done in order to survive, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t live with the shame—the guilt and the regret. Rosemary begins to fuss awake and you lightly bounce her in your arms as you assure him, “She isn’t going to care about your past or what you’ve done. Her love for you is going to be as unconditional as yours is for her. She’s going to love you no matter what, Joel. I can promise you that.”

His jaw clenches and his lips press into a tight line.

Rosemary starts to cry—she’s cold, no doubt.

The old heater in the clinic hardly runs.

And when it does, it breaks down.

“Joel, please,” you beg over her wails. “Just try it? For me? For her?”

Sighing in defeat, Joel shrugs out of his jacket and he tosses it aside. With trembling fingers, he begins to unbutton his green flannel shirt—his long sleeved thermal henley comes off next and then he takes off the cotton t-shirt he wears underneath for an added layer of warmth during the winter season. As he stands there shirtless, he shivers and his flesh erupts with goosebumps. “Wait,” he mutters as he watches you take a step forward. He drags the armchair away from the window. He then sits down, his heart racing and the anxiety flaring as he gives you a subtle nod of his head. “Okay.”

You walk over to him and place her on his bare chest.

The second he feels Rosie’s soft skin on his, there’s a shift.

It’s similar to the one he felt when he first felt her move in your belly.

He calms and his heart slows—his nerves dissipate. 

And Rosemary stops crying.

She scrunches, curls up on his chest, and yawns.

Grimacing, you lean over and pick up his flannel shirt. “Here,” you say, draping it over them as a makeshift blanket. “How’s that feel?”

“Think she likes it, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, his fingers delicately brushing over her soft tufts of dark brown hair. His touch causes the newborn’s lip to curl and he catches a glimpse of the prominent dimple in her left cheek—the same dimple Sarah had inherited from him, Rosemary had inherited too. There’s a dull ache in his chest, but somehow, he still smiles as she peers up at him with sleepy eyes. “Hi, Rosie Posie. S’me, babygirl. Your daddy.”

Rolling your lip between your teeth, you stifle a giggle.

“What?” he asks, arching an eyebrow at you.

“She’s not the only one who seems to like it.”

Joel chuckles, admitting, “S’pretty relaxin’.” He presses his nose into his daughter’s curls and inhales deeply, relishing in the warm, sweet milky scent of her. After a minute, his smile falters slightly. “Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you really believe it?”

Your brow furrows. “Believe what?”

“That she’s gonna love me no matter what.”

“Of course I do.”

“How can you be so sure ‘bout it?”

Carefully, you perch yourself on the arm of the chair and press a gentle kiss against his right temple, your lips brushing over his scar. “Because I just am, Joel.”

Somehow, he believes it—he believes you.

Joel tilts his head back, puckering his lips.

Grinning, you give him a chaste kiss before standing. “I’m going to see if I can get a nap in before her next feed,” you tell him, padding back over to the bed. “Do you think you’ll be okay with her for a while, just the two of you?”

“I think we’ll be just fine,” he murmurs, gingerly stroking Rosemary’s silky cheek with his finger. “Yeah. We’ll be just fine, won’t we, babygirl?”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

[pfhwrittes]

title: (hunka hunka) burnin’ love

pairing: john “soap” mactavish x female reader

word count: 1.6k

tags/triggers: smut, oral sex (johnny receiving), semi-public sex, johnny’s POV, blink and you’ll miss it reference to past kyle “gaz” garrick x reader, humour, parental interference, pet names (“bonnie”, “hen”).

a/n: i’ve finally finished a fic. everyone send tats (@stuffireadandenjoy) some love for inspiring this one.

also regarding the parental interference tag, johnny’s dad walks in after the reader and johnny have finished. if that makes you cringe, feel free to skip from “christ, the fabric of his boxers chafes something fierce.” and pick back up at “back at the table johnny fidgets uncomfortably…”

as always my work is barely edited (i loathe re-reading my own words) so typos and grammatical goofs are likely. with that said, enjoy!

johnny’s breath hitches as you lick a (gratifyingly) long wet stripe up the underside of his cock. your tongue curling sweetly around the head as your fingers dig into the meat of his thighs, not taking your eyes off him for a second. 

christ, he’s a lucky man. a very lucky man. 

you’re always game for his particular brand of hijinks. when he’d dragged you unsubtly to the bathroom of the nice restaurant after watching you chew on the straw of your drink (for aeons!) with those plump lips of yours, he was sure you’d slap his hands away. chide him. remind him he was no better than a panting mutt. tell him to keep his hands to himself until after dinner at least. 

but you didn’t. 

and now here he was. and here you were. on your knees as his belt buckle clinks noisily in the locked toilet cubicle while the rest of the table (sorry maw) waited for the second course. 

“christ, bonnie.” johnny hisses through his teeth desperately as you lap leisurely at the droplet of precum beading at the slit. (and no, cupcakKe’s deepthroat does not start playing in the back of his mind. shut up.) 

you blink up at johnny in a catlike fashion. he preemptively bites down on his knuckles so he can’t make a stupid joke about the cat gettin’ the cream, eh hen? and be left, quite literally, cock in hand as you return to the table in a huff. (it’s one of the things he loves about you. you’re mercurial as sin and god knows he loves the chase.)

his heart stutters and it takes all his will power not to place his hand on the back of your head and thrust deep into the wet heat of your mouth as you slowly suck on the head of his cock. fuck, it’s not the first time you’ve dropped to your knees and sucked the soul out of him but it leaves him breathless each and every time. 

(has he mentioned he’s a very lucky man?)

“mphfuuuuckin’ hell!” he manages to swear around his fingers before remembering to pull them out of his mouth.

he doesn’t know what it is but this time something feels different. your clever tongue traces nonsensical patterns as you bob your head. it’s wet and messy, the soft skin under your lips prickling, almost as if his dick is more sensitive than usual. 

wait. 

prickling? 

“wait, bonnie - ohjesuswept - i think -” johnny swallows the low moan trying to crawl out of his chest as your head bobs lower, taking more of his cock in your mouth as you hollow your cheeks and suck. it’s a dirty trick, one that’s made him pull the trigger prematurely before. god he loves you for it, you filthy wee minx. 

(if he didn’t have a little box in his jacket pocket waiting for him back at the table he swears hand tae god that he’d propose right here right now in this tiny cubicle with the toilet paper dispenser as his witness.)

you pull off with a slick pop and wipe at your messy mouth, smearing the gloss on your lips as you do. 

“what?” you arch a brow as you fist his cock with the same hand. you know him well enough that unless he calls his safeword (children’s feet, if you’re curious) he always wants you to continue somehow. he loves riding that edge of ohgodyes and ohgodtoomuchtoomuch. 

johnny hisses as you do that clever little twist of the wrist and his dick throbs. no, not throbs, burns. (oh great, now he sounds like one of those wankers from that fucking show you like, the one with the period dresses and shagging. not that he watched it and heckled lord whatshisface’s technique as you battered him with a throw cushion.)

“seriously johnny, what?” you squeeze the base of his cock a little meanly (in his opinion) and pout. “do you want me to stop or -” 

“no, no, no. keep goin’ bonnie, please.” johnny cuts you off to beg. fuck it, he’s had worse in the field (and god knows he’s twisted enough that the whole burnin’ boaby situation is actually getting his motor running more).

you squint up at him suspiciously before shuffling on your knees slightly, getting as comfortable as you possibly can on the uneven tiled surface.

“fine, but be quick. i’m positive your mum knows what we’re up to in here.” 

johnny is pretty sure he looks like a stupid bobble head with how fervently he’s nodding but he couldn’t give a single solitary shit as you lean forward and swallow him down. (he’s not ashamed that he has to squeeze his eyes closed to stop himself from going off like a rocket. you’d given him permission to be quick but he’s still got to have a measure of pride.)

the filthy wet sounds of you gagging on his cock makes johnny’s toes curl in his shoes and he swears his hands move on their own to cup the back of your head to hold you in place. (just for a moment, he’s no’ a monster. it just feels so good.)

he feels you swallow and hears you whine through your nose. chancing a glance down, johnny groans loudly as he meets your teary eyes before he guides you off his cock so that you can suck in a grateful breath of air or two. (okay so maybe the moment was slightly longer than a moment but he challenges any man to resist.) 

you cough and splutter before you squirm in his grip. johnny loosens his hold on your head and moves one of his hands to pump his cock furiously, the ruddy tip resting on your plump (seriously, he swears it’s plumper than usual) bottom lip. 

fuck, his dick is so sensitive, burning hot under his hand – even with the rapidly cooling saliva, precum, and gloss still slicking the length of it. johnny fists his cock and shudders out a long moan as you open your mouth and stretch your tongue out to lick at him. (another dirty trick, and not one he’s shown you. he’d send flowers to the person or persons who’d taught you to flick your tongue along his frenulum if it wouldn’t be weird. ah well, maybe he’ll buy gaz a pint the next time he sees him.)

johnny knows he’s babbling utter bollocks through gritted teeth and gasping like a fish out of water as sweat beads along his hairline. he’s so fucking close to coming his brains out in this little cubicle as he gazes down at you.

you’re a fucking vision on your knees. it’s not the way you fidget slightly, pressing your thighs together hoping for friction, or even the way your mouth looks swollen and spit-and-precum-slicked that causes johnny to come with a harsh grunt onto your waiting tongue. (he’ll never admit it out loud but it’s your eyes. it’s the mischievous twinkle in your dilated pupils that tells him that you’re loving this as much as he is. his partner in crime.)

“fuckin’ hell hen, yer gonny kill me.” johnny pants as his knees wobble like a newborn foal, phosphenes blurring the self-satisfied smirk on your shiny lips when he’s finally able to focus on you. 

you lick your lips and johnny grunts as his cock gives a feeble twitch even as it softens in his grasp. hells bloody bells, his dick is still throbbing and he muffles a whimper when you lean forward to blow cool air on it. 

“jesus christ!” 

“sensitive?” you ask as you get to your feet, moving to tuck johnny back into his trousers. 

christ, the fabric of his boxers chafes something fierce. johnny’s so distracted by adjusting the front of his underwear that he almost misses the loud bangs on the cubicle door. 

“john! fer god’s sake get back oot here! yer maw’s got intae the red wine!”

johnny shoots you a panicked look and reaches over to clap his sticky palm over your mouth seconds before you burst into inappropriate laughter. your eyes light up and johnny schools his face into the one his maw used to give him when he’d tromp through the house in his mucky boots (and god isn’t that a horrible thought? he always thought when he’d get older he’d become like his auld da), a slow stern shake as you waggle your eyebrows. 

“aye, aye ‘m comin’, keep yer hair oan!” johnny calls through the door. 

“now, john!” 

you wriggle your tongue in between johnny’s fingers (gross!) and flip the lock on the cubicle door, pushing it open to saunter past his auld da with a cheerful “he’ll just be a minute!” leaving johnny to face his da with his belt still hanging loose around his hips. 

“yer flying a wee bit low there son.” johnny’s da clears his throat uncomfortably and unsubtly waves his hand towards johnny’s groin. 

“aye, cheers.” johnny mutters as his ears turn red, fumbling to zip up his flies and buckle his belt.

–

back at the table johnny fidgets uncomfortably, discreetly adjusting himself under the cloth napkin on his lap. seriously, what the fuck is going on with his dick? it feels exactly like the time he pinched his sister’s original source shower gel. or like how his lips felt after he stolen your lip gl–

johnny turns his head and squints at your lips. they’re shiny again with a fresh application of gloss. oh you wee terror. so that was the reason you didn’t argue about joining him in the toilets this time. 

johnny leans over to nuzzle at your cheek, taking a moment to murmur in your ear. 

“i ken about the gloss.” 

you pull back, those gorgeous lips of yours twitching to stop from grinning at his predicament before leaning back so that you can murmur your reply, your breath tickling the shell of his ear.

“good. oh and johnny?” 

“mm?” 

“i found the ring.” 

johnny grins so wide that his cheeks hurt. 

aye, he’s a very lucky man.

[lincolndjarin]

my way.

pairing : oberyn martell x f!reader

summary : being the prince of dorne can often be a rather stressful job, it's hard to give, and give, and give. sometimes you just need to be on the receiving end for a little while.

warnings, tags, etc : five seconds of plot to build up to a whole lot of porn, pegging (obvi), medieval strap on, glass toys, fingering, oberyn sucks the strap, allusions to other partners, referring to a dildo as a cock, multiple orgasms, overstimulation if you squint, premature ejaculation?? idk he cums fast bc i'm a sucker for that, cum play, reader has brief penis envy idk if that's the term but yeah, spit as lube bc its the olden days or whatever, anal sex, soft & loving sex, sort of a gentle dom vibe from reader, they're married <3 <3 <3, aftercare, i didn't really edit this as much as i should have (i'm sleepy) so apologies in advance

a/n : hello lovelies !!!! i am back from my little break with a little middle aged man pegging!! check out @wannab-urs who put together this entire project for a full masterlist of everyones works soon <3 apologies if i'm a little rusty i'm still getting back into my writing groove :3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Everything always has to be his way. 

If you didn’t love him so much it would probably irritate you more. And when it does bother you he always does his best to fix it but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating. Your sweet prince has always done right by you but he’s never done it your way, and when things don’t go exactly as he wants them to he becomes a real pain. 

You know it isn’t entirely his fault of course. The combination of never being told no and having to make decisions that affect the people of Dorne in real time, often leaves him stressed beyond comprehension. 

Today it seems to be particularly bad as he paces around your shared chambers. You had spent your day reading and baking bread, everything had been perfectly fine until he burst through the door, rambling about a funding dispute he’s been having with his brother for weeks now. You can tell by the glint in his eye that things clearly aren’t going his way, before you get a chance to comfort him he snaps at you. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” It’s a small critique, you have been staring at him waiting for this sort of thing, so you take control of the situation rather quickly. 

“Let me give you a chance to apologize before this becomes a fight.” You cross your arms in front of your chest. He immediately picks up on the annoyance in your voice as his features soften from anger to shame. 

“I’m sorry.” He really means it as he bows his head a bit. “It’s just- It’s been a difficult day.” He makes his way over to you, taking one of your hands, kissing your knuckles. “I’m sorry, my stars.”

“I know, my moon, it’s okay.” You move the hand he holds to his lips, cradling his face briefly as he smiles, to your dismay it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s still tense. 

“I think I’d go mad if I didn’t get to come home to you each day.” You don’t doubt that. 

“Why don’t you let me help you out a little?” You wrap your arms around him, letting your fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his neck. “Let me take care of you.” You barely speak above a whisper now as his body starts to relax in response to your touch. He walks you towards the bed until the backs of your knees hit the mattress, just as expected he immediately takes control of the situation, barely letting you get another word in as his hands slide down your waist like they’ve done countless times before except this time you catch his wrists before he can get that far. “Can you lay down for me?” The moment you ask the question he raises an eyebrow before complying, moving to sit with his back against the headboard as you go to your nightstand. 

You’ve used the toy a few times before with your other partners but as far as you know Oberyn’s never even seen it. You haven’t made any effort to hide it from him but he’s always so quick to act when it’s just the two of you, he never gives you much of a chance to do anything but take what he gives. No wonder he’s so stressed, he’s never taken a moment to just receive. 

The moment you crawl up the bed to him he’s already back on you. All teeth and hands as he pulls you against him, you have to force yourself to pull away from him though it pains you greatly. 

“Not yet- I want to try something new.” You don’t give him a chance to question as you reach across him to your nightstand. You just had a new toy made, hand blown glass, for this sort of occasion, as you toss it down next to him his eyes squint in confusion before going wide. 

“Where did you get that, my love?” His words drawl a bit, his Dornish accent hangs heavy in the air as you lift your dress over your head, tossing it aside, sitting before him completely bare as you slip into the leather straps, cinching the buckles carefully before taking the toy and holding it in one hand languidly. 

“A glass smith nearby has been more than willing to experiment with his craft for me. Is this something you’re interested in trying?” You can already tell what his answer is going to be based on his expression but you still want to hear him say it. 

“Of course, I’d try anything for you.” He purrs softly as you push him back into the pillows. You lay him back, an action he’s done to you countless times before, tugging at the cords of his robe. Between the two of you, eager to get him undressed, it only takes a moment before the fabric hits the floor. Once he’s as bare as you are you’re able to see just how much the idea thrills him as his red tipped cock slaps against his stomach. 

“Do you think you can relinquish control for just a little while, my prince?” You rake your nails against his chest lightly as he nods. “Good. I don’t want you to worry about a thing, put all your focus on taking what I give you, do you understand?” You stop your hands movement downwards right as you reach the patch of hair on his lower stomach. 

“Absolutely.” He flashes you a toothy grin and you can’t help but respond with one of your own. 

“You will do as I say then. And if I ask something of you that you do not like then you will say stop, is that clear?” You want so badly to take his cock into your hands or mouth but you’re trying to be patient as you pull your hand back. This is for his sake, not yours. 

“Perfectly clear.” His hips twitch upwards a bit, almost taunting your resolve as you press him back down into the mattress. 

“Lovely,” You hum, stroking the glass toy between your fingers before bringing it to his mouth, tapping his lips. “Open.” He complies quickly, parting his lips as you slide the tip of the toy in, reveling in his moans. He looks so… right, like this. Eyes wide and eager as his tongue laps at the cool glass, tracing the ridges, legs spread, and cock twitching in excitement. You can’t help but wonder why you didn’t do this sooner. 

You push the fake cock just a little further past his lips before letting him take hold of it, turning to other matters. 

“Warm that up please, you wouldn’t want it to be cold when I fill you up.” As you murmur those words he groans against the glass. 

Unceremoniously you spit into your hand, giddy with excitement as you nudge his legs a bit further apart. You spread the plush flesh of his ass to notch your digits at his hole, gently pushing just the tip of your pointer finger in, feeling him tighten around you with a gasp. 

“Relax, my love.” You coo, waiting until his muscles release a bit before pushing onward. This isn’t your first time doing this sort of thing of course but it is the first time he’s going to be taking something other than your fingers or tongue, so you work him open slowly. Watching the stress unravel from his body as you work in a second finger, curling and scissoring them as his back arches, cock bobbing against his stomach as his fingers grip the sheets around him. 

When he’s able to take three of your fingers you pull the toy from his mouth with a soft pop, the toy slick with spit and properly warmed easily slips into the designated slot on your harness. He watches with a palpable anticipation as you get yourself situated. When you’re ready you’re kneeling between his legs, glass cock standing proudly against your pelvis. 

“Ready?” You ask as you gently lift his legs, bringing his knees to his chest as he nods, damn near whimpering. 

You push into him, slowly, as you gauge his reaction. Usually he’s all grunts and grumbles during sex but now he’s gasps and whines. His hands clutch the pillows surrounding his head as he tries to push himself further onto the toy but the position you’ve got him in keeps him in place. 

“You want more?” There’s a mocking lilt to your voice as he nods rapidly.

“Yes- please.” He purses his lips as he whimpers and you’re more than happy to oblige, watching the sight before you as his hole swallows your cock, his own dick leaking against his stomach, begging for a release. You adjust your hips a bit, watching his back attempt to arch as you do so. “Th-there.” His voice is strained as you hit that sweet spot inside of him. Ever so gently you pull out before rocking yourself back against it. 

“There? Is that what you want?” You continue to speak in a teasing tone but you truly want to know, this is all for his sake, you want so badly to make him feel good. His cheeks are flushed, warm skin slick with sweat as he continues to nod. You repeat the motion a few more times, caught off guard when he lets out a low whine and you watch as his cock pulses, untouched, as he paints his torso. His breath catches in his throat as he does so. “Oh my, look at the mess you’ve made, and so quickly.” You drag a finger over his heaving chest, scooping up some of his spend to taste, letting the bitter sweetness coat your tongue. “You were more pent up than I thought, my love. I think you still have some stress that needs releasing.” 

“I-I’m sorry.” He stammers, looking a bit embarrassed but you immediately shake your head, leaning forward to kiss his forehead while simultaneously sinking back into him.

“Don’t apologize for feeling good, sunshine. That’s what this is all for.” You bump your nose against his, hoping to reassure him. “Do you think you could give me one more, I just want to make sure I get all the stress out.” You emphasize your words with a small push of his legs tighter against his chest, earning a soft mewl from him. 

“I can do one more.” 

“Wonderful.” You kiss his cheek before picking up the same pace you were at just moments ago. Happily watching his cock jump back to life. You take the opportunity to drag your fingers through the cum cooling on his abdomen, drawing little shapes as he begins to reach that same peak rapidly all over again. You adore the sight of your glass cock sliding in and out of him. He takes you so well, his hole fluttering as he lets you fuck him. You wish you had a real cock just so you could feel him tighten around you but this will have to do. His neglected dick continues to rest against his happy trail, desperate to be touched. This time you help him out, wrapping your hand around his cock, with a few quick pumps he’s coating his stomach in cum all over again.

It’s positively euphoric to see the prince of Dorne like this. 

Just for you. Spread before you without a care in the world, stuffed full of your cock and happy as can be.

You give him a moment to catch his breath before pulling out, peppering his cheeks with kisses before slipping out of the harness and leaving to get him some water as well as something to wipe him up with. 

You gently wipe him down with a warm washcloth, cleaning him while continuing to kiss his face as he yawns. 

“Thank you.” He mumbles, taking your face in his hands, pulling you forward for another kiss. 

“Anytime, we take care of each other, I’m just glad you’re feeling better.” You climb under the blankets with him, tangling your limbs with his as he rests his face in the crook of your neck, clearly exhausted as he falls asleep against you. You feel your own exhaustion hit, smiling to yourself as you close your eyes. You couldn’t be happier that he let you try things your way.

[inafieldofdaisies]

Happy Halloween from Calahan who is taking over the cult indefinitely (a.k.a. WIP Wednesday bcs I'm late, kinda) | "Sinners Welcome" Drabble

I had this idea floating around about doing an edit of Cal cosplaying as Joseph for Halloween, so here y'all go. I'm just so proud of it. I went as far as designing his tattoos myself as graphics to use. Below we got the story that goes with the edit, I will be posting it on AO3 soon, too. It gets nsfw towards the end because John do be sinnin'.

"Donovan.", Whitehorse called out as soon as Sabrina walked in through the door, a part of her feeling glad he was saving her from the compulsory morning small talk with Nancy. "Morning, Sheriff.", she sent him a small smile, noting the deep frown he wore for such an early hour. "Walk with me." He didn't wait for her to reply, heading towards the small kitchen in the Sheriff's Department. Silence took over as he waited for the coffee machine to grant him, if she had to guess, not his first dose of caffeine for the day. "Is everything okay?" "You're with Rookie today.", he mumbled as he took a sip from his mug, "Pratt called in sick, and I need someone to keep an eye on him." She nodded, "Fine by me." "Good, good.", his voice lowered, "To be frank, Hudson refused after hearing where they'd be headed." "Jesus, boss… you're making it sound like me and Gray are about to go to war.", Calahan poked his head into the room, lips twisting into a cheeky smile. Whitehorse's eyes narrowed as he smoothed down his mustache, "I'm more worried about you starting a war, Rookie." A snort left the younger Deputy, "Not on my to-do list, no worries." "I've heard that before.", he turned to Sabrina, "Donovan, just… try to keep him in check, will ya? Make sure he doesn't kill anyone." Calahan sent her a 'can you believe this guy' look over their boss' shoulder, "Will do." Whitehorse sighed, "The last thing I need is John Seed showing up out front, and makin' demands again. Am I clear, Rookie? Stay out of trouble." "As clear as this fine morning, sir.", the words were paired with a dramatic salute. "It's fucking overcast today, Rookie."

Sabrina bit back a laugh as he made a hasty escape before Calahan could raise his blood presure even more than he already had. "Kid." "What?", to an outsider the innocent look in Hartley's eyes would have been convincing enough, but by then she knew better, especially with the overall satisfied demeanor he had going on even after being prematurely scolded by Whitehorse. "Where are we going?" The smile that took over his face promised trouble, "Payin' good old Joe a visit." It's all he provided as an explanation before he spun on his heel and gestured for her to follow him. "I didn't get a coffee." There was an extra bounce to his step, strange giddiness, and he didn't even bother to stop when he muttered, "Already on it, Gray. It's waiting for you in the car. Chop-chop."

Minutes later, they were pulling at Joseph's Compound, the music Calahan had playing in the cruiser drawing the attention of the two Eden's Gate members manning the front gates to it. The fact they rested their hands on their holsters as he shut off the ignition wasn't lost on Sabrina. "Cal?" By the looks of it, he wasn't sharing her concerns about things going sideways on trigger-happy Peggie territory, "Yeah?" "Try not to make them angry… for me?" He ran a hand through his dirty blond hair before nodding quickly, "I will try my best, partner." She knew it was all she could really get from him as a promise, especially considering his previous run-ins with Joseph's men. There was a reason why Hudson had refused to tag along with him for the day - avoiding paperwork or having to talk him down from the edge. Chances were, their routine visit could result in a fight breaking out, punches being thrown or worse. Sabrina exited the car, following Hartley towards the entrance of the Compound as he strutted like he had no care in the world, headed straight for the cultists.

"Joseph called us in.", he announced and crossed his hands over his chest, regarding both men with a bored expression. "Morning.", she added, refusing to buckle under the scrutiny that somehow had ended up on her instead of Calahan. "Ask for Mercy.", one of the bearded men grumbled out, dark eyes revealing little as he extended his hand to point down the road behind him. "Well, that didn't sound menacing at all.", Sabrina remarked under her breath as she and Hartley followed the muddy path surrounded by fences on both sides on foot, and judging by how trodden it was, large processions from and to sermons weren't uncommon. The observation was just another awful reminder of how big of an influence the cult had, how many it had sucked in with its practices and empty promises. "Fucking weirdos. There better be a woman named Mercy waitin' or I'm-"

"You promised to stay calm.", she reminded him, gaze trained ahead in anticipation of anything malicious after the man's cryptic words, "I take it that you don't know who we're looking for?" Calahan snorted, "Not like I and Joseph's many wives hang out at the same spots. Hell, most of them don't even dare to look me in the eye, let alone come near me, like I'd seduce them just by breathing in their vicinity." "Rubbin' off your sin on them?", she asked jokingly. "Sins. Plural. I contain multitudes, Gray." Sabrina could feel everyone staring as two advanced ahead, a couple of houses and other small buildings coming into view, with a church towering over in the distance. There was a decent crowd around the spacious property despite the early hour. Men and women all dressed alike - in worn-out clothes bearing the symbol of their leader, the red Eden's Gate cross in stark contrast with their muted appearances. In the sea of beige and wary faces something captured her attention - a woman in a white vintage looking dress moved with conviction, but instead of coming to them and sparing them the hassle of looking for 'Mercy', she aimed for a redheaded man Sabrina had only seen on printed materials of the cult.

"That one, I know,", Calahan nodded towards him, coming to an abrupt stop and leaning in to whisper, "Jacob Seed, grumpy son of a bitch. Last person, I'd ask for directions, though." Without doubt, the oldest Seed did have a serious, over-disciplined aura about him, far different from the easy-going, dangerously charming act John put on in his attempts at recruiting new people for his brother's Project. Sabrina bit her lip as the woman with curly blonde hair tilted her head to look up at the man towering several inches over her, her demeanor relaxed in spite of the way Jacob was regarding her - like he wanted nothing to do with the interaction. As if he could sense the two sets of eyes watching them, his icy stare shifted from her to the Deputies standing a couple of feet away before he said something quietly and nodded in their direction. "Good morning, Jakey.", Calahan raised his hand in a mock wave, and the Seed brother sent him a frown before heading off the way the woman had come from without returning his greeting.

At the same time, she progressed forward, a friendly grin brightening her features as she came to a halt in front of Hartley, definitely not keeping a purposeful distance like the rest of Joseph's followers, "Deputies." He appeared completely taken aback by the bold move, especially with her deep brown eyes set on him. In ways she couldn't fault him, he had a weak spot for women, even more when he became their sole focus. Sabrina was the first to speak, "We were told to ask for Mercy." "That would be me. Mercedes Sibley. If you would follow me…", she spun around with that, uttering quiet hellos to people and leading them past the church where a house resided spaced out from the rest marked with phrases in latin. Sins, to be exact. Nothing was written above the doorway of this one, Sabrina realized. Mercedes pushed the door to the house open with her and Hartley close on her heels.

She wasn't sure what to expect from what she deemed as the home of a cult leader - somehow the plain walls in need of repaint adorned by a couple of portraits and newspaper clippings felt mundane, too normal. The short hallway led into an ordinary looking living room, where Mercedes made a right turn towards one of the open doorways, announcing in a far gentler voice as she reached it and moved aside so they can pass through first, "The Deputies are here, Father." Joseph Seed, the man that had built a giant statue of himself and pronounced himself as God's mouthpiece, sat in one of the chairs at that small kitchen table while his older brother stood nearby as if on guard duty. The gun and knife holster strapped to his tight certainly hinted at that. "Good morning, my name is Deputy Donovan, my colleague and I are here on a call.", Sabrina explained while Calahan remained silent, an unreadable expression coming over his features when his blue eyes set on the 'Father'.

"Shouldn't we call John, let him handle things?", Jacob grunted out, pretending like they weren't even in the room as Mercedes moved past him and resumed a position behind his brother. To Calahan's credit, he made none of the expected remarks, his serious demeanor beginning to worry Sabrina to an extent. "Somebody broke in, brother.", Mercedes glanced in the oldest Seed's direction, his gaze narrowing at the last word she had said in a sickly sweet tone, "Does it make sense to call in an attorney for that?" Joseph's eyes bounced between the Deputies, finally coming to rest on Hartley's, "Sit, Mercy, my child. There's no need to call John at the moment." Mercedes complied by slipping into the chair next to his, silently hinting for Sabrina to do the same. She cleared her throat, settling into her seat across from the woman before pulling out her report notebook and laying it down on the table, "How about we start from the beginning then?"

Calahan loomed behind her, hand grasping the back of her chair, standing watch just like Jacob was for his brother. Joseph pushed his sunglasses up his nose before leaning forward, hands clasped in front of him, "I went to bed last night, and nothing was out of place. After waking up this morning, I noticed a couple of things were missing." Sabrina noted his words down, tapping her pen on the page, trying to avoid any unnecessary eye contact, "Things as in?" She couldn't imagine how stuffy the room would feel if John had been there too to make demands, possess the conversation. How fully outnumbered they'd be then. "Personal belongings.", Jacob cut in. "We would need a list of anything that's been taken, Mr. Seed.", Sabrina sent him a quick glance, just in time to catch his eyes darting to Mercedes. Interesting. "My old Bible,", Joseph began, lips pursed in disdain, "an engraved belt, a black custom blazer and… my rosary. I believe that's all."

"Okay.", it was a strange list of items to be stolen, but Sabrina didn't say anything as she jotted down each item, "Any sign of forced entry, or better yet, can we take a look around ourselves?" "I still think we should call John.", Jacob grumbled out again, making Mercedes sigh quietly. "He doesn't lock any of the doors.", she said eventually. Calahan snorted at that, whatever energy for acting decent running its course, "So, the perp just… entered?" "Which is still a crime, is it not?", Mercedes asked slowly. "Technically, yes.", he chuckled, "But, Father here is making it a hundred times easier on thieves. So frankly, anyone living on the property could be a suspect. He's lucky nobody has done other serious crimes upon his person while he sleeps. A slit throat for example." "I trust my children, they would never steal from me, let alone hurt me.", Joseph argued. "Do you, now?", Calahan's voice took an edge, "Can they say the same about you, Father?"

"So much darkness,", the Father's eyes rose up to look over Sabrina's shoulder, "is trapped within you, child, looking for a way out. My family could help you, set you free from it." "I'd take no help from a man that doesn't even know how to protect his own home. If I were you, I'd worry more about the thief lurking amongst your people instead of my poor blackened soul… after all, stealing is a sin, is it not?" Jacob came closer, "It was an outsider, we are certain of it. So just do your job and find them." Sabrina nodded as she closed her notebook, "We will take a look around then." Mercedes rose up with that, "I can show you two-" "Sit down, Mercedes.", annoyance seeped into the command as Jacob strode past the table and out of the kitchen, calling out for Sabrina to follow him. He pointed at each door that led outside, the old floorboards groaning beneath his feet at almost every step he took. Calahan stayed behind in the kitchen doorway as she took notes, leaving her to ask questions and navigate the hostile waters.

"Your brother sleeps where?" His chin lifted up towards a doorway that led out of the living room, "Down that hall." "Heavy or light sleeper?" Jacob crossed his hands over his chest, impatience oozing from his body language, "How is this relevant?" "Considering I'm trying to determine most likely point of entry… it would be helpful. If you have better things to do, Mr. Seed, I'm sure Ms. Sibley won't mind taking it from here." His jaw ticked at the suggestion, "Light." Sabrina focus zeroed on the backdoor, and she walked back and forth a couple of times while scanning for any potential evidence the thief might have left behind, "Would you mind…" "I mind." It took a lot of willpower for her to not roll her eyes, reminding herself the quicker they wrap up the report, the sooner her and Calahan would be rid of dealing with the Seeds.

"It would be helpful if somebody with different stature-" Jacob repeated her movements before she could finish her sentence, then turned back to her with a 'are you happy now?' expression. "Thank you.", she lifted her attention from her notebook, making sure to pick her next words carefully, "Your brother claims the perp entered the house during the night while he was asleep." At his nod she continued, "And his floors aren't exactly-" His icy blue gaze narrowed at that, "What's your point, Deputy Donovan?" "I assume the items were in the room where he sleeps?" "Yes.", a hand scratched his bearded cheek. "And he didn't hear anything?" "Are you accusing my brother of lying?" It was at that point she began to wonder if John in fact had been around, he would have been easier to deal with, or he would have ended up avoiding answering her questions even more, especially with how cagey Jacob acted, like she wasn't there to help, but rather arrest Joseph.

"I'm not accusing Mr. Seed of anything. In an investigation every bit of information is useful, no matter how small or insignificant it might seem. You called us, I'm just trying to do my job here." "Mercedes called you. I had nothing to do with this.", he corrected her coldly. Sabrina spared a quick look in Calahan's direction, finding him watching the two silently with a dark smirk from his previous spot, before she pulled the door leading out of the back of the house open. Her eyes remained casted downward, and she could feel Jacob standing close as he peeked over her shoulder at what had captured her interest. "Do many visitors use this door usually?" "No." At his confirmation, she crouched down, taking a picture of a fresh footprint left in the mud and measuring it with her hand roughly, she hushed the part of her telling her the size of the shoes the thief wore seemed to match Calahan's.

"So this is the point of entry?", he inquired for once as she got back up. "It would seem so.", she pocketed her notebook, "Anything of significance back there?" "That way leads off the property." Sabrina carefully avoided stepping over the only evidence left behind, her sights set on examining the path the perp had most likely took after snatching Joseph's belongings. "I will need to take a look then.", she didn't expect for the oldest Seed to follow, but he did, the crunch of leaves and twigs signaling his steady pace behind her. The silence only broken by the occasional chirping of birds around them was unnerving, even more paired with the fact she was being shadowed by an armed individual who wasn't exactly keen on her and Calahan's presence at his brother's Compound. Yet she refused to allow him the satisfaction of knowing he was making her uncomfortable, she had no doubt he would enjoy every second of it.

"I haven't seen you around before.", Jacob mumbled in an even tone as she advanced forward, watching her every step carefully as the path pretty much disappeared into an overgrown grass. If it was anyone else, his attempt at small talk would have made her smile, she'd probably would have tried to ease the person's unease at it, instead she kept her answer as short as possible, the same way he had before, "You folks don't exactly have a habit of asking for our help." A noise of agreement left him at the same time her boot caught on what she guessed was an exposed tree root, making her trip as she navigated the terrain soaked by the rain from the night prior. The dreaded faceplant never came thanks to the hand that wrapped around her upper arm and steadied her, followed by a dark chuckle. "Careful now, Sabrina." The fact he knew her first name despite remarking how he'd never seen her before was a red flag on its own and confirmed he knew more than he let on, the choice of using it at that exact moment though, was what gave her pause.

She held his stare in defiance before shaking off his hold, "I can handle myself." The bored expression swooped back in place as he lifted his shoulder, "Be my guest." Sabrina covered the remaining distance to the property line in a rush, worrying about what would await her upon returning to the house, if Calahan would have managed to keep his cool as promised. To her relief Jacob settled for keeping any further comments to himself, trekking a few feet away behind her until they reached the fence that was meant to keep intruders out. Or members trying to flee, in… A well-thought cut in the chainlink greeted them. The sought after point of entry and escape. "You're better at this than expected.", he remarked quietly, pulling at the fence as his face scrunched up into a frown. Sabrina pursed her lips at the offhand compliment before snapping a couple of pictures, "Not sure if I should say thank you or feel insulted."

All she got as reply was an unreadable look before he let go of the mesh the thief had snipped at to gain entry on the cult's land. "So perp goes through all this trouble, risks getting caught by your brother… for a belt, blazer and old bible?" "Locals have been know to do far stranger things to Eden's Gate property." "Still… are you certain nothing else is missing? Anything beside your patience, that is.", the last part she uttered out in a low voice, but judging by his reaction he heard it. All she could describe him as was appearing insulted at the bold but very true observation, "I'm absolutely patient." She raised an eyebrow and set off towards the way they came from, "Sure." "Far more patient than your partner back there.", the 'partner' part he said as an insult, clearly thinking as highly of Calahan as the young Deputy did of him. Just when she was convinced he would slip back into avoiding conversation, he spoke up again, hesitation lurking behind his words, "Do you think he was lying?"

It was quite obvious who he meant, still she settled for a simple, "Who?" "Joseph." "About which part?" The idea anyone, let alone someone so close to the Father was questioning something he claimed had happened, was certainly an unexpected outcome. By then Jacob had caught up, falling into step beside her, "Being asleep. Considering you were a detective…" "You read my records or something, Mr. Seed?" "Something like that." Sabrina sneaked a fleeting glance in his direction, "You actually want my professional opinion or is this some tactic you picked up from John?" "I want the truth." A sigh broke free as her eyes came to rest on the house that was drawing closer and closer, "Well, do you think your brother would sleep through a person entering his home, no, worse, his bedroom… rummaging through the space in the dark for the items while leaving no traces behind?"

"It was a compliment.", he muttered when they reached the backyard and he pushed his way inside first, his stony demeanor returning at once. Whatever doubts were plaguing him were none of her business, her sole focus as she followed in his wake was making sure Hartley was okay and staying true to his promise of peace. "Cal." Calahan had hardly moved from where she had left him and he gave her a puzzled look before asking, "We done here?" "I need like 5 minutes.", her smile was forced when she entered the kitchen where only Mercedes was still seated, while Joseph and Jacob were nowhere to be found. "He won't be pressing any charges…" Sabrina shifted in place, "We haven't established any suspects yet, Ms. Sibley." "I'm just saving you time, Deputy.", the blonde got up with that, smoothing down her dress, "John has decided to take it from here, figure out who's done it and make sure the incident doesn't repeat."

"You heard her, Gray.", Calahan added behind her, "We're off then, miss." He sent Mercedes one of his signature winks before storming out of the house, and to her credit she appeared completely unfazed in comparison to the usual response he got from women, "I will see you out." Sabrina nodded and set out after her, meeting up with Hartley who was waiting for her outside by the entrance. With a final wave from the woman, the two were off on their way back to their cruiser, quickly becoming the center of attention once more. A couple of feet down the dirt path she spotted another familiar face that stared at her anytime she would turn on her TV or drive through town. The man that had decided to take over the 'investigation', believing he was more capable. John was engaged in a hushed conversation with Jacob, pausing whatever he was saying to steal a look at her.

"I feel like we're animals in a zoo." Calahan let out a chuckle, "Sadly no petting, though. Speaking off…" To her horror, his voice rose as they passed the two Seed brothers, drawing in even more eyes to them. "Anyone feelin' like sinnin' tonight?", he hollered cheerfully, "Halloween party at the Spread Eagle. Girls, I'd even buy you a drink. Dancing's on the menu, too, followed by other activities if you're lucky." The dark expression that came over John's face was enough for her hands to wrap around his arm and squeeze his bicep in a warning as she whispered under her breath, "You promised to behave." "I behaved plenty.", his smirk was full of pride, "Plus, look at Johnny, I'm pretty certain I saw a vein in his forehead pop, I need to get closer to see-" She ushered him along, knowing things were bound to end well if he and John were to butt heads right then and there, "Follow the path, kid." To the youngest Seed credit, he refrained from giving them a piece of his mind, and Sabrina wasn't sure if it was thanks to the crows and his brother watching his every move or because he was planning another appearance in front of the Sheriff's and making Whitehorse's day hell.

"Do you think I'd get lots of candy, Rin-Rin?", Savannah asked with an excited smile as she peeked over the back of the couch. Sabrina sank in the empty space next to her, and her sister snuggled into her embrace, "Even if you don't.", her voice lowered like she was about to share a little secret, "I hid a stash for you someplace in the house." Excitement shone in her green eyes, "My favorite candy?" "Of course, pumpkin." "You know, bats use echolocation to find their food?" Sabrina released a chuckle,  "Then it's even more fitting." A knock sounded, making her rise up from her seat, curiosity swooping at who was stopping by when Ms. Darcy wasn't meant to be there for a good couple of hours. She swung the door open, finding Calahan leaning against the doorframe with one of his usual grins, a black duffel bag hanging off his shoulder, a familiar pair of yellow tinted shades covering his eyes.

"Hey." "Kid?, she gave him a confused look as he pushed his way inside, "I thought we were meeting at the bar?" "Tiny!", he greeted Savannah, and before he could blink, a blur of red curls was rushing at him, and he scooped her sister up like she weighted nothing. "Uncle Cal,", small hands came to rest on his shoulders, as her mood brightened even more at the surprise visit, "did you come to see my costume?" "Of course, Sav. You're going to be the cutest bat." He lowered her back onto the ground, turning to Sabrina with a determined expression, "Speaking of costumes, Gray…" There was twinkle in his baby blues as he regarded her, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was just as excited for the holiday as Savannah. "You're yet to tell me what you're even going as.", she raised an eyebrow in a question, having no idea what he would actually pick. His lips twisted into a smirk, "A beloved character, if you will."

"Oh?" "And I kind of need your help… seeing how you're the one with artistic skills, especially compared to little old me." Sabrina nodded, "What are we talking?" Calahan's response was to chuck the duffel bag at her, and she caught it swiftly before dropping it on the floor and unzipping it to see what he had brought along as materials. Her hands lifted a pair of dark gray jeans that laid on top, covering the rest of the items inside, and she needed a moment to process what she was staring at. A belt engraved with the Eden's Gate cross. A black blazer. A well-worn bible that looked like it was close to falling apart. No, not a bible, rather than a Joseph's version of it. A rosary was at the bottom, confirming her suspicions further. "Calahan.", Sabrina muttered in disbelief as her gaze rose up to his, registering the sheepish expression he wore at the discovery.

"Yeah?" "It was you." "No comment." "I-", she shook her head, "I have no idea what to say." "Say you will help me by drawing a couple of tattoos for me?", he paired the words with puppy dog eyes for good measure. "Jesus, Cal." "You're in troubleeee.", Savannah giggled behind him, completely oblivious to the fact her beloved uncle had committed a crime, broke the law when he was supposed to enforce it. "Pretty, please?", his voice dipped, "I went through so much s-", he stopped himself before a curse slipped out, "stuff to get them… I'd draw the tats myself, but well… angles aren't exactly friend, and I feel like this look deserves more, you know?" "And Whitehorse?" "You heard Mercy, there's no case for us to worry about. Joseph can, uh, fluff off." Sabrina sighed, "I can't believe this."

He shimmied towards her to pick up the bag, "That a yes?" "I-" "Say yes. I knoooow, wrong brother.", he tried mimicking John's usual tone from his broadcasts, successfully making her laugh as her frown melted away. "You're going to owe me one." Calahan made a cross over his heart, "Goes without sayin'." She took a deep breath before pointing at the hallway that led upstairs, "Bedroom then, I will be right up." "Not something I expected to hear from you.", he wiggled his eyebrows before disappearing up the stairs. "Sav, I will help uncle Cal with his costume for the party, I won't be long, okay?" Her sister nodded excitedly, a rush coursing through her system like she had already gone through the candy reserve hidden for her, "I can't wait to see his." Sabrina winced at the idea Calahan most likely planned on going shirtless that evening and showing off as much as he could, "Behave while I'm gone, okay? If you need anything, just holler." "Okay.", Savannah's attention shifted back to the TV, and Sabrina rushed out of the living room and towards her bedroom.

Hartley had made himself at home in one of her armchairs, jumping to his feet as soon as she came into view. "Ready?" Sabrina rubbed her forehead as she rummaged through the drawer that held all body paints she had left from previous Halloweens, "Don't expect miracles." "Want to see my sharpie rendition of Joe's tattoos? Then we can talk about failures.", he asked before lifting his shirt over his head, "I showered before coming over, by the way." Sabrina gestured to the chair in front of her vanity as she selected what brushes she might need, "You're a lot, you know that?" "Just try not to fall in love.", Hartley added jokingly as he shuffled over, muscles flexing as he sat down in his designated spot. "That won't be an issue." Her disbelief made him laugh out loud before he muttered, "It's a thing. Like for real." "Then maybe Mary May would tonight?"

"Doubtful.", his tone became sober for a second, regret swooping in, then another grin erased his scowl, "I found you pictures." Sabrina released a dramatic sigh of relief, "Good, because it ain't like I've seen Joseph naked, so you'd be getting generic tattoos without references. You're lucky you're not getting prison ones, consider you committed a crime last night." "Pfft, he has extras of everything I took. The only reason he called us in was because he couldn't believe someone had the guts to enter his actual house." She didn't bother to point out the bible looked treasured, somewhat irreplaceable based on its state. The fact Joseph might value the items wasn't going to change Hartley's mind and make him return what he stole, not even because of the risk he might get into trouble with Whitehorse, but simply for the idea he refused to bow down to any of the Seeds. He pulled out his phone, presenting a couple of shots from sermons the Project no doubt used to promote themselves.

"You know, for a cult that hates technology and sinning, they sure are relying hard on both to lure people in…", Sabrina uttered out, beginning with a crudely done, faded reddish tattoo on his right clavicle, spelling 'Sloth'. Calahan snorted, "Have you seen John? Fucker is the very definition of honey trap, then you have Faith… Hell, the little lady from this morning certainly was one too." "Both brothers were acting strange around her." "Jacob?", he huffed at the idea, "Ain't no way. John, I can picture being frustrated as fuck and losing his mind at the fact his brother banned sex." "Whatever you say." "All that talk of sin, like come on.", he argued, "Folks are talkin' about him and his life before the Project…" "I suspect I don't wanna know." His grin remained in place, fully fueled by the fact he was getting what he wanted while gossiping about the family that was a thorn in the County's side, "Oakley and I made a bet after hearin' some interesting things from Addie. $50 says he has a sex room at the ranch Joe knows nothing about."

"And how exactly would you confirm that?", Sabrina's next step was painting a black-and-white crown adorned by the cult's cross and to Calahan's credit, even with all the unleashed energy within him, he remained seated without fidgeting too much. "No clue.", he began slowly, sounding like he was actually considering the idea, "I ain't takin' one for the team, that's for sure. No idea who would and how successful they'd be, either." "That would be a sacrifice." Hartley groaned at that, "He most definitely chants 'Yes' over and over as he comes. Guaranteed. Can you imagine it? I can't picture sentencing anyone to that torture." "I'd rather not. Sit still,", she warned as she began working on another tattoo, "Can we change the subject?" "What? Johnny fuckin' ain't your cup of tea? Because I have more thoughts on the matter." "You're on thin ice, kid." "Fine, fine.", he rolled his eyes, "He stopped by the station, you know… To his shit luck, Whitehorse had left already, almost caused him to have a meltdown before his actual scheduled meltdown."

"What about?" A laugh rumbled his chest despite her previous warning, gaze filling with a prideful gleam, "Me inviting his precious members to party at Mary May's. How I was spreadin' my sinful ideas without any shame. Told him, I'd be spreading more than ideas tonight and flipped him off before I left." "Jesus." "He's probably complaining to him still. 'That sinner, how dare he! And why can't I have some, too, God?'", he went for another attempt at imitating John's way of speaking. The next tattoo that spelled 'Lust' had quite the unfortunate placement, making Sabrina back away to examine her work up until that point. "Abs are next. It might be too far, even for us." He didn't appear bothered by the idea at all when he rose up to give her better access, "Yes, m'am. Paint me like your local cult leader, not one of your french girls."

"Hilarious.", she shook her head at his amusement, "When I woke up today, the last thing I imagined having to get close and personal with your lower regions." "Oh, come on. There are worse views. Plus, I'm wearing pants, you ain't even getting the full Hartley tour." "I guess that's true.", a real tattoo above his left hip drew her attention despite trying to remain focused on her task, and a giggle broke free as she made out what it said in a convoluted font, "Cal?" "Gray?", he mimicked her intonation, eyes meeting hers. "Does this spell what I think it does?" "Oh, yeah." It took a lot for her to keep her balance or her hand steady as another laugh made it past her lips, "But, but… why?" He shrugged, "Because it's the truth. And fyi, this isn't what I usually get from girls, you're kinda bruising my ego." "I mean, it does match Joseph's 'Lust', if nothing else."

"Fucking hypocrite.", he muttered out loud as Sabrina made a sign for him to spin around with her finger and sit down again as she moved onto his back. "I did get a feeling he wasn't being truthful about his whereabouts when 'the thief' broke in." "Entered, all that was missing was a 'Welcome, come on in, Cal' sign'.", he corrected her, "It was the middle of the night, and the house was empty, Gray. He was lying through his teeth to you, and to his brother." "I figured as much." "Speaking of…", another sin that in the reference image looked like it was inked on by a child adorned Calahan's skin, "How was trekking on your own with Jacob? Not many would dare go off with him." "Not like I asked him to come.", she explained slowly, her mind drifting back to their interaction, his cryptic words, and strange behavior. The fact she was avoiding answering the question wasn't lost on him, "Well? I'm waiting."

"Like pulling teeth, no idea why he even volunteered to tag along when the whole time he was rushing to get me out of his hair as soon as possible." Calahan scratched at his stubble, "I can make a good guess, but you won't like my theory." "I suspect as much." "I will keep it to myself then." "A first." "You're welcome, it physically hurts me to hold in my jokes sometimes." A couple of minutes later, most of the simple tattoos she could copy to bring Calahan's planned look together were done. "Damn.", he exlaimed as he examined himself in the full-length mirror in her bedroom, twisting as much as he could so he could see his back as well, "I knew I shouldn't have attempted to do these myself." Sabrina laughed, "That would have been a look." "Thank you, Gray.", Hartley gave her a half-hug, staying mindful of smudging his temporary ink, "Now Whitehorse's inevitable lecture would be worth it, truly."

"I'm honestly surprised you didn't steal Joseph's underwear, commit to the bit all the way through." A snort left him, "Please, I have my limits. Glasses are a little gift from Addie and exhibit A to him not telling the truth, because I so would have snatched his sunnies, too. The jeans are mine.", a shudder racked his body, "For all I know Joe likes going commando." "Thanks for the visual." Calahan feigned a bow, "I live to serve. Or to scar people, depending on the occasion." "I need to help Sav get into her costume, I promised to take her trick-or-treating before the party." "Ah, man, I'm tempted to tag along. Think people will give me candy?", he plopped down onto her bed with a dreamy sigh. "Considering your persistence and charm, I'd guess yes. But…" "But what?" Sabrina pursed her lips, "It might be best to stay back, minimize how many people would see you before it's even showtime. Word's bound to get to John or Joseph himself."

"True.", he nodded, "Mind if I stick around, then we can leave together?" "Of course. And if you're good, you might even get some candy from Sav's reserve. Relive your childhood to the fullest before getting the adult version of Halloween." His eyes lit up at that, "You got yourself a deal." "Just avoid making Ms. Darcy shoot you by mistake if she gets here while we're gone."

After taking Savannah out to show off her bat costume she had personally worked on in making what she called 'more realistic' and returning with enough candy that her back-up stash had become unnecessary and was gifted to Calahan, Sabrina bid her and Ms. Darcy goodbye for the evening. The latter had joked how she wouldn't mind Eden's Gate if the younger Deputy was in charge. "First thing, Darce asked me was if I had forgotten my shirt,", Hartley smoothed down the stolen blazer that no doubt would come off eventually and was the only thing he wore to cover his bare chest, "and how at least I had something on to not catch my death in the cold." "She's too cute sometimes.", Sabrina retorted as she got into her Bronco and buckled in. "Yeah, reminds me of my Nana, but…", he wiggled his eyebrows, dropping Joseph's bible and rosary in his lap before he leaned back into his seat and added, "then she told me how the ladies would sure appreciate the view."

Their laughter filled the truck as she pulled out of her driveway, an advertisement about the party at the Spread Eagle coming on the local radio station she usually had playing. "Sinners welcome." closed the message, and Calahan gave Sabrina a wink when she snuck a quick look in his direction. "Yes, it was my idea. A little fuck you to John." "Mary May's paying you for those gems or?" He chuckled, "I suggested she could also use me as a model, do some shots with my renditions of the Seed brothers." "Oh my god." "She shot the idea down, sadly. Maybe next Halloween.", he drummed his hands on the dashboard, "Good news is I'm getting free drinks tonight as a thank you for helping her decorate and set shit up." "You plan on finally doing something about your crush tonight?" "What crush?" "Very funny." "Speaking of getting laid… want me to be your wingman?" Her nose wrinkled at the offer, "I'd pass on that."

"I'm like the best wingman you can have, just saying." She pulled into one of the empty parking spots across the Spread Eagle, "I'm not sleeping with anyone tonight, Calahan." Hartley jumped off the truck, bible in one hand, while the other had the rosary wrapped around his palm a couple of times. He leaned against the door, thankfully lowering his voice so the other patrons that were pilling to go inside the bar wouldn't overhear him, "If you do change your mind, just say the word. I'm going to find you someone worthy. A stallion to ride." She let out a groan as she rested her forehead against the steering wheel, "Please don't ever say that again." His laughter followed her as she got out too and locked her doors, his arm swinging over her shoulders as the two walked towards the entrance of the Spread Eagle. Loud music and chatter filled the space as the Deputies pushed their way inside. Mary May was practically swimming in drink orders to a point she didn't even notice Calahan sneaking behind the bar to envelop her in a bear hug.

The blonde's confusion quickly dissipated as she shook off his hold, still not taking a good look at his costume, "Rookie, keep that up and you will be stuck behind the bar the whole night. Helpin', not partying." "You're no fun.", Calahan complained as he heaved himself over the counter instead of taking the long route, winning another curse from Mary May followed by her eyes widening when she finally noticed his attire. He leaned against the bar counter as she slid a drink his way, "Do you like my costume, gorgeous?" "Where the fuck did you even find…", she shook her head, but a smile played across her lips. "I plead the fifth." "Brin,", her attention shifted to Sabrina, slipping back into bartender mode, "What are you drinkin'?" "I'm his DD tonight." "So nothing new?" She shrugged as Calahan downed his first glass for the night. "I'm gonna make you something delicious." "Thank you, M."

He shuffled closer, whispering in her ear over the music, "I will be right back, have to greet my Pyrobros. Do some rounds, recruit people for my newly founded cult." Before she could even respond, he strutted over to Hurk, Sharky, and a couple of other locals that were standing around one of the tables at the far end of the bar. "So, if Rookie's Joseph…", Mary May returned to her after serving a couple of newcomers, "I guess you're going for John? If you do need a Jacob-" Sabrina's confused frown cut her off, "I'm not wearing a costume, I thought those were optional." "No?" Blue eyes ran over her blue button-up she had left mostly unbottoned after leaving her jacket in her car. "Nope. Does it look like it?" "I mean, paired with him,", Mary May's head cocked in Calahan's direction, "I'd say yes. No pun intended." A drink was placed in front of her, and she took a sip, sweetness hitting her taste buds, "I love this one."

"Yeah?", pride shone in the blonde's gaze before it shifted to the far end of the counter to a figure sitting next to the wall, bathed in shadows, "Anyways, I was gonna suggest Lizzie over there being your Jacob." It was rare anyone called Oakley Moore Lizzie, most folks weren't bold enough to engage in a conversation with the woman, let alone use a nickname she considered forbidden. "Oaks.", Mary May called out to her, gesturing for her to come closer. Seconds ticked by before Oakley switched seats, shoulders bumping with Sabrina's as her pale gaze settled on her. It's what she considered a proper greeting that was usually confused with her being hostile and granted, most of the time, she wasn't one for tolerating small talk. "Brin." "How's Betty?" Warmth melted away the iciness in her eyes at the mention of her grandmother, "You know Nana, refuses to sit down. And is now forcing me to socialize after Cal mentioned the goddamned party. I was planning on going hunting."

Cheers and whistling drowned out her response as Calahan did a victory spin for the crowd gathered inside, spreading his hands in the air the same way Joseph did and exclaiming, "The Father? I prefer Daddy, my children. Sin tonight… make me proud!" "He's something else.", Oakley commented with a smirk as she downed her whiskey, nodding past Sabrina, "Did he actually go through with 'borrowing JoeJoe's things'?" "Unfortunately. We got a call about it this morning." The news ripped a laugh out of Moore, another rarety, "Even his ratty bible?" The stolen bible lay discarded next to Sabrina, and she moved it out of the way of whoever wanted to occupy the empty chair to her left, mindlessly flipping through it until something caught her eye. A picture was nestled between the pages, its corners frayed like it had been touched many times. "What the-", the question drew Mary May's attention, and she leaned over to peek at what she was holding. "Ask for Mercy." The woman they had met that morning stared back at her in the photograph, smiling, wearing another similar white dress. "Well, fuck me.", Oakley uttered under her breath as she too huddled closer to examine the find, "JoeJoe has a dirty little secret?"

"Ah, man, you nailed the Joe-bro look, I swear.", Hurk raised his beer to Calahan for a toast just as a slender hand came to rest on his elbow. "Hello.", a petite blonde dressed as a fairy he hadn't seen around before greeted him with a shy smile, eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks while she ogled his bare chest that was covered in temporary tattoos. The ladies sure appreciate it. Thanks, Gray. "Calahan.", he reached out his hand, giving her one of his signature grins, "And you are, beautiful?" A giggle left her as her palm touched his, "Cheyenne, but friends call me Cherry." "Cherries are my favorite.", he replied as he leaned in closer and straightened the dainty wings she had strapped around her shoulders, "You gonna dance with me, Cherry?" "I'd love to."

A song faded into another with Cheyenne melting further into him, her flowery perfume invading his senses while he wished he was dancing with somebody else. The same somebody that was currently not so secretly shooting daggers in his direction. Mary May was certainly not appreciating the view as she poured a drink to Grace Armstrong and then moved onto another customer. "You want a drink or something, baby?", Cherry's voice pulled him out of his staring, and he forced his attention back to her, offering her a carefree smile. "I have everything I need right here." Her hands traced his pecks before encircling his neck, her body moving to the rhythm as she pressed it closer to his on the small dancefloor. His head dipped at the telltale signs while she rose on the tiptoes to meet him halfway, their lips locking and for a second, he could pretend he wasn't kissing a stranger he just met.

It was even easier when they were blondes, yet those nights stung even more afterward. A coy smile took over Cheyenne when she leaned back, her lipstick smudged slightly, "Feelin' like going someplace more private?" Before he had a chance to respond, the door to the Spread Eagle flew open with such force it banged into the wall. The noise cut through the music and murmurs of the crowd, followed by a booming voice. Or what John considered booming voice that Calahan rather described as irritated child on the verge of a meltdown. "CALAHAN HARTLEY." The grin on his face didn't melt away at his name being called, instead, he pretended nothing had happened, forcing John to strain his vocal chords some more. Even his own mother hadn't ever called his name that way, no matter how much trouble he had been in. By the youngest Seed's tone, Calahan could guess he had somehow seen one of the many pictures and videos patrons had taken with him in Joseph's attire.

"I will be right back, beautiful.", he assured Cherry before sneaking out of her embrace and facing John with a wide smile, mimicking the pose his brother loved so much. "JOHNNYYY!", he hollered back, his night getting even better when the man's face twisted in rage at the sight of him, "I knew you would be tempted to come."

Sabrina spun around in her chair as a loud bang cut through the usual chatter around them, horror gripping her as John Seed marched through the entrance of the bar like he owned the place. His voice, or rather the way he screamed Calahan's name, promised trouble, especially since he had always been mostly calm during what others categorized as 'meltdowns'. "That damned bastard, having the guts to show up here.", Mary May, slammed a glass on the counter with way too much force, the liquid inside spilling over the edges as she regarded the man that viewed her business as something that needed to be shut down. Oakley had sneaked out minutes prior, saying how she needed a smoke if she was to sit through the night and since then hadn't returned. "JOHNNYYY! I knew you would be tempted to come.", Hartley yelled back, full of glee. Before she could think twice, Sabrina was out of her chair, cutting through the crowd that had grown silent as bargoers, including Joey and Pratt, watched the scene unfolding that was bound to end in disaster.

"Brin. Fuck.", Mary May called after her, but she pushed forward while Calahan himself advanced in John's direction, raising a hand adorned by his brother's rosary in the air. "I'd buy you a drink, Johnny, but don't think you're my type." "How dare you…you-", John barely managed to get any words out when he took in the Deputy's outfit, "Is my brother A JOKE to you?!" "Why, YES. YES. YES.", Hartley screamed back, "You love that word dontcha, Johnny? He is a JOKE. And let's face it, I'm wearing the look BETTER." Sabrina made it into the space that people had cleared out in anticipation of a fight breaking out, gliding between the two swiftly, knowing well enough that either men were close to unraveling and doing something drastic. "Kid.", she warned, feet planted firmly while feeling John's approach behind her, "Don't." Her gut told her she had a bigger chance at reasoning with him since Whitehorse was the one who always dealt with Eden's Gate's ruthless lawyer.

"Move, Gray.", his blue eyes were clear, signaling he wasn't nowhere near his boiling point as his fingers wrapped around her upper arm, ready to move her aside in sign of danger. Like hell I will move. "You came on OUR LAND. BROKE-" "FUCKING LEAVE MY BAR.", Mary May cut in, drawing everyone's eyes to herself, to the shotgun gripped in her hands, "RIGHT FUCKING NOW." "You…sinner.", John's rage switched target for a breath, "You've learned nothing, have you, Mary May?" "OUT.", her blue eyes narrowed, "Before I create more holes into your body since you seem to love those." "Look at you. All of you.", Calahan let out a dark laugh as John continued his speech, "Spreading the sin. Turning your backs on Eden. When the Collapse is on our doorstep."

A cacophony of curses echoed back from the crowd, furious stares zeroing behind Sabrina, and all she could imagine was the confrontation turning into a real bloodbath and how Whitehorse would chastise all of them for failing to stop it. With her thoughts getting darker by the second, she spun around, a pair of angry blue eyes settling on hers, "Mr. Seed." Something flew past her head, crashing into the wall and making her duck down on instinct. A bottle smashed into pieces, aimed at John. "How DARE-", he yelled again, but only managed to get two words out before she was cupping a hand over his mouth and pushing him out of the bar, door slamming shut behind her as the chilly air hit her at once. "Please, just leave.", she removed her palm off his face and placed herself between him and the entrance, the exterior lights of the bar dancing across his skin.

"You-", John stopped himself, a shaky breath leaving him as he regarded her, "Do you even know what he did?" "Is it worth getting hurt over? That bottle was just the beginning." He advanced forward again, expecting her to budge, allow him entry. She did none of that, unwavering while he drew near enough she could smell him - an expensive cologne drifting off him, stark contrast to most of the Project's members odors. "Go home, Mr. Seed." John shook his head, set on taking things too far, "He broke into my brother's home, took his belongings, and is wearing his clothes as a costume. They're all drunk and mocking him, and all he stands for on social media." "And you're sober and can be the bigger man by walking away." His eyes ran over her face, silence taking over as the party inside the bar continued like nothing had even happened.

"Are you wearing me as a costume, too?" "It's just a shirt, costumes are optional." "Good, because I'm not a-" "Go home.", she tried again, gentler that time around, nodding towards the truck he hadn't even bothered to park, instead stopping it in the middle of the road in his angry spell. "I'm not leaving without Joseph's bible." Sabrina nodded, "I will be right back, don't do anything, okay?" She didn't wait for him to respond, rushing back into the bar where the celebration was back in full swing with Hartley grinding against a blonde in a fairy costume. Laughter carried around her as she reached the bar and grabbed the bible, ignoring Mary May's string of questions with her mind set on solving the issue, ensuring the night didn't end in disaster. "Here.", she announced the second she was back outside, exchanging the worn copy of Joseph's Word to John. "I won't let him get away with this. Hartley should be upholding the law.", he gritted out and spun around, striding off back to his vehicle as she finally released the breath she had been holding.

Whatever relief she experienced began dissipating when seconds ticked by and he didn't drive off, instead rounding his truck in the dark, a faint light bouncing around as he examined something. "Somebody slashed my tires, Deputy. All four.", his voice carried over the quiet night. "What?" In a couple of steps, she was standing by his truck, his phone illuminating a jaded cut in the front tire. He huffed, "Leave, you say? Leave? They won't let me." "I'm-" "Sorry? Are you really, Deputy?" "You can call someone to pick you up…", she wrapped her arms around herself, the cold finally getting through her thin shirt. John shoved his phone back into his jeans pocket, "Absolutely not." "I don't know what to say, Mr. Seed." Reality was she had allowed herself a night to go out and have fun, and now she was stuck placating a hostile individual who in ways had every reason to feel bereaved.

His gaze casted behind her, aimed at the bar, making her worry he was contemplating having another go at Calahan and hunting down whoever had deflated his tires. "I can drive you home.", the words came out in a rush, her willingness to help getting her in trouble not for the first time. All she got was silence, his expression hard to read in the dark, so she pointed behind him, "My truck is over there." "That's how every horror movie starts.", he muttered back. "I thought your c-", she shook her head to dismiss what he would have no doubt taken as an insult, "Never mind." "What?" "Nothing, Mr. Seed. Would you like me to drive you home?" She took his nod as an 'Yes' and quickly moved past his truck, headed for her own as she sneaked a glance over her shoulder to assure he was following. Sabrina was the first to climb in, reaching over to unlock the passenger side door for him, but John stood frozen next it, a look of suspicion washing over his features.

"This feels like a trap." She gritted her teeth before forcing a smile his way, "You're welcome to walk home then, Mr. Seed. Some fresh air won't hurt ya.", then leaned back into her seat as she waited for him to make his choice. At the end, his pride won, and he got in reluctantly, clutching his brother's bible between his fingers as he slammed the door shut. "I carry a knife on me.", he warned as she started the Bronco, pulling out of the parking spot just as a person emerged from the shadows from the side of the Spread Eagle, the twinkling lights picking up their light blonde hair. Oakley. With her hatred of John, chances were she was the one that had struck while he was too busy inside the bar. "I do, too.", Sabrina retorted while he reached out and changed the radio station to the one Eden's Gate owned and used for propaganda.

Most of the drive to his house passed in silence, only disturbed by the way-too-cheerful choral songs. Every once in a while, she'd spare a quick look in his direction, catching him staring at her, too, while the tension in the small space only grew. The next time she did it, she found him flipping through the bible like she had done, his hands freezing when he got to the picture. She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel as he plucked the photograph and examined it. There was no shocked exclamation, no cursing in surprise like Oakley had done. John remained stoic while he stared at the picture his brother clearly valued enough to use as a bookmark in what looked like a well-read paperback. The picture was of a woman. A member of his cult. The one that was worried about his wellbeing and had enough influence over him to convince Joseph to call the police. There was a reason why both Mary May and Oakley eyed the hidden photograph with interest, why they spent a while speculating over the story surrounding Mercy.

Sabrina rolled to a stop in the driveway of the ranch, fully expecting John to jump out of her truck as soon as it wasn't moving with how extremely quiet he'd been. Instead, he remained seated, staring at his brother's bible, his features twisted into a frown. "Have yourself a good night.", she muttered, hoping it would be enough to pull him out of whatever stupor had taken over him and get him out of her vehicle. "Joseph keeps that bible on his bedside table.", he whispered, thumb brushing over the worn-out cover, "And he had the picture-" His words died down abruptly as if he suddenly remembered himself, then returned to looking out through the windshield into the darkness outside of the car, only disrupted by the Bronco's headlights. "It's none of my-" "Did you feel it, too?", John interrupted her, blue eyes moving to hers, "Even now."

A part of her warned her to mind her business, but curiosity won over it, "Felt what?" "That pull. The electricity." She said nothing, knowing her opinion were to either lie or admit he was somewhat right, which no doubt would be an ego boost to him. Truth was, something obscure, palpable hung between them, charging the air, growing stronger the closer he'd been. It doesn't matter. "Goodnight.", Sabrina repeated again and leaned over to open the door for him and make her stance crystal clear. The move was a mistake on its own because she hesitated, hand coming to rest on the door handle as his scent invaded her senses once more. "You want me to go?", he asked, watching her closely. "Yes."

Yet her fingers refused to obey, to swing the door open, prompt him to leave. Tattooed hand wrapped around hers to lift it between them, the interior light of her truck illuminating the top of his palm. The black ink that covered it. She was convinced she had stopped breathing when she pulled his arm closer, making sure she wasn't imagining things. That the tattoo her fingers were tracing was the same. That it was real, what she'd seen again and again. "Sabrina?", confusion swooped into his tone, mirroring hers. "I feel it.", her confession was barely audible, but clearly enough for him to make a choice, "It changes nothing." His eyes darkened, darting to her lips before he cupped her cheek with his free hand, "No matter. I'm still going to kiss you." No part of what he had said was a question, but she nodded anyway despite her better judgment as he leaned in, mouth covering hers.

His lips moved over her own slowly, a tingle climbing up her spine at the contact while her rational side screamed for her to push him away, no matter who he might be in her visions. It's him. Her hand braced against his chest, moving up on its own before grasping the nape of his neck and pulling him closer. It was then that she returned the kiss fully, lips parting as his own tongue darted out, a groan leaving him at the granted access. His taste took over her system while he set out on exploring her mouth, fingers intertwining with hers. A muffled tud broke the spell between them, making John pull back, staring at her intently with hunger written all over his face. "I should go. Be good." She nodded, but his hold of her hand only tightened, signaling he was torn, not exactly feeling the words. "Thing is… I don't want to.", he confirmed, licking his lips and making her wonder if he was tasting her.

"I don't, either." His gaze shifted to his feet, where Joseph's book had tumbled down onto the floor of her car before returning back to hers. "This is probably going to come back to bite me.", he uttered out, "Most definitely actually, Deputy. But… I'm asking you to come inside. See where this takes us." Her eyebrow rose up at his bold invitation, "I must have misheard you." "You didn't." Sabrina forced a laugh, "Don't you people have a rule about this?" "We do, quite frankly.", he nodded quickly, "I'm doing this despite it." "What would your brother think?", she pushed further, expecting him to fold, remember himself, and the doctrine forced upon each member. One, he clearly didn't respect enough. "What would Whitehorse think about Deputy Hartley committing a crime on private property last night?" It was the lawyer in him, the negotiator set on getting what he wanted, peeking through.

Her gaze narrowed, "What are you implying?" "We're both facing a dilemma, Deputy, toeing a line, you're keeping Hartley's secrets, covering for him. But there's a simple question - what do you want?" To head home and not get involved in a messy situation, especially after how you acted at the bar. "For you to kiss me again.", a satisfied smirk came over him at her answer, and he let go of her hand, only so he could open his door. "Come then.", he called out as he jumped down onto the gravel, gesturing for her to follow suit. His door slammed shut as she turned off the Bronco's engine and exited, rounding the truck where he met her halfway and took hold of her arm again. "One rule.", she muttered at his back as he pulled her along towards the ranch's main entrance, the overhead light coming on to life at their approach.

"What?" "You won't make a fuss about Calahan's indiscretion." He sighed like it physically pained him to let Hartley off the hook, "Fine. But this would be the first and last time." A small victorious smile danced across her lips as his hand wrapped around the doorknob and pushed his front door open, causing her to blink in shock, "You don't lock your doors, either? Of course, it runs in the family." Darkness ruled over the house aside from a dim light spilling out from the room ahead of them. "I wasn't exactly in the best mindset when I left.", John explained, leading her forward past a dining table and a lit stone fireplace that was providing the aforementioned illumination and separated the large open space in two. He spun around when he reached the other side of it, hand landing on her waist to drag her into him, "We're doing this?"

Her nod was all he needed to fulfill her previous wish, lips descending over hers as he took a couple of steps backward until he was lined with the couch that faced the fireplace and he lowered his body onto the leather surface, bringing her down with him. She straddled his lap on instinct, sinking further into the kiss while his fingers traveled beneath her shirt, coming to rest just at the edge of her bra. Like he had done before, he broke their liplock, leaning back to regard her as his hand made it past the lace garment, cupping her breast. "Look at you,", she said before lowering her mouth to his and whispering, "sinning." He pinched her nipple in warning, "Haven't even begun." A surprised yelp left her when John shifted until he was lying on top of her, undoing her jeans as he held her gaze and dragged them down her legs enough to have better access. "You want to stop, you tell me.", he instructed before he stole another kiss, hand moving from her waist down her abdomen and beneath her underwear.

One finger pushed inside her, swiveling into her wetness, more pooling at his touch and the satisfied growl that broke free from him. "More.", Sabrina ordered, buckling against his palm to get more friction to her clit before he complied, adding another digit to the mix as he began pumping in and out of her heat. "You're dripping for me." "Yes.", the word made it past her lips before she could think better of it, a grin appearing on his face as he repeated the movement again. Slowly that time, tantalizing her, hinting at his plan. "John.", she groaned in annoyance, "Don't you dare go there." He shook his head, "Say it again." "No." "Again and you're getting another finger." "He was right. You are weird during sex." "Who?", his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion as his hand halted inside her. She rolled her eyes, "Calahan."

"Why am I not surprised the pest was talking about me." He resumed the previous infuriating pace, prolonging giving her what she wanted. "Say it, Deputy.", John repeated, and when she shook her head in defiance, he added, "I'd sweeten the deal." "How?", she moaned out when his thumb brushed against her clit, adding pressure before retreating. "Another finger.", he dropped a kiss across her lips, "My mouth. And then…" She hated how his talking alone had an effect on her, turning her on. "Then what?" He took his time considering the question before whispering, "You get to ride me." "And if I don't?" "Mmm..", his mouth lowered to her neck, sucking on the tender skin as his fingers kept the same slow pace, while her arousal grew, dripping down his hand, "I take my time. Wear you down. And, be assured, I'd enjoy every minute of it, Sabrina."

"Once." "Hm?" "I'd only say it once, don't be pulling any dirty tricks on me, Seed." "Deal.", he muttered and halted his teasing altogether, waiting for her to follow through with her part of the agreement. A shuddered breath left her when his thumb circled her clit again as encouragement, "Yes." "Such a freeing word.", John rose up, clutching her panties and pulling them down past her knees. His lips lowered to her belly, kissing a path over it while his hands spread her thighs apart, positioning her the way he wanted her. "No games." He tsk-tsked, "Where would be the fun then?" Her protests were cut short when his mouth found her center, tongue licking away at her arousal and drawing more out of it as result. "You taste so sweet. To think I almost walked away.", he remarked, peeking at her from between her legs, before diving back in for more.

Her noises urged him on as she climbed towards a powerful climax, three fingers entering her like he had promised, lips wrapping around her clit and adding much needed pressure. She rocked against his hand, sinking further into the pleasure, almost forgetting who was delivering it to her, how they had ended up there in the first place. His name ripped off her lips as she came, his thrusts picking up and only heightening the sensation. "That's it. Give in. Let it all pour out for me.", she ignored how close he sounded to his preachings in the cursed broadcasts, "There's more where that came from." He moved up her body, little tremors still coursing through her limbs as he kissed her, giving her a taste of herself. "Can you handle more?", he challenged, rising up on his heels while his hands worked on undoing his belt and jeans to leave him down to his underwear, his erection's outline pressing against the material, begging for release.

"You tryin' to trick me?" He smirked, "Nothing of sorts." "You haven't delivered on everything yet.", Sabrina reminded him as she got up too, fingers grasping the waistband of his boxers, and pulling them down. "Protection.", he mumbled to himself, "I don't-" "What… you don't do this a lot?" His look of disbelief made her chuckle, "Absolutely not." "I'm on the pill." Her hand wrapped around him, stroking his cock a couple of times as he contemplated the idea. "Yes.", he answered finally, sitting back down onto the couch, still mostly clothed aside from his nether regions. Sabrina stripped off her boots, pants, and underwear completely to ensure nothing would obstruct her mobility, his eyes following her the whole time, tongue darting out to lick his lips. With her clothes out of the way, she threw her leg over his hip, straddling him as her hand lined his tip with her entrance.

She sank down onto him slowly, relishing every inch, judging by his measured breathing and how his features twisted in concentration, he was doing the same. Trying to maintain his control. "So tight.", he gritted out, "You gonna move for me, Deputy?" She rocked against him slowly, her sleakness making her glide up and down his shaft with ease, the sounds of pleasure filling the darkened room paired with the crackling of the fire. "You're killing me here.", he whined against her lips, fingers gripping her hips to dictate the pace. "Riding you. It's what you said." "Yes." "So, let me do that. Have patience." "Deputy…" She grasped his hands, moving them to her chest, "If you want something to hold, the girls are feeling a bit ignored." "We can't have that.", John caught up quick, unbuttoning her shirt while she resumed riding him.

Her bra came undone next as he made work of the front clasp in a blink, baring her completely to him. "I will rectify the situation.", he vowed in a serious tone, his mouth swooping down to her chest, paying attention to each breast individually. His compliance caused her to move faster, arousal coating his length as she squeezed her muscles around him in attempts to coax his orgasm out. "You feel so good for a Seed. Who could have known…", she teased and let out a yelp when his teeth grazed her nipple at the jab. It wasn't long before she stumbled over the edge, her walls clenching around him and drawing his own climax, making him let go with a groan. Her name fell from his lips as he spilled inside her. "Oh, John.", she muttered quietly against his neck, euphoria overwhelming her system. "Bold and brave?", he chuckled, "It seems somebody's been listening to our radio station." A hand swatted at his chest, "You're totally ruining the moment."

He hummed in disapproval, arms encircling her body as she snuggled into him more, "Sleepy?" "A little bit." "My bed awaits." "You're asking me to actually stay over?" A series of kisses covered her collarbone, tracing her butterflies tattoo, "I'm far from done with you." She broke out of his embrace, an emptiness settling between her legs as she rose up, convincing herself she couldn't allow him to take things even further than he already had. "Deputy.", he called out, still seated on the couch, watching her while she gathered her clothes from the ground and huffed at his release running down her thigh and making it impossible to get dressed without creating a mess. His gaze met hers, shadows and light dancing across his features and partly obsecuring his expression, "What?" "You're not going to need them.", she opened her mouth to speak, but he waved her off, getting up too and snatching her clothes from her to drop them on the couch, "We're going to my bedroom."

"John.", his name was paired with a sigh at his tone that left no room for arguments. He made quick work of taking off his own boots, jeans, and boxers, pulling her in by her waist as his lips hovered over hers, "Go. Run. And you can keep thinking back to this moment, wishing you made a different choice, or you could be honest about what you want… How much you want it." His hand grasped her backside, and she could feel him hardening between them again while he kissed her, coming for breath only to add, "I'd like to fuck you on an actual bed instead of having my sweaty skin sticking onto old leather… might as well be comfortable seeing how I broke so many rules already." The idea he actually cursed out loud made her snort, "Fuck me?" "That's the plan. Just say 'Yes'. Are you staying?" Of course you're fishing for your favorite word again. Silence settled around them, heavy with possibility, with the realization he was infuriatingly correct she'd regret it.

He brushed her hair out of her face, "Your eyes are so expressive, you know that? I could basically see the battle within. Which option is winning?" Her hands traveled up his chest, locking around his neck, "Yes. Happy?" What she got as reply was a triumphant grin before he hoisted her up, legs wrapping around his waist as he rounded the couch, moving with determination with her in his arms. "Someone's in a rush. How long has it been?", she joked while he took the stairs two at a time, getting to the second floor of the ranch in couple of beats. "Way too long, Deputy." Darkness engulfed them as he headed down a hallway, pushing a door open with his free hand that wasn't holding onto her. It was where he finally dropped her to her feet, the coldness of the hardwood floors meeting as it shut with a click behind them. John was on the move again, his footsteps being her only indicator in the pitch black, then a table lamp next to his bed came to life, illuminating the space and his nearing form with faint glow.

Her eyes took in her surrounding, bouncing from his bed, sheer curtains and wooden interiors of the room, to the ordinary furniture and two doors leading who knew where before they settled on his chest as he discarded his shirt and reached out for her again. A combination of scars and tattoos marred his skin. A small old key hanging around his neck. "Not what you expected?", he asked when his hand found her cheek, caressing her skin gently. Your bedroom or the fact you're someone I've been seeing for years? "I don't know what I expected." He nodded and moved onto her own shirt, pushing it down her arms until it pooled at her feet, her lace bra following in its wake. "Definitely weren't dressed as me, eh, Deputy?" She gave him a pointed look, "I told you-" "You'd look good in my shirt. I wouldn't mind you stealing that." Her laugh was a surprised one, "Careful what you wish for… I might be planning my costume for next year already."

"Beautiful.", he whispered as his eyes ran over her naked body, thumb breezing over her bottom lip and slipping into her mouth, eyes darkening when she sucked on it, "Patience. Remind me of that, in case I forget." Sabrina nodded, releasing his digit with a pop, and he pushed her backward, mouth clashing into hers when her legs met the edge of his bed. The soft matress engulfed her body as he settled over her, hand coming to rest beside her head to keep his weight off her while the other traveled down her stomach and slipped inside her for a brief moment before retreating. Her palms braced against his chest, running over the hard planes as her thighs fell open more, urging him to act. Anticipation swam within her when his fingers grasped his lenght, his tip brushing across her wetness a couple of times before finally pushing in slowly despite how wet she was and the desire she could see in his eyes.

A stray piece of hair had fallen over his forehead, and she smoothed them away, muttering, "Fill me up already." "I'm trying to be patient here. Not embarrass myself.", his expression was focused, like he refused to fully give in, act on his urges, let his composure slip. "Fuck patient. Better yet, fuck me as promised." He blinked, considering her words before thrusting all the way in and ripping a moan out of her as her walls enveloped him, and more followed when he began to move. "I'm starting to think going after the Deputy tonight wasn't the worst idea I've had to date.", he groaned against her mouth while at the same time he threw her leg over his shoulder, sinking in deeper into her at the new angle. "He sure would die laughing if he knew how the night unfolded after I broke you two apart." "He'd be obnoxious about, wouldn't he?", he chimed in, "Probably claim it was what he had planned all along to get me back for the previous time."

She couldn't help but smile at his annoyance, "Possibly." "Most definitely.", John insisted, pairing his next words with a hard thrust, "I couldn't stop thinking about you today." "Yeah?" She did her hardest to match his movements as a climax began to build within her, and her legs parted to take more of him. "Yes.", he gritted out, a giggle escaping her at the memory of Calahan's theory about his habits in bed, "Something amusing, Sabrina?" "No." There was doubt in his gaze, but he let her answer slip, emphasizing each word with a rock of his hips, "First time I saw you up close… I imagined it so many times." Her eyes widened at the bold confession and idea he had been thinking of her to begin with, "For how long?" "Since you moved here, but I had to be good, telling myself I wasn't missing anything."

In ways Hartley had been right about the signs and his theories about John's frustration. Regret slipped over his features, prompting her to cup his bearded cheek, "I'm here now." "That you are, and I plan on making up for that lost time.", he said with conviction, slowing his pace as his hand slipped between them to rub her clit. With a couple of flicks across it paired with his thrusts, the release she could feel twisting and twirling inside her came to a crescendo. His name rolled off her tongue, causing him to smirk while he continued to move, head dipping down to whisper in her ear and sending a shiver all over her body while her hands fisted the satin sheets beneath her, "Think you can come again before I do?"

Minutes later she found herself completely spent, laying snuggled in the crook of his arm while her fingers traced a lazy pattern across his chest. "Three times.", he noted with pride, hand running down her back under the soft covers, "I'm thinking we can break that record next time." Next time? Sabrina ignored the off-hand comment, assuming he hadn't meant anything by it, that he was just still basking in his own climax after demonstrating how dead set he was on holding off until he couldn't physically anymore. "Should I expect you to show up at the Sheriff's tomorrow?" "Today.", he corrected her, "And no, Deputy. I promised, didn't I? Hartley is off the hook until whatever he does next comes back to bite him." Her grin was concealed against his neck and she placed a kiss on his skin, "Thank you."

"Does that mean you're due to work in few hours?" "Mhm.", she hummed absently, "Why?" "I might pay you a visit instead.", his caress was slowly lulling her to sleep, especially with how relaxed she felt as she laid in the embrace of someone considered enemy of the County. When she said nothing, he took her silence as agreeance to his idea, adding, "We could see that the theft case gets closed." Her fingers froze against his chest as it was toying with the metal key nestled between his pecks, eyes lifting up to meet his baby blues, "I never opened one, you wanted to handle things yourself, remember? Play detective." "I will think of something else.", he said nonchalantly, "Like my truck's slashed tires… All four of them, a serious enough offense." "John." "Yes?" "This…", she paused, wondering what she had gotten herself into, "it can't happen again."

It was then that she got her first confirmation he had been serious upon mentioning 'a next time', coming in the form of a determined look he gave her before uttering out, "We shall see about that, Deputy." The same one he wore each time he argued with Whitehorse, refusing to back down no matter how much the Sheriff tried to placate him. If how impossible to shake off he had proven to be when it came to Calahan, she didn't dare think what it would take for him to give up after their night together. A part of her didn't know if she wanted him to, no matter how disastrous the consequences promised to be.

Tagging, @adelaidedrubman @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @onehornedbeast @theelderhazelnut @cassietrn @madparadoxum @voidika @corvosattano @unholymilf @purplehairsecretlair @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @trench-rot @florbelles @g0dspeeed @aceghosts @simplegenius042 @thesingularityseries @the-silver-chronicles @nightbloodbix @clicheantagonist @wrathfulrook @harmonyowl @jillvalentinesday @shegetsburned @sstewyhosseini and anyone with something to share <3

[bittersweetbark]

Lost Scenes Thursday! Get to know your favourite authors better. Show five scenes from either abandoned fics where you regret they will never see the light of day, or five scenes from WIPs where you are impatient to see them out there. Long, short, one-liner... it's all good reading. Tag five other authors where you are curious.

Unfortunately I have no left overs! Most of my fics were written short chapter by chapter, often on a daily basis and, well: everything I wrote then became the story. I'm aware editing is great, I just... often... don't.

But for last year's Yule calendar fic (Last Yule) I had developed a whole tragic backstory for false!Ciri and had it unfold as her being one of the three Christmas Carol ghosts visiting Emhyr. And then I deleted it because it was too much and too heavy. Maybe I could write it as its own story - but it will still be... heavy:

cw forced abortion

The gist is that I made her fall in love and get pregnant in Cintra after Emhyr installed her there. But as Emhyr's wife, her child would have been heir to the throne of Nilfgaard.

In the Yule fic chapter I flushed and rewrote I had her "ghost" visit Emhyr and ask him "Is the child well?" He was confused - why would she call Ciri a child - but answered that yes, Ciri had returned and was well. False!Ciri cried and slowly revealed that she had died giving birth to her baby prematurely but de Rideaux had promised her everything would be alright. Because he was there. Very coincidentally.

So this would have been how Emhyr would have learned that Vattier had forcefully introduced premature labour to abort the illegitimate child, and accidentally had killed false!Ciri with it.

And Emhyr, years later now, would be torn between repulsion and gratitude that de Rideaux hadn't asked him or even told him about it because the result was of course fortunate for Emhyr and Ciri as his unrivalled heir.

Why did I just erase thaaaat? :') My false!Ciri was very naive and brittle, not like the false!Ciri stories that have been written and drawn since then, and it was super sad. Well, way too sad.

Well, the completely different chapter is here:

[thebellearchives]

my 2023 wrapped in no particular order except for toge 💃🏻

1. Inumaki Toge: my beloved the absolute love of my life my baby boy 😭 also the reason i made this blog bc i wanted to feed the inumaki fans, we’re so so starved 😔 the way this blorbo has infected me like a virus, the way he pushed my brain out of my head and sat there instead is insaaaane, im not kidding i’m gonna get his seals tattooed, i painted a canvas of his first scene in season 2, i even bought a cursed speech sweater, I AM INSANE ABOUT HIM

2. Solomon: ah yes my beloved domestic husband destroyer of kitchens 🖤 Sol was also one of the blorbos that refused to leave my mind and i spun in my head like a rotisserie chicken 💀 i’m so SO glad he got all this attention from Solmare, nightbringer is the best thing that happened to Sol stans 😩

3. Levi Ackerman: okay so yeah my Levi phase came back this year and it didn’t just come back no IT HIT ME LIKE A WRECKING BALL MY GOOOOODDDDD the way i need this man to PICK ME CHOOSE ME LOVE ME LEVI THERES NOTHING I WOULDNT DO FOR YOU MI AMOOORRRRR!! yes, i think he’s here to stay, i might start writing for him

4. Vash The Stampede: 😭😭😭 my BABY MY LOVE i started watching this show just because i saw a bunch of people talking about this cute blond blorbo AND I HAD TO WATCH IT OKAY?? honestly not surprised i fell for him he’s sooooo my type I AM IN LOVE WITH HIM !! bought teru vash and now i carry him around everywhere 🖤

5. Alucard // Adrian Țepeș: come on, he’s a blond vampire with a British accent, you expect me NOT TO FALL IN LOVE WITH HIM?!!!????!! Alucard let me fix you 😩 i need to live with him in his castle for eternity ugh

6. Fushiguro Megumi: y’all when Toge was taking a rest Megs took his place 🙇🏼‍♀️ my emo baby boy i need him ): and the tiktok edits did NOT help AT ALL, had me imagining scenarios while laying on my bed and staring at the ceiling 😵‍💫

7. Hawks // Takami Keigo: had a Hawks phase at the very beginning of the year, it’s gotten a bit better but i googled him to add him here and 😵‍💫 he’d friendzone me so hard but i still want him bad 😩

8. Millions Knives: the way i’d join Knives in his dreams of human extinction just because i’m a simp for him, like yes babes i don’t wanna fix you i wanna be a villain with you 😵‍💫 i’m different you’ll see 🤪

9. Gojo Satoru: i’ve always liked Gojo but after the premature death arc i just- it’s got to be the tragic past, right 😀? no explanation needed we all love Gojo he’s uugggghhh insufferably perfect

thank you for the tag Winter ilyyy !!

tagging: @silverrings-n-prettythings @arvandus @hauntedbestie and whoever wants to join too ~

putting this in its own post bc long -

2023 CHARACTER WRAPPED

thank u @ricecrispiebirb for tagging! I present 9 characters I loved in 2023

1-3: reiner. yes he takes up 3 spaces I will not be taking questions

4: jeanbo horseface kirschtein

5. ezekiel jaeger I remain hateful of how highly you place and yet……….here u are

6. onyankopon giant balls I LOVE u

7. choso…….my little emo wet kitten man

8. satoru gojo, the strongest, the most petulant, the most beautiful

9. geto suguru babe what happened. I still love u tho

no ob tagging @pisspope @fromriches-tosin @oxygenbefore1775 @marenalee @nanamikentoseyebags @strawberrystepmom @pinkmirth @forest-hashira and anyone else who’d like!

[squigglylinesdotthei]

Make a Mess

Word count:1542

Pairing: Sam Winchester X Reader

Warnings:18+ only please, Sexual situations? (idk really how to tag this), Teasing, Premature ejac?, embarrassed!Sam

A/N:So idk what this is, or where it came from, it's not really edited, but it made me giggle while writing it so please enjoy! Drop a request, If you’re wondering who I am writing for, send an ask.

(GIF not mine, divider is mine.)

‘She literally has no idea what she does to me, does she?’ he thought as he watched Y/n work around the library. Your hair up in a messy bun, long tendrils falling around your face. Those tiny little shorts you only seemed to wear on cleaning day, and that tight gray tank top that barely hits above her belly button. He bit his lip when you bent over a table to grab some books, unknowingly putting your ass on full display for him.

‘God, if only I could just…’ He lifted his hand subtly by his side, imagining the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingers. The image of bending you over that table playing in his head, the memory of your velvet warmth wrapping around him, the way your body practically pulls him in. He feels himself grow hard in his jeans.

“Sam,” you called, god he loved when you said his name, “Baby can you come help me real quick?” you called over your shoulder. He looked up, you had a stack of books on one arm, and you were reaching up with your other trying to put a book on a high shelf. Your shirt had ridden up giving him a glimpse of the white lace bra you were wearing ‘Fuck baby, thank whoever the hell decided to drop you in my life’ he thought, his jeans now even tighter.

“Yeah,” he stood from his seat with a soft smile and walked towards you, subtly trying to adjust himself in his pants. He came up behind you and rested a hand on your waist as he reached up and effortlessly pushed the book into place. You drop back onto the flats of your feet, accidentally brushing your ass down on his already throbbing cock. Biting his lip again to hold back a moan that had threatened to escape his throat, covering it with a cough.

“Thanks,” you said as you turned and stood on your toes again to plant a small kiss on his jaw. To you, it was a small, chaste kiss of appreciation. To Sam the feeling of your lips practically on his neck, so close to that spot that makes him go weak in the knees, had his once throbbing member now aching, leaking with precum, and straining painfully against his zipper.

“No problem,” he smiled down at you before pulling away and sitting back down in his chair, trying to relive some of the pressure of his jeans. A few moments passed and Sam still couldn't stop thinking about you. Your lips on his skin, and how they’d feel wrapped around his cock, the small little whimpers you let out right before you cum. 

He continued to watch you, dirty thoughts still going through his head, when you walked past again. Stopping when you noticed his empty glass and plate sitting on the table by him. You leaned over the table on the opposite side of Sam and reached across the table for his dishes. The second Sam looked up, he knew he was a goner. The angle you were leaning at gave him a direct view down your shirt, giving him an almost full view of your perfect tits.

“O-oh Fuck,” He stuttered out as he came in his pants. Like a fucking teenager, eyes screwing shut, breathing heavy as his body flushed and tensed up where he was sitting, hands shooting to his crotch as he shot up from his seat. You on the other hand had no idea what had just happened and jumped back at the sudden outburst from Sam.

“Sam, you okay?” you asked as you reached a hand towards him, still confused as to what was happening. He jumped back grabbing his laptop and held it in front of the very obvious wet spot on his pants, hoping you wouldn't notice.

“Mmhmm, yep, everything’s good, I, uh, I just remembered I left something in uh, in the bedroom,” He quipped out in a stuttered breath. Making his was to the door quickly before slipping out, leaving you standing there, confused, plate and empty glass in hand.

“Oh, o-ok,” the words die on her breath, and she makes her way to the kitchen.

Sam let out a breath as he plopped down on the couch in the dean cave and let out a breath after re-emerging from the bedroom with a new pair of jeans. He opened his laptop and stared at the screen with a small scowl on his face.

“Everything ok Sammy?” Dean asked, sitting down in his chair and passing Sam a beer. Raising an eyebrow when he shut his laptop and let out another breath and took a drink.

“It's Y/N, I guess,” he started but trailed off, what was he supposed to say, his girlfriend made him mess his pants like a prepubescent teen, when she wasn't even doing anything sexual. 

“What's up? I thought you really liked her,” Dean began. But before he could continue Sam cut him off.

“NO! No, I do, almost too much,” he added the last part in a mumble. Looking down at his hands.

“You wanna elaborate buddy?” Dean leaned down and tilted his head. Sam looked at his expression, looking for some hint that Dean would make fun of him for this. Finding none, he lets out another breath.

“Well, today, she was cleaning the library, and she wasn’t even doing anything, but she just looked… so good,” he started, “but looking at her, thinking about her, I- I came dude” he finally got out, “Like in my jeans… and then I just left her standing there, confused, I don't even think she knows what happened,” he looked over at Dean, feeling his face heat up in embarrassment.

When he finally looked up at Dean, he was smirking. “Well” He started with a chuckle, “I think you should go talk to her, she probably thinks she did something wrong when you shot up and ran outta there like a bat outta hell.” he finishes his sentence and takes a drink from his own beer. 

As if all the Gods and Fate herself were on Dean’s side, your voice rang out from around the corner looking for him.

“Sam? Sammy, baby?” you called out.

“In here,” He called back, trying not to sound like he was just talking about the mess he made earlier. “Everything okay?” he asked you as you finally came into view. Freshly showered and changed into a pair of black leggings and one of his old flannels.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you stepped in front of him to situate next to him on the couch, he lifted his arm, allowing you to curl into his side. “You kinda left in a bit of a hurry,” you finished, finding a sudden interest in the buttons on his shirt.

“I’m going to find snacks,” Dean hopped up and headed out the door, giving Sam a pointed look before disappearing around the corner.

“Sam?” You pressed again, leaning back and looking at him. “Is everything okay? Did i do somethi-”

“No! God no,” He fully looks at you cupping your face in his hands. “Nothing bad,” He smiled softly before planting a kiss on your forehead. 

“Oh,” your voice came out small, unsure of what that exactly meant. You creased your brow and looked down at his chest fiddling with the buttons on the shirt you were wearing

Sam looked at you, Dean’s words ringing in his head still. “Y/N,” He sighed, “You are so hot,” he began, his face heating up at the conversation again. “like beyond hot sometimes,” he looked down at you, still looking down. He brought his hand to your chin and tilted your head to look up at him. “And today, with you in those tiny little shorts, and that little tank top… its like you were teasing me and you didn't even know it”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” you started but Sam cut you off again.

“Y/N,” he chuckled, he should be the one apologizing, he was the one who ran off. “Seeing you run about, accidentally flashing your bra, bending over in those shorts, it was too much and I… kinda… came in my pants.” He finished his sentence and looked at you, he could feel his neck and ears burning.

“Wait?” you looked at him, stifling a giggle, “That's why you just flew outta there?” you questioned.

“Well yeah, I was embarrassed, I had just shot my load like a hormonal teen, because my girlfriend was showing too much thigh?” He chuckled leaning back against the couch again, relaxing back tan tossing his arm over the couch.

“Well, don’t be,” you quipped, curling back into his side. You leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I kind of consider it a complement,” you added as you laid your head on his chest. His arm came down and wrapped around you causing a smile to stretch across your face.

“Who wants popcorn!” Dean bellowed out rounding the corner with two big bowls, passing one to you and Sam before settling in his own seat again and flipping on some old western movie.

[8-8itartistries]

🌸 8-8it Artistries Newspost - (11/15/22) 🌸

Previous Newsposts; 🌸 (10/18) (October Newspost + 2022 Summarization) https://8-8itartistries.tumblr.com/post/698432208545906688/8-8it-artistries-newspost-10182022  🌸 (10/22) (Queue) https://twitter.com/8_8itArtistries/status/1583973054103064576 If you haven’t already, I highly recommend reading the above posts. Below I will be summarizing the work I’ve done and events relevant to my fursuit business that have happened since my last newspost. TWs may be applicable for the post below, they will be in the tags.

Hello! Much has happened since the October update so I’m happy to announce this newspost won’t be nearly as long as the first one. Hopefully that’ll keep consistent throughout the coming months. Newspoints will be seperated with cherry blossom emojis. 🌸  As of October 22nd, I have put together my commission queues and have a sum of around 22 commissions to complete in the coming year. I will soon be organizing a Trello to keep all of these commissions and their respective information organized. I have a huge to-do list regarding 8-8itArtistries and I’m very excited to complete these tasks. My previous setbacks are still effecting me, and I’m still fairly monetarily short when it comes to supplies I need for fursuits. I also have little to no space to work in my parent’s house where I currently reside. I plan to go on SSD and move out to try and remedy this as it’s significantly effecting my productivity.  I love making fursuits and I love delivering them to my commissioners; I’ve had a wonderful experience with this business so far and i wouldn’t want to stop it prematurely or let people down. Please let me know if you have questions or concerns about your commission as I want you (and me) to be 100% satisfied with the product that comes to your door.  Many of my commissions have been placed over a year ago at this point, and I am very apologetic about the delay. I’m doing the best I can to catch up with the excess of work I signed myself up for.  🌸 My getfursu.it page has been updated in correspondence to 2022, as all of my information on there was as of 2021.  🌸  Digital art commissions will be raised by around 50% once again to accomodate more of a living wage and support of my fursuit commissions.  🌸 I’ve been struggling quite a lot mentally, and attempted suicide on the night of November 2nd. I’ve been taking it easy since and just today started working again. 🌸 And probably the most exciting update by far, I have updated and made a uniform paw pattern! This will help me exponentially in completing commissions, and I am quite excited! I will be heading to the library to print out my pieces tomorrow. 

Above is the digital mockup of my new paw pattern, to be used as an example of what my new paws will look like. They will not be dissimilar to my previous pattern (example below) however they will be more clean and orderly, and have been adjusted to fit most measurements.  I believe the improvement between the two can be seen, as the first pattern/paws i made are highly experimental.

My goal with my fursuits is to replicate my furry art style, if not more detailed, currently they resemble a mix between toony and kemono styles, but once i accomplish matching my fursuit style to my art style they will be more kemono. The above paw belongs to my first commissioner Mothstick and is a part of the Dreamcatcher mini-partial. I have yet to finish the gift pawset and ship them out, so that’s on my immediate to-do list for sewing, along with my non-fursuit tactile commissions.  🌸 (Edit 8:09 PM 11/15/22) Several changes have been made to my carrd, as well as my twitter. Socials associated with 8-8itArtistries specifically have been edited to match thematically, as such;

“Contact” button on my carrd has been edited to start an email correspondence instead of a google form, as I completely forgot that my forms existed. More edits to my carrd are due in the near future. I believe this is all I have to say for now. Again if you have any questions or comments, my ask box is open. Thank you so much! 💙🌸

[mylittlemenandme]

MORE-KAI

I managed to completely forget February. I aim to post at the end of the month and it caught me out.

Not to worry, as it hadn’t been a particularly productive hobby month. I made up for it in March though.

Firstly, following on from January, I rounded off my Assault Intercessors and gave my Phobos Rune Priest a snazzy looking frost sword.

Then I got to building.

The Hounds of Morkai were last seen ready to be primed, and primed they have been.

I’ve built the Reiver Lieutenant ready to be primed as well. The idea was for him to be a Hound too, so I’ll paint him alongside the pack when he’s ready.

The Incursors have now been wolfed-up and are ready to be primed as well, but the turn in the weather beat me to getting any spraying done.

I had started to put together a pack of Eliminators with las-fusils a while back, as one of the things I felt the army needed was a bit of anti-armour punch. Somehow, their progress got overtaken by two packs of sniper Eliminators - a mix of the box models and the Shadowspear ones. I converted the Shadowspear sergeant to have a bionic arm as I didn't want to end up with two binocular users. Now all nine of them are built and waiting to be wolfed-up prior to priming.

The Reivers haven’t changed a lot since they last appeared here - some of the arms have been swapped around, a couple of extra bits here and there. They are just a couple more wolfy details away from being ready to prime now.

They’ve all been joined by a brand new addition. I mentioned previously that I felt my army was lacking some manoeuvrability, so when a community member was selling a pair of ATVs I snapped them up. I know the models aren’t everyone’s bag, but I like them. In game it’s a handy 14” move, T5, 8 wounds, and for only 80 points for a decent anti-infantry option (or 5 points more for a tank-busting multi-melta). One was already primed black, so I went over that with Grey Seer, ready for Contrast.

I also built and primed a las-talon Firestrike turret! This slipped completely under the radar, another anti-tank option. I had a Tarantula gun platform from Space Crusade in my old Space Wolves army, and this reminds me so much of that.

And finally, finally, I promised myself a unit of Tree-Revenants for my Sylvaneth, and they are built and primed ready to be painted (hopefully) for the community meet at the end of April.

And I got a game in as well! My first time throwing down 2000 points of Space Wolves since 2nd edition, against a rag-tag alliance of Aeldari and Chaos Marines. The result was a points victory for the Space Wolves although the game had to be called to a conclusion prematurely for time reasons. Victory was mostly assured thanks to having Infiltrators deploy forward onto objectives and scoring them from early on. Other than that it was the usual suspects - lack of speed, auto bolt rifles doing work, failing 9” charges from reserves (Ragnar Blackmane this time, of all people).

I think when these newly built units get painted up, the army will have a very different look as I try out new things. The next issue then is going to be finding a bigger case to fit them all in.

I also accidentally gave myself a goal for April when I was coming up with pun names for community projects. I think I might have to try and go along with it, see if I can complete it before the meet-up in just over 3 weeks - it’ll be a push for sure.

Am I ready for Alaprilelle?

[parvuls]

fic: at certain times

word count: 12k

tags: year 2 canon-divergence, getting together, first kiss

summary: The Swallow's Samwell Awards issue of '15 crowns Jack and Bitty as Samwell's cutest couple. It is somewhat unfortunate, then, that they're not actually a couple at all.

read on ao3

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The kitchen smells like something burnt, a smoky tang that clings to the walls and floors, stings inside Bitty’s nose. April should smell like hot cross buns and zucchini bread, he thinks wistfully, but it turns out that some Aprils poor ovens are pushed to their last legs prematurely, leaving his kitchen smelling like Ransom forgot his frozen pizza in the microwave again.

Dex has been tending to Betsy on her deathbed all month, spending most of his free hours at the Haus. Bitty called him again after class, while he was standing in Superberry with Jack, and promised to pay for his services with froyo. Said froyo -- which Jack insisted on paying for, bless him -- is still on the table, untouched, yogurt melting over the rim of the paper cup and dripping onto the wood. Dex has been kneeling in the same strip of sunlight on the floor since he arrived with his toolbox. Bitty isn’t sure what exactly he’s been doing, but he seems to be too busy waving a screwdriver in the air and ranting to remember his abandoned bribe.

“So we finally got over the fucking Samwell Republican sticker thing,” Dex says, his face red and his brow furrowed. He’s been disgruntled all day because of an email he’d received, which he claims Nursey will never let him live down. "And Bitty, I know this is Massachusetts, okay? But I haven’t even actually voted yet! Fucking Swallow. How can I be Best Republican?"

Bitty hunches over in his chair, palms clasped together on his knees like a prayer. He’s anxiously following the motions of Dex’s screwdriver with his eyes while listening with only half an ear, deeply confused by the conversation subject. “The Swallow does pieces on politics? I can’t even imagine what an article like that’d look like, honestly.”

Dex grumbles quietly, shoving a hand under his backwards snapback to scratch at his hair. “No, it’s like -- their Samwell Awards thing? I don’t know, I just got an email about it this morning. I guess it’s like that 50 Most Beautiful shit they do.”

Bitty’s never heard of it, but then again, Bitty carefully sidesteps most articles of The Swallow whenever he comes across them. Those guys write about their team an uncomfortable amount for a university with almost ten thousand students. As long as Holster or Ransom aren’t reading it aloud at team breakfast, Bitty’s not eager to find out what The Swallow has to say.

He asks, though, because Dex seems to be upset about this and his frogs need to be handled with care. “Like in high school yearbooks?” Heather Barron was his class’ Best Laugh back home, and she made everyone who signed her yearbook tell her a joke so she could laugh for them.

“I guess,” Dex says distractedly. He bends down low to reach something close to the floor. “This girl from my Intro to CompSci class got the same email about it -- she won Best Dressed. I mean, who even judges these things? That’s a matter of taste.”

Dex wipes a dusty hand across his forehead and Bitty momentarily forgets to care about The Swallow in favor of looking on worriedly. Betsy is unplugged from the wall with her back side facing the room, surrounded by loose cables and scattered bolts. She looks old and frail. Bitty kind of feels like he’s watching an open-heart surgery occurring right in front of him.

“Can you save her?” Bitty presses a hand over his heart, dreading the reply. Dex wrinkles his forehead even further and doesn’t meet Bitty’s eyes.

It is then that their ordinary afternoon is interrupted by three emphatic knocks on the front door of the Haus.

"Did someone just knock on our door?" Shitty yells from somewhere down the hall. Bitty assumes he’s still curled up on the couch of sins in a t-shirt and flimsy underwear, mourning his grandparents’ affirmative RSVP response to graduation.

His tone sounds downright shocked at the sound, but that’s probably reasonable. Bitty’s been living in the Haus for over nine months now and he’s never once heard anyone knock on that door. It’s always unlocked, anyway; it’s actually nothing short of a miracle that they’ve never been burglarized. Not that there’d be anything to steal, of course, other than Holster’s collector's edition Simpsons DVD box set, or maybe one of Jack’s used jerseys to be sold to the highest bidder on ebay.

"Well, whaddaya know,” Ransom appears in the hallway outside the kitchen doorframe, likely summoned downstairs by the abnormal noise. His eyebrows are high on his forehead as he stares down the hall at the door. “It didn't collapse. I told you it’s sturdier than it looks."

Neither of the boys makes a move to actually open the door. There’s a second set of knocks, this one slightly louder than the first, and Bitty huffs as he gets off his chair. He casts one last hopeful look over his shoulder. Maybe, he wishes silently, Betsy has performance issues and would be magically fixed once she’s not under his constant scrutiny. Or maybe Dex does, and would magically fix her. “Y’all, when someone knocks on a door, they generally expect you to open it for them.”

He shoulder-checks Ransom on the way to yanking the door open, and is presented with some guy Bitty’s never seen before standing on their front steps. He’s wearing an atrociously ugly plaid vest and an awfully wide smile, which only grows wider when he sees that it’s Bitty who’s opening the door.

“Eric Bittle!”

“Yes?” Bitty agrees, eyebrows drawing together. He’s usually pretty good with faces, but he doesn’t think he’s seen this guy in any of his classes. Maybe a hockey fan. Still -- Bitty’s mother brought him up right, and he’s resolved to stick to his manners even if he now lives in a frat house. Someone with malicious intentions, he rationalizes to himself, wouldn't knock before entering. “Hi. Wouldya like to come in? I’m afraid our oven’s down, so I don’t have much to offer in terms of baked goods --”

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary!” The man dismisses quickly, his smile not waning any; it’s hard not to eye it suspiciously. Absently, Bitty can make out the sound of feet shuffling, which presumably means the boys are crowding together behind him to peer curiously at the stranger on their doorstep. “I’m from The Swallow, I’m here to deliver a message for you. And Jack Zimmermann, but I’m sure you can pass it on. Our annual Samwell Awards issue is coming out early next month, as you know --”

“Sure,” Bitty confirms politely, although he’s never heard of the thing until about two minutes ago. There’s no sense in getting the man down.

“-- and we wanted your response on the win. We do that for the real popular categories. If you want to draft a short statement, you can reply to the email we sent you two --”

“I’m sorry,” Bitty cuts him off, maintaining a carefully polite tone. He hasn’t checked his email since the previous night, too preoccupied with avoiding his American Publics essay and fretting over Betsy. Somewhere behind him there are more heavy footsteps coming down the stairs and one of the boys whispers excitedly, Bitty won a Samwell Award!, though he’s not sure which. “What win? Who’s you two?”

“Oh,” the Swallow guy blinks, obviously taken aback. His smile doesn’t completely disappear but thankfully thins a little bit, at last stretching over less than two thirds of his face. He looks marginally less maniacal like this, Bitty thinks uncharitably. “You and Jack Zimmermann?”

There’s another shuffle of feet. Bitty turns his head to catch Jack pushing Shitty aside, coming to stand a step behind Bitty’s right shoulder. Bitty hasn’t seen him since they got back from Superberry and Jack headed upstairs to study, chirping Bitty for not doing the same all the while. He’s taken his thin fleece jacket off since, and the soft V-neck he’s had underneath clings to his biceps, to the shape of his pecs. His hair is messy, the smell of his aftershave hasn’t faded yet, and his palm rests lightly between Bitty’s shoulder blades to keep his balance in the narrow, crammed doorway. Bitty’s stomach jumps at the sight of him and he can feel a reflexive smile tugging at his lips. It’s an uncontrollable reaction to Jack’s presence, no matter how many times Bitty’s seen him that day. Good gracious, but it’s plumb pathetic.

Jack is oblivious to Bitty’s eyes on him, too busy frowning at the Swallow guy from above Bitty’s head. “What is this about?”

The guy’s expression is clearly confused, despite the upturned mouth in his creasing face. His eyes survey the huddled group in front of him searchingly, as if waiting for them to catch up. When no one adds anything his smile drops entirely and he says: “You guys won Cutest Couple!”

Time seems to slow down while Bitty’s mind stomps on an emergency break and short-circuits completely. He knows things are happening in the backdrop, can hear someone behind him, probably Holster, choking really loudly on their spit, but none of it truly registers.

The Swallow guy is frowning now, looking completely baffled as to why they’re not enthused at the news. “Seriously, did you not get the email?”

“We. What?” is the only thing Bitty manages weakly. Whatever smile was on his face is thoroughly wiped off now. His heartbeat begins pounding in his ears, drowning out any further background noise under its heavy thrumming. From the brief glance he braves, Jack is not coping much better. His mouth is opening and closing silently.

"Yeah!” The guy recovers, apparently blind to the catastrophe he’s inadvertently causing. “I mean, I’ll be honest, some of the staff was like, ‘enough with the fucking hockey team’, and Khalil and Sara who did that awesome Halloween costume, they came really close -- but I was totally on your side. Anyway, the draft should be in your inboxes. We’d like to have your response in the next couple of days so we can start running it. The more romantic and gooey the better, of course. Thank you!"

He smiles and then skips down the stairs before Bitty’s brain fully catches up with what has just occurred on his front porch. He can barely grasp at tail ends of thoughts before they slip away from him, disappearing in a cloudy daze of absolute horror. His pulse is still racing and his fingers, wrapped around the door handle, are trembling.

Behind him, Ransom makes a slow wheezy sound and then descends into hysterical laughter. Bitty’s feeling rather hysterical himself, actually, but he’s not in the mood for laughing at all.

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“Can’t believe it’s another year we didn’t win Best Party,” Holster mopes back in the kitchen, sprawled out spread-legged in a chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s because of Alpha Sigma Phi and their fucking tropical Christmas party, I know it, Rans, I can feel it in my booze bones. Like, okay, they served drinks in real coconuts while bare-ass naked in twenty degrees, so what."

Ransom reaches out to give him a consolatory clap on the back. "We've always got next year, bro. Our names will appear on the holy Swallow pages, I promise."

“You’re right,” Holster sighs rather dramatically, sagging down a few extra inches in the chair. “We mustn’t despair. I’ve already bookmarked some ideas -- think we can keep live parrots in the Haus? Only for a few hours!”

“What I would like to know,” Shitty muses, stroking his mustache between two fingers while looking from Jack to Bitty’s flaming face and back again, “is who the fuck is their source. I mean, no offence, Bits, but if anybody is going to be Jackie’s fake-ass boytoy I call double fucking dibs and I’m willing to fight you on it.” He then considers it for a split second longer and says, “Or negotiate with food, honestly, I’m amendable.”

“Cooking is a touchy subject right now,” Dex mumbles from his perch by the counter, away from the cluster of boys that’s spread out at the table.

Dex looks like Bitty feels, actually: like he’s seriously regretting being present in this instance, and is looking for any excuse to make a quick escape. Or -- maybe only partially how Bitty feels, anyway. There’s another whole side of Bitty that’s feeling like there’s a vacuum in his chest, a ringing in his ears, a voice in his mind whispering, they know, they all know, Jack knows and he hates you for it.

Bitty has been studiously avoiding Jack’s face since they all withdrew from the door. He’s convinced that his feelings are written all over his face, pining daydreams altering his features and sappy midnight fantasies painting his cheeks bright red. He’s sure that one look in his eyes would give away every guilty thought he’s had since November, so he determinedly keeps his head down. Only, then Jack clears his throat and Bitty can’t help but spring his eyes up to look at him -- like a moth drawn to the flame that’d inevitably scorch it.

"Well, whatever is the misunderstanding, obviously they can't actually run that, Bittle. I mean, because. Hockey, and." His eyebrows do something complicated that Bitty cannot bring himself to study too closely.

The words hit like a two-hundred pound flour bag dropped on Bitty’s chest, weighing him down into the floor. Bitty tries to swallow, fails, tries again. His throat still grates like it’s made of raw sandpaper when he speaks.

"Right, no, of course," there’s this horrible sinking in his gut, a phantom sensation of freefalling that tastes like acid when it reaches the back of his tongue. "Of course, Jack. I know that. The last thing you need right now is --" he finally swallows past the lump in his throat, drops his eyes to watch his toes curl inside his shoes and dent the fabric upwards. “-- rumors about the gay kid on your team.”

Shitty says, “Bitty,” with a sharp edge in his tone, and when Bitty looks up Jack looks like he’s been struck.

"Hold on, Bittle, that's --"

“It’s okay, Jack!” Bitty makes a valiant effort to smile reassuringly. His chest is growing tighter and tighter, and he really can’t handle hearing Jack’s explanation right now. He feels like he’s shaking all over, like more and more words are being rattled out of his mouth without his permission. “I mean, it’s utterly ridiculous, but that’s The Swallow for you, I ‘spose. We’ll tell them it’s nonsense before anyone in the league catches wind of it. I’m sorry I even put your career at risk like that, honestly.”

“Bittle,” Jack says again, more firmly. He looks almost angry.

Holster’s stunned look is flickering between the two of them, and Bitty can feel the humiliation crawling up the back of his neck. He thinks that if he stays sitting in the kitchen any longer the boys might actually hear the splintering sounds his heart is making in his chest. Or he might start crying, whichever comes first.

“Don’t worry about it, really,” Bitty forces himself out of his chair, squeezes Jack’s elbow in passing for good measure, even though bringing his hands anywhere near Jack feels like torture. He doesn’t want Jack to feel guilty about this -- it’s not his fault. “It’s fine. I gotta go, I’m meeting Prof. Atley, but we’ll talk about it later, okay?”

He bolts out of the kitchen and rushes down the hall. The last thing he hears is Ransom saying, “Dude, I’m pretty sure his meeting with her was like, four hours ago,” before the Haus door slams shut behind him.

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The worst part is, Bitty knows Jack is straight.

Jack dates 50 Most girls from the tennis team, he takes ladies in tall heels to Screw, he brings puck bunnies to his room during kegsters. Or -- that turned out, actually, to be not all that true after all -- but.

Jack is straight. Bitty knew this all along. Bitty knew this and still let his foolish, stubborn heart say, maybe. Bitty saw Jack laughing at his weak chirps, and looking at him sometimes when Bitty was turned away, and there was that party, with Parse, and Bitty’s blood was rushing in his ears and he tried so hard not to listen, but they almost looked like they -- and Bitty thought, maybe --

But Jack wasn’t. Of course not. And Bitty knows it’s so unfair and so unjustified that he’s allowing himself to be mad about Jack’s words. Because these boys accept Bitty for who he is, have never shied away from him, have always been comfortable with his presence in their lives and their house and their locker room, and that’s not something to be taken for granted. It’s not their fault that they’re straight and that’s easier, not their fault that Jack’s straight and Bitty can’t bring himself to let go. Besides, something like this, it could wreck Jack's career even if it were true, and it isn't, so of course Jack would want it gone. It's not personal, Bitty knows. He has no reason to be so hurt.

Except maybe it stings a little, how untrue it really is. Maybe it burns a little inside to know that other people see what he sees, what he wishes were true, and still know that he can never have that for real. And maybe it hurts, that Jack can so easily make the article go away and never deal with those rumors again, because it's simply not true about him, but it will always be true about Bitty. Maybe he’s tired of how he will always have to fight for his place while people like Jack Zimmermann can walk right in.

Maybe.

But none of it is Jack's fault. Because Jack is straight, and Bitty isn’t, and he’s gone and fallen in love with him anyway.

.

.

.

Breakfast with only Lardo and Jack is a quiet affair the next morning. Habit has them settled down at the team’s usual long table, but they take up significantly less space just the three of them. Bitty is surprised by the two empty seats remaining to each side of them despite the crowded dining hall, but considers that maybe the Samwell population knows whose seats are available and aren't willing to risk it.

Lardo is chewing her toast silently by Bitty's side, oversized hoodie draped over most of her face. Jack is sitting across from them, peeling the shells off a pile of hard-boiled eggs. His body is curved in a stiff line over his plate and his elbows are tucked in close to his sides. He keeps sneaking glances at Bitty every few minutes, looking torn; Bitty busies himself with spooning exactly three banana slices in every dip into his oatmeal bowl, keeps hurriedly shoving them into his mouth every time Jack looks like maybe he’s going to actually say something.

Bitty spent the majority of the previous night hiding out in a quiet corner of Norris library, binging episodes of The Great British Bake Off on his phone. When he ultimately found the courage to come back to the Haus, he power-walked straight into his room and didn’t venture out for anything more than brushing his teeth. The walls in the Haus are thin, however, and he could still hear Jack in his own room through the closed doors, speaking on the phone with his father in brisk French. They didn't exactly sound angry, but Bitty had unintentionally overheard enough of Jack’s phone conversations to recognize Jack’s business tone easily.

Jack’s lawyer had sent The Swallow a sternly phrased email first thing that morning -- for formality, Jack informed Bitty when the two of them left the Haus for breakfast with Lardo. His hands were tucked deep in his pockets and his eyes were hidden beneath the bill of his Habs cap. He kept his body angled away from Bitty, maintaining a careful six feet between them, and Bitty’s whole body ached like he’d spent the night playing consecutive shifts instead of tossing and turning in his bed. It was the only time they’ve acknowledged the Swallow article since the previous afternoon. Bitty changed the subject immediately after, and prattled meaninglessly the whole way to Commons.

The three of them separate after breakfast, Lardo heading for the studio and Jack and Bitty for their respective classes. Bitty spends most of his spare noon hours trying to do work in the kitchen, but he steals longing glimpses at Betsy more often than he does the reading for US Intellectual HIST or the darn American Publics essay he still hasn’t started.

This day needs an assist, he justifies when he eventually deserts his open notes on the table in favor of hunting down a clean towel. Polishing dishes is a more effective way to escape his blues. Maybe he’ll make some jam -- that doesn’t require a working oven, and it’d be a longer-term distraction from the mess he’s landed in.

Jack’s lawyer's actions in mind, the knock on the Haus door doesn’t really surprise Bitty. He can’t help the way his body tenses at the sound, though; the blood rushing through his body is too much like the terrible lightheadedness he experiences when checked.

Jack comes down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and grinds to a halt when he sees Bitty leaning against the wall at the entrance to the kitchen and staring at the door.

“It’s probably the Swallow rep,” Jack states the obvious, voice completely monotonous and face blank.

Bitty's gut lurches. He tries his very best, but he’s certain that his smile looks even more put-on than it was the day before.

“We should probably go get it, then,” he says. He keeps his hands wrapped in the dish towel as they move to open the door, to have something to do with them and to cover up the way they’re shaking.

The guy standing on the bottom of their stairs is the same one from yesterday. His loose printed shirt is somehow even uglier than the plaid vest, but this time no smile is taking up the majority of his face. In fact, he isn’t smiling at all; he kind of looks like he’s been sent to the gallows and couldn't beg out of his sentence.

“We've been informed that a mistake was made,” the guy says promptly, glancing between the two of them. Everything about his face and his body language appears cautious.

“Yes,” Jack confirms firmly. The guy blinks in sync with Bitty, both of them waiting to see if Jack has any intention to follow that statement with an explanation, but none seems imminent.

“We understand that it’s an honest mistake and we just want it scrapped," Bitty says instead, trying to keep his voice from betraying any emotion, even when his vocal cords are wound tight. "We can't be the cutest couple if we're not -- if we're not."

“You talked to your lawyer,” the guy says faintly. Bitty's not sure that he actually heard a word of what was said. He keeps eyeing Jack’s rigid posture and bulging muscles like he’s afraid that he’s going to be dragged into a fist fight right there on the lawn.

“It’s a legal matter,” Jack replies curtly, frowning.

“No one ever sent his lawyer after us,” the guy says, fainter still. “It’s just The Swallow, man.”

Jack's frown deepens. He’s wearing his hockey face, mouth pinched and eye narrowed, every angle of his face turning sharper. He looks serious, assertive, like he’s getting ready to step out on the ice for the puck drop. Bitty’s heart hurts so badly looking at him that he has to turn away. His eyes, mid-movement, catch on three faces eavesdropping from behind the living room’s doorway. He just barely suppresses a heavy sigh.

"-- you’d be spreading misinformation with unwelcome consequences,” Jack is talking, apparently, and Bitty tuned out most of it. “So you understand why we need you to retract that immediately and delete all further copies."

"Yes," the guy nods tentatively, eyes jerking in Bitty’s direction and then immediately back to Jack. "I'm -- sorry? We really thought you were --"

"Well we ain't," Bitty says, wringing the towel in his hands to hinder an uncommon urge to break something with them.

"Yes, I -- I understand," the guy seems as spooked by Bitty now, contemplating him and the towel as warily as he did Jack. "But we --"

"And I've got a date!" Bitty blurts, before he can hold his tongue from making his situation worse. Shitty whispers, the fuck, brah?, loud enough to carry all the way to the front door. "A date! With. Someone else, obviously, who is very much not Jack Zimmermann, so if you could -- make it go away -- good heavens this could be embarrassing for my date --"

"Of course,” the guy is nodding more vigorously now, head bouncing much like a dashboard bobblehead. He takes a cautious step back. “We're, uh, sorry. We’ll take care of it."

The guy retreats from the porch, glancing back every few steps as he hastens down the sidewalk.

Jack shuts the door behind them when they step back inside, and has to move closer to Bitty to allow the door to close. It brings his arm flush with Bitty’s back, solid and warm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Bitty’s breath catches. His look flits sideways to watch Jack’s face twist into something Bitty hasn’t seen since the playoffs last year. He really felt like Jack and him were getting steadily closer throughout the year, considers Jack one of his closest friends, but he doesn’t think he’s imagining the distance between them in the last twenty-four hours. It’s more painful than the verbal confirmation that Jack will never like him back was. It’s painful that Bitty’s been shoving his feelings so far down to avoid this very outcome, only to have it blow up in his face through no fault of his own.

"What's that now!” Holster’s booming voice snaps Bitty out of his brooding, and he jerks his eyes up to see that Ransom, Shitty and Holster have crawled out of their eavesdropping spot and are blocking the hallway. “You've got a what and didn't tell us!"

“It’s not a big deal, y’all,” Bitty mumbles, mortified at how much he’s really not lying at all. He slinks away from Jack’s touch, tries to at least be subtle about it. Jack's expression is shuttering further with every moment that passes and Bitty is feeling irrationally miserable about it.

“Is too, Bits!” Ransom claps him on the shoulder excitedly, shaking his entire frame. "You know you gotta tell us all about it, we get veto rights! Is he hot? What's his name? Is he going to be your shoulders for Spring C?"

Bitty’s lousy day has only been getting progressively worse, which he thinks validates the way he bristles and knocks Ransom's hand off his shoulder. "I am average height, Justin Oluransi!"

.

.

.

So it's not -- really a date.

Anthony from his Eating Practices Since the 19th Century course, who sits two seats away from Bitty and always forgets to bring a pen, caught up with him after class and offered to study together. Bitty’s doing alright in that course, but Anthony is smart and friendly and it’s a good incentive to actually get some work done before finals, so Bitty smiled and said yes. He didn’t think a few days later he’d be lying about it to his friends.

They meet outside Annie’s because Anthony preferred it to Founder’s, which Bitty didn’t mind. He was a little embarrassed about how the librarians might react to the sight of his face. They, unlike some others, don’t have a problem believing he’s a member of the Men’s Hockey Team, and the treatment earned by his teammates’ behavior extends to him.

Ransom wouldn’t let him leave the Haus until his outfit has been appraised, which means he’s maybe a little overdressed for a platonic study date -- but Anthony is in nice jeans and wearing neither a team logo shirt nor a marijuana crop top, so he’s already setting the bar higher than Bitty’s usual company.

"After you," Anthony beams, opening the door for Bitty. It’s awfully nice of him. Maybe Bitty should consider running cotillion classes for his boys before graduation.

It’s easier to revert to his sunny nature in the company of someone new. Anthony keeps up chatter about the last subjects they covered in class, relates to Bitty’s chronic procrastination tendencies, and even insists on paying for both of their drinks. Bitty tries to refuse, instantly dejected by the stark reminder of coffee runs with Jack, but Anthony argues that they’d probably refill several times and Bitty can get the next one. His winning smile is so convincing that Bitty can’t find it in himself to say no.

It happens again when Bitty begins leading them to a larger table in the middle of the café where they’ll have more room to spread out. Anthony points at a table by the windows instead, says, “There, it’ll be quieter,” and Bitty instinctively thinks, those are the windows Jack and I always sit by. He then thinks, good Lord, ERB, get a hold of yourself, and agrees. There’s not much point in attending a study date if he’ll be constantly thinking about Jack Zimmermann.

They spread out all their notes and laptops and books, settling on both sides of the small, round table. Anthony drinks his coffee extra hot and the steam fogs up his glasses, which causes Bitty to laugh and Anthony to grin sheepishly. It sets a good mood for their joint studying.

They work decently well together. Anthony's been more diligent with his schoolwork but Bitty is a faster reader than him, so they catch up with each other fairly quickly and proceed from there. Bitty finds it fun, partnering with someone who doesn’t consider violent food breaks an essential part of studying, and enjoys having somebody to complain about the professor with. The two of them are just starting on technological advances at the end of the century when Bitty’s shoulders fully loosen for the first time in three days and he thinks: this is going well, this is nice, maybe we can do this more often.

This is also the exact point he looks up to tell Anthony about Louis Pasteur and catches Holster and Ransom spying on him from outside Annie’s front window.

His knee-jerk response is uncontainable: he groans out loud. Anthony seems alarmed, twisting in his chair to look over his shoulder and detect what Bitty’s glaring at. Ransom, who clearly knows they’ve been caught, looks directly at Anthony with a deliberately threatening face, pointing two fingers at his eyes, then at Anthony, and back at his eyes.

Anthony makes a confused face into his mug and says, "Um."

"Gosh, I am so sorry," Bitty drops his face into his palms, trying to smother the waves of heat rushing to his cheeks. "It's my teammates -- they have no boundaries and they -- gracious, they think this is a date --"

Anthony swallows a mouthful of coffee too quickly before he sets his mug on the table. "Oh, uh. Do you… not think this is a date?"

Bitty lets his hands fall into his lap. His eyes dart to where Holster and Ransom are waving their thumbs up in the air as they mercifully walk away from the window and then back to Anthony, whose face is unmoving. "...What?"

The top of Anthony's cheeks pink, and he adjusts the glasses on his nose with a knuckle. "I... totally asked you meaning this to be a date."

"Oh," Bitty exhales numbly. Oh, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, he thinks, and then opens his mouth to say something to Anthony -- anything at all, because the poor boy is starting to squirm in his chair -- but all his words seem to get stubbornly stuck behind his teeth.

Because Anthony is perfectly nice. He’s mild-mannered, has a pleasant smile, and he's made Bitty laugh in class a few times when the professor wasn't looking. He's sitting across from Bitty with his hands twitching on top of the table, like Bitty's answer on the matter of their date is important to him. Like he would actually really like it to be one, so he found the courage to ask.

"Oh boy, I really didn't realize," Bitty confesses, finally, clutching his coffee tightly between his fingers. He's never thought he'd be this bad at this, but apparently he's just completely and entirely blind to anyone's affections as long as anyone isn't Jack Zimmermann. And now he made this difficult for both Anthony and himself.

"That's okay," Anthony says, clearing his throat. His lips quirk up in some intimation of a smile, which is, while still very pleasant to look at, much less genuine than his usual smile. "No, really, it's cool. My fault for not being clearer. We can -- I can go and order a refill for this coffee, and when I'm back we'll forget about it? We still have work left to do." He drags his legs out from beneath the table, turning sideways in his seat, before he risks another look at Bitty. "Unless you --? I mean, now that you -- realize -- would you want it to be…?"

The answer to that, Bitty thinks regretfully, is too complex for an acquaintance. Because how does one say, you're very nice and I imagine liking you could be very easy, but I've never dated in my life and right as I thought maybe I'd give it a try, I went and fell head over heels for a grumpy, kind-hearted, heterosexual Canadian?

One doesn't, Bitty reckons, but one also cannot keep waiting forever for something that will never, ever come. So he straightens his back and says, with his best Georgia smile, "Well, how about we carry on studyin’, and maybe we'll see how things go?"

It's a little more strained after that, but that's more Bitty's fault than anything. Anthony is still as perfectly polite as he was before, as focused on the reading. It's just that now every time Anthony smiles at him Bitty freezes, and then feels guilty for freezing, and gets mad at himself for not giving this a fighting chance, and by then he's not smiling back for so long that Anthony's smile shrinks, and Bitty feels even guiltier --

"Look," Anthony tells him after they packed everything back into their bags and walked companionably outside. "This hasn't been ideal, but I still had a good time. I'd like to maybe -- do it again?" Anthony smiles genuinely this time, and his smile is so pleasant, and he tilts his head the slightest bit closer to say, "As an official date this time?", and --

This is the second time Bitty freaks out about a very nice boy leaning in to possibly kiss him at Annie's, and it's exactly as mortifying as the first.

Bitty jumps back painfully obviously, as startled himself by his physical reaction as Anthony clearly is. He's blushing fiercely when he stammers, "Oh -- I -- I don't think it'll work out, I'm so -- I'm so sorry --" turns around, almost breaking into a run, and calls out, "I'll bake you a pie!"

The corners of Bitty’s eyes begin to burn, indicating the impending shameful tears. He’s terribly upset with himself for his reaction, but he’d be even more upset if he allowed himself to cry over it, so he makes the effort to blink furiously the entire way home.

.

.

.

The team gathers to eat dinner together that night. Bitty’s still a little vulnerable in the aftermath of his failed study date, but he does his best to hide it, pushing himself to be cheerful and revel in quality time with his boys. It’s easier when Ransom spends most of the walk to the dining hall engaging him in a conversation about wild alien conspiracies. It’s harder when Shitty and Holster join forces to cajole him into giving deets, and don’t take his, “Oh good Lord, there’s nothing to talk about!” as an acceptable answer. Telling them the truth is not an option -- they’re his best friends, but they would absolutely, no question about it, chirp him to death, and he’s really not in the right mood to take it good-naturedly.

Bitty’s surprised when it’s Jack who eventually tells them to knock it off, shoving Holster’s shoulder to force his way into sitting between him and Bitty at the table. Holster topples sideways into Nursey, and Jack seizes the vacated space and grants Bitty a miniature triumphant smile.

Jack’s dour mood had persisted through yesterday and during their walk over, but Bitty’s been watching him gradually thaw ever since they arrived at Commons; this smile is the first true, earnest one in days, and it melts Bitty on the inside. He’s immensely relieved that at least their friendship isn’t ruined, that the past few days have only been an unfortunate bump in an otherwise smooth road. Bitty tries to cling on to that, use it to move forward from the raincloud lingering over him since his afternoon with Anthony.

A baby-faced freshman approaches their table while Chowder is telling them about a text conversation with his sister. Bitty has his phone out before anyone else even reacts -- the nervous look in the kid’s face is enough warning, and he’s not disappointed; the kid zeroes in on Jack and asks for a signature on his Samwell jersey. There is absolute silence at the table while Jack surrenders to his inescapable fate and pulls out a pen. He then ducks his head and hangs on to that pen once the kid is out of earshot and the boys begin chirping him ruthlessly, yelling loudly enough to rattle the cutlery.

Bitty’s hiccupping laughter comes as a surprise to himself, but it’s the welcome sort. He directs his smile at his phone while he tweets -- true friends don't care that you're a professional hockey player; true friends ask you to sign their mashed potatoes during dinner -- and when he raises his head Jack is peeking at his screen and grinning at him.

“Not a professional player yet, eh? You can’t go lying to the Twitter.”

Jack is so obviously pleased with himself, white teeth gleaming in his mischievous grin. Bitty's heart soars and then swiftly sinks to the bottom of his stomach. He tries to hang on to the gratitude for what he has, but something in Jack’s voice triggers the memory of it stating, obviously they can't actually run that, and then, consecutively, the memory of Anthony's dumbfounded look when Bitty fled away from him.

Not even Jack's benign chirps or his concerned glances can restore Bitty's uplifted mood after that.

.

.

.

Can’t make it to Founder’s tonight. Sorry! :( :( Raincheck?

The reading room is quieter than the rest of the Haus at night. It's dark out, gray shingles lit only by the lamp inside Bitty's bedroom and the faint glow of the streetlights down the road. Bitty lets his legs dangle from the edge of the roof, cradling a can of Twisted Tea and watching his shoes swing twelve feet above the shadowy green of the lawn.

There's the sound of a creaky window sash sliding up behind him. “Hey, Bittle.”

Bitty turns around. Jack is sitting on the ledge of his windowsill, holding a folded blanket in his lap. It takes a few seconds to blink away the disorientation caused by rumination and beer. “Jack! What’re you doing?”

Jack shrugs. “You said you’re not coming with me to Founder’s, and then you didn’t answer your phone. I wanted to check in.” He holds out the blanket with a modest smile. “Here -- so you won't get cold. Spring is pretty rough on you Southerners, eh?”

Bitty snorts inelegantly at the chirp, but stretches his arm to accept the blanket. He twists back to watch the twinkling Christmas lights on the LAX frat house across the road. They never take those down, and never add any new ones during the holidays. It’s as good a reason as any to hate the lacrosse team.

Jack clears his throat, an obtrusive sound in the relative silence. “Can I -- do you want me to stay? I mean, I can leave if you need some quiet.”

Bitty looks at him from over his shoulder, chin digging into his collarbone. Jack’s face is gentler than Bitty’s seen it in a while, mellowed out by the orange tint of the streetlights, and it’s so unfair. Even when Bitty’s upset about Jack he wants Jack near him, wants to hear Jack’s opinion, wants his straightforward, pragmatic type of advice. He wonders what Jack’s face would look like if Bitty was brave enough to tell him the truth about what’s bothering him. A sardonic laugh almost escapes him at that visual.

“No, you can stay,” Bitty says instead, and then makes a herculean effort to brighten up. “As long as you promise not to prattle on, you chatterbox, you know I like silences.”

The chirp falls flat when Bitty’s cheery façade cracks. Jack swings both legs out the window and slides down to sit by Bitty while Bitty takes another swig out of the can. There’s a lot of space on the roof, two empty lawn chairs on Bitty’s end, but Jack sits right next to him. Bitty’s shoulder knocks into Jack’s bicep and Jack’s thick thigh brushes against his, but Jack doesn’t take any action to inch away.

Bitty collects his knees close to his chest, leans his chin on top of them and continues watching the span of street visible from their roof. Beneath their feet, some couple probably returning from the bars by the river stumble together on the sidewalk, the echo of their giggles drifting up to the reading room. Bitty can’t quite cover his grimace in time to hide it from Jack.

"You're upset," Jack jabs Bitty’s elbow with his own, brow furrowing.

"No!" Bitty objects quickly, hoping his voice is only a lick squeaky. He's not drunk by any means, but the Twisted Tea makes everything a bit fuzzy, softens the world at its fringes. "I'm not upset. It's -- finals are coming up in two weeks, and I've got this essay I haven’t started, and -- you know, Betsy hasn’t been well and what am I gonna do, if I can’t bake to distract myself before the tests --"

"Bittle," Jack cuts him off quietly. Bitty lifts his head off his knees just enough to enable a quick glance; Jack is looking at him, those intense eyes trained on Bitty’s face, making his cheeks flush self-consciously. Jack’s expression is his distinct blend of uncomfortable but determined. "You're upset. Are you -- is it -- your date was this afternoon…?"

Bitty’s blush deepens, and he lays his cheek down to avoid eye contact. "So?"

"So," Jack begins, clumsily, and then shifts his arm so it nudges Bitty’s, fingers curled loosely into his palm. "Did he -- I mean."

It takes Bitty a moment to decipher Jack’s faltering sentence, but -- "Gosh, no," Bitty denies with profound embarrassment once he follows Jack's train of thought. Jack, unable to shake off the role of captain, is assuming some boy hurt him. Bitty doesn’t know how to tell him that he couldn't even get through the date to get hurt how normal people do. "He was a gentleman. If anything, it was me who was on my worst behavior."

Jack doesn’t look convinced. He bumps the back of his curled fingers against Bitty’s thigh. "But you're upset."

Bitty loosens his grip on his knees, keeps the hand not holding the can busy by fiddling with the hem of Jack’s blanket. Jack is both the last and the only person he wants to talk to about this. Bitty’s original plan was to get tipsy enough to fall asleep without thinking his emotions through, and then spend the next day compartmentalizing it away -- but Jack’s presence brings everything to the forefront of his mind, plucks at the tangle in his chest until it unravels.

"Well, because --” he sighs, and the expansion of his lungs must fracture some dam, because the words begin spilling out in long strings of nonsense. “I just -- I came here from Georgia because I thought it’d be different, y’know? I couldn't fit in there, and I know -- you said yourself -- I know it’s not any different here, not really, not in hockey, but outside of hockey it’s Samwell, so at least I could be me, right? But apparently I can't even be that, because I can't manage a simple thing like a date with a cute boy," he stops to take a deep breath, buries his face in the nook between his knees. "And, goodness, I can't believe I'm -- none of this is on you, I'm sorry --"

"Bittle," Jack touches his knee, inches away from his cheek, causing Bitty to look up. Jack doesn’t move his fingers from Bitty’s bare leg after Bitty lifts his head. "Don’t be sorry. It's okay."

Bitty searches Jack’s face. He doesn’t know how to read it, what the tiny microexpressions currently mean, but Jack’s fingers are splayed in the valleys of his joints and there’s something grounding in it. He takes another big breath in an attempt to calm himself down.

"I guess," Bitty whispers, but the turmoil in his chest doesn’t settle, not after he started letting it all out. He can almost picture it surging in him, clawing its way up to his mouth. "But -- is it? Okay? I'm just." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself, both for feeling so much and for being unable to articulate feelings with the proper words. "I feel like I can't just be me. Because who I am isn't good enough at home, and isn't good enough for hockey, and who I am likes boys but apparently I'm no good at liking them right, or -- the right ones --"

He restrains himself from saying anything incriminating, biting his lip hard enough to taste the metallic flavor of blood.

"You are good enough for hockey," Jack says, stilted. His hand tightens on Bitty’s knee and belatedly pulls away. "You're a strong player, and you did a great job this season. I know we lost, but you still did good. You'll be even better next year."

Bitty exhales sharply, rubs his eyes. He knows Jack; he knows he chose to latch onto hockey because that's something he’s capable of expressing. Telling Bitty he's a good player is something Jack can find words for. Bitty didn’t expect Jack to be the right person to talk through an identity crisis, but it’d be an easier evasion to accept if he wasn’t wrong.

"Jack, no offense, but that's a load of horseshit." Jack is clearly caught off guard, seems to be gearing himself up for retaliation, but Bitty talks right over him. "It is! It is, because I might do alright now -- here -- but if I wanted to go into real hockey, into the league, you think they'd be alright with who I am? You've heard what some guys’ve got to say on the ice, and this isn’t even professional hockey."

"You want to play professionally?" The familiar glint in Jack’s eyes indicates that he’s losing track of the grand scheme of the conversation.

"No! But that's not the point!" Bitty swallows, because it isn't, but getting to the point might as well be impossible with Jack. He can't exactly tell him that he's heartbroken and disappointed in himself and everything looks more bleak from this perspective. He's no better than Jack right now; they’re both afraid to dip their toes into the murky waters of everything Bitty said that isn’t about the game. "I couldn't if I wanted to because of who I am."

"You could," Jack says, looking away, his shoulders tight. The conviction in his voice gets Bitty's attention. Jack really isn’t the most emotive of guys, and it takes a lot to get his voice to change pitch. "The league isn't a very welcoming place, but it's hockey. The whole point is hockey. And if you're good at hockey, they'll just have to accept that -- at some point. It might be hard, but if hockey is what you want, then --" he looks up, catches Bitty's eyes. Jack’s are unfocused, like somehow he forgot Bitty was even there. "I mean -- you said it isn't, but if it was -- all I'm saying is --"

"Sure," Bitty brings the can up to his mouth for another swig, skeptical even in the face of Jack’s unanticipated speech. "I get it. You can play, and all."

"Yes,” Jack insists, turning his upper body towards Bitty. Their knees press together and Jack’s face is suddenly a lot closer than it was before. Bitty has to blink a few times until he can get his pulse under control. “You can. Because you are good enough, Bittle."

They stare at each other, time stretching between them, caught up in the unforeseen gravity of the situation. Bitty can’t really wrap his head around hearing Jack defending him with such vigor, but he knows there’s nothing he can say to argue. That’s Jack’s opinion. He’s never been guilty of handing out compliments he doesn’t believe in.

"Thanks, Jack." Bitty whispers. "'m sorry. It's been a rough day. Sometimes --” He sighs again, bows his head, and musters the last shreds of his courage to be at least a little honest. “I guess sometimes it can get lonely. And it sucked to realize that it's my own fault I'm alone in the first place."

Jack subdues gradually, his shoulders folding inward and the fire in his eyes dying out, leaving room for something much more empathetic than Bitty expected.

"I'm sorry, Bittle." He reaches out to grasp the ball of Bity’s shoulder in his large palm, squeezing it tightly. It’s a friendly gesture of comfort, one the boys in the team offer each other all the time, but Jack’s thumb is absently rubbing small circles on the base of Bitty’s neck and it spreads tingles through his skin.

“It’s alright,” Bitty moves away, smiling, but the words are like dust in his mouth and it isn’t really alright at all. They settle back into sitting side by side, and Bitty notices Jack's fixed eyes on the side of his face, but he doesn’t turn to look.

.

.

.

Friday evening finds Bitty scrambling to complete last-minute assignments before Spring C the next day. He shuts himself away in his room and turns off his phone, tries to make his eyes focus on long lines of text instead of on any creaking noises in the Haus that might provide a distraction. This tactic has failed him more often than not, but for once the Haus is completely empty and any creaking Bitty might hear could only be chalked up to Ransom’s ghosts. Lardo and Shitty are out buying booze for Spring C, Holster is with the frogs, Ransom is at his weekend study group, and Jack has been in Providence with his mother all day, looking at potential apartments, and will be returning later to have dinner with her and her former Department Chair.

Studying is easier when Bitty’s using it to avoid thinking about other things. Lately, since his oven has been acting up, it’s been easy using studying as a distraction from thinking about Jack -- about Jack moving to Providence, about Jack taking the first steps in his adult life away from Bitty and the team. It isn’t a better distraction than watching Say Yes To The Dress with Holster or listening to music with Lardo, but in the absence of all other options, it’s good enough to push Bitty to make his deadlines, even if it’s at the last minute.

Bitty’s laptop emits a sharp ping that alerts him to a new incoming email, and Bitty scrambles up from the floor, almost tripping over two piles of reading material on his way. His room is an absolute mess; papers covering the bedspread and the desk, textbooks spilling from inside his bag onto the floor, pens scattered haphazardly. He’s been reviewing for the HIST test while emailing back and forth with the TA for his American Publics course -- the last three lectures of which he honestly cannot remember, but is somehow expected to write two thousand words for anyway.

The new email in his inbox isn’t from his TA, however. It reads, RE: RE: Your Nomination in the 2015 Samwell Awards, and only contains one line of text, visible in the thread’s preview without Bitty clicking it open. Attached is a confirmation for the removal and termination of the aforementioned article.

Bitty pauses, his essay forgotten, and goes over the subject lines four more times.

Bitty hasn’t read the article. Bitty didn't want to read the article, had convinced himself that he was indifferent and was more interested in putting the whole ludicrous affair behind them. But now he’s incapable of dragging his cursor away from the email’s subject line. He can’t help but want to know what they have to say -- want to know why anyone would mirror his misguided feelings for a close friend.

It can lead to nothing but trouble. Bitty still opens the article file for the first time since the whole mess began on Monday, because he won't have the guts otherwise, but for some masochistic reason he just has to know.

.

The Samwell Swallow

Vol. 26, Issue 31 | May 2015 | Special Edition | The Samwell Awards

CUTEST COUPLE AWARD: ICE HOCKEY AS A LOVE LANGUAGE

Our most dedicated readers will know that the title of Samwell’s Cutest Couple is highly coveted. Perhaps only second to Dream Date or Biggest Gossip in prestige, this award is one of the greatest honors young Wellie lovebirds can strive for. This year, we’re proud to elect JACK ZIMMERMANN ‘15 and ERIC BITTLE ‘17. We know: enough with the fucking hockey bros. But hear us out.

These unlikely candidates were initially nominated by Zimmermann’s fellow photography class students with an exclusive scoop. Bittle was the subject of Zimmermann’s midterm project! (Awe.) Such a grand romantic gesture could not go overlooked, and we set out to investigate. Copies of Zimmermann’s photos are brought to you here, courtesy of the Department of Visual Art.

[Images: a collage containing a dozen semi-professional photographs, all depicting BITTLE. His character is consistently linked to themes of warmth and light, and is obviously portrayed with great affection.]

We were delighted by what we learned. Observant Wellies report that the two are often seen taking long romantic walks around campus, with Zimmermann’s lens sometimes pointed at the scenery, but more often at his boyfriend. Sources at Annie’s, the local café, tell The Swallow that, “Yeah, they’ve been like, coming here at least two or three times a week this year? There’s their table [points at a secluded window table in the corner]. The tall guy always pays -- what? No, they’re almost always alone. Except this one time that they were here with this other couple? I don’t know, man, I see lots of people on dates, but these guys kinda stand out. They’re always giggling with each other, it’s ridiculous. And loud.”

Our research yielded clear results: service staff at Samwell’s Jerry’s, Superberry and Stop&Shop have gone on record with similar statements; students who shared a class with the two disclose that their constant whispering and flirting have been impossible to ignore; even the janitor at Faber Memorial Rink reports that current team captain and fellow liney spend every weekend skating alone as they watch the sun rise, while no practice is scheduled! It’s official - Bittle and Zimmermann are, indeed, 2015’s Cutest Couple.

[Image: BITTLE and ZIMMERMANN at the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team’s #Epickegster this winter. The two are standing very close in the midst of what appears to be an intimate conversation, leaning towards each other under a bag of free condoms. Text under image reads: Our staffers report that the two then disappeared upstairs while the party was still in full swing. Get it, boys!]

.

Bitty spends a long, breathless moment staring at the screen with unseeing eyes.

It’s like an out of body experience. Bitty can’t feel the tips of his fingers, can’t feel his toes. He can’t lift his hand to ram the laptop lid shut so his eyes are still glued to the block of text, words blurring together into a solid sheet of gray. His mind keeps losing footing, coherent thoughts cutting off before they can run their course, parts of sentences jamming into one long sequence -- grand romantic gesture, long walks, whispering and flirting -- that plays over and over. Distantly, he’s aware that there are stray tears in the corner of his eyes, but he’s too disconnected from his limbs to do something about it.

People look, he thinks, brain stuttering over the realization, pushing itself out of its shock, people look and see -- people look at the two of us and what they see is --

A loud noise behind his back scares the living daylight out of him, enough to send him spinning on the chair. The door to his bedroom swings open, nearly banging against the wall with the strength of its motion. Behind it is Jack, standing in the doorway with his eyes blown wide and his face pale, looking like he's seen a ghost; panting for breath like he ran a marathon to get there.

Bitty nearly collapses out of his chair, stumbling over the papers on the floor to step closer, arms reaching out automatically. “Jack -- what --? Is everything alright? Aren’t you supposed to be with your mom --?”

“Bitty,” Jack breathes out, unsteady, and then tumbles further into the room. His hair is disheveled and his buttoned shirt is smeared with stains of sweat, and Bitty’s brain is still coming back online but he’s suddenly overcome with how handsome Jack still is, even like this.

And then Jack takes a lengthy step forward right into Bitty’s space, his body enveloping Bitty’s and his broad palms cupping Bitty’s burning cheeks, and tips Bitty’s mouth into his.

Bitty’s eyes remain wide open for one paralyzed split second, taking in the sight of Jack’s dark eyelashes and sculpted brow bone from extreme up close, and then Jack’s lips move and Bitty’s eyelids flutter closed, melting into the unfamiliar action.

Jack's mouth is as soft as Bitty imagined, as hot, velvety lips sliding against Bitty's and catching on the dip of his cupid’s bow. Bitty’s mind keeps up a remote chant of oh my god, Jack is kissing me, oh god, what is happening, before that too is silenced by the thrill of Jack’s mouth parting against his, deepening the kiss, and then everything goes blessedly silent.

An undetermined amount of time later, Jack’s phone begins buzzing insistently; Bitty can feel the vibrations from where his hip is aligned with Jack’s. Jack ignores it, separating their lips to angle his head in the other direction and suck Bitty’s bottom lip into his mouth, tongue wet and tentative. His phone buzzes again, though, and subsequently two times more, and then Jack finally sighs into Bitty’s mouth.

“That’s my mom,” he says quietly, breaking their mouths barely far enough apart to speak. His lower lip is shining with spit and Bitty feels faint, needs to sit down before he falls over, needs to step back before he sinks his teeth into it impulsively. “She’s waiting for me...”

“Oh,” Bitty says. His voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away. He has so many things he wants to say -- what the hell, and what does this mean, and but aren’t you, and stay, stay, don’t go -- yet the only sounds his mouth can apparently make are, “Uh. Okay.”

“We have this… dinner…” Jack continues, and his eyes are so blue and his lips are so red and his cheeks are so pink, and Bitty thinks that maybe this is a very vivid stress-induced hallucination, and also thinks that he wouldn’t mind hallucinating a little longer. “I gotta go, but I’ll -- I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” Bitty says again, even though he’s not sure it is. He’s pretty sure, actually, that once Jack exits the door of his bedroom this spell will break like at Cinderella’s midnight clock strike, and Jack will return from dinner with his mother still painfully perfect, and still painfully straight, and still so, so far out of Bitty’s reach.

Jack backs up towards the door, eyes lingering on Bitty as his hands drift down Bitty’s arms. “I’ll be back,” he repeats, although Bitty’s not any more convinced, and then he takes his hands away and fumbles blindly for the doorknob, slips out into the hallway from whence he came.

Bitty hears his breaths shallow into nothing more than gasps of air, and promptly crumples backwards onto his chair.

.

.

.

Bitty spends the entire time Jack is absent slowly going out of his mind.

Once the shock passes and the fogginess clouding his thoughts clears, all he can do is think: think about Jack kissing him, and the lovely shape of his mouth, and the bewitched look on his face; wonder how the hell it happened, and why, and what it even means. He conjures a dozen, a hundred versions of what transpired to bring Jack to his door, and even more of what would happen if he does indeed come back.

Bitty paces back and forth across his room, unable to focus or hold onto any one scenario for more than a few seconds. His heart beats so fast for so long that it develops into nausea; he continues pacing while clutching his stomach and praying that he won’t throw up, because he doesn’t think he’d survive that kind of embarrassing memory.

Shitty and Lardo come back at some point, stoned and bearing three bags of sour worms. They squint at his messy room but don't comment on the condition of his hair or his shaky limbs, kindly offer him some sour worms and the opportunity for contact-high in Shitty’s room. They back off and close the door as soon as they see the look on his face. Bitty runs his hand through his hair one more time when he tries to imagine what his face must look like to successfully scare them away.

A long while later there are footsteps in the hallway outside his door. Bitty braces himself to tell Holster or Ransom or, god, Chowder that he’s busy right now. He tries to remind himself that he loves them even when he's in a state, and sits down on the bed to tell them that he isn’t feeling well -- except then the door opens, and it’s Jack standing in the doorway.

Bitty’s heart jumps, somersaults, and plummets all in the space of one millisecond, as he stands up abruptly from the bed and stares, openmouthed.

Jack doesn’t look as rumpled as he did earlier. His collar is adjusted neatly and the tails of his shirt are tucked and smoothed into his pants, but his face is a rich shade of pink and he’s clenching and unclenching his fists by his side. He seems so awkward, standing there, that Bitty’s continuous state of panic morphs into a different chaotic mess of confusion and affection, all while Jack does nothing but stare at him.

“How was dinner?” Bitty squeaks out, eventually, when it’s clear that Jack’s not going to speak anytime soon.

Jack looks like Bitty has veered off script unexpectedly. His eyes widen and he clenches his fists and then releases them again, compulsively. “Eh -- good, good.” Bitty nods. There’s a long stretch of silence neither of them fills. Jack inhales and says, right when Bitty is sure that his heart is sincerely going to beat out of his darn chest, “I. Bittle. About earlier.”

The color in his face deepens further but Bitty can’t tell what that means, if he’s already regretting what he’s done or if he’s just tripping over his own emotions like Bitty is. “You should -- the door,” he stutters, because whether he’s going to be kissed again or be let down gently, he’d rather do it without an audience. Jack looks at him like he spoke in a cryptic foreign language, so Bitty forces out, blushing to the roots of his hair, “Come in and shut the door, Zimmermann.”

“Oh -- shit, ouais,” Jack jostles into action, stepping away from the threshold and kicking the door shut after him. It’s the first time Bitty has seen him move with anything other than practiced poise.

Bitty’s room isn’t very large, and with the door closed the atmosphere in it quickly shifts. There’s an inherent intimacy in the short gap between their bodies that heightens in a small, enclosed space, and Bitty can feel his body heat rise and spread to his palms and his face as a result of it.

It’s unsettling, and Bitty suspects that he could grow to crave it, but not as long as he has no idea what is going on. “Jack --”

Jack interrupts him, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Wait, Bittle, listen. I -- it’s really important that you know that you shouldn't feel obligated.”

There are maybe a hundred thousand things that could’ve come out of Jack’s mouth after Bittle, listen, and Bitty spent two and a half hours imagining a good deal of them. Telling Bitty that he shouldn’t feel obligated is so perplexing that Bitty’s too wrongfooted to protest, and Jack carries on speaking. “I know as team captain I have a certain amount of authority and I didn’t even -- think about that, before, which is really wrong --”

Bitty squints, slowly gaining a renewed grasp on this bizarre situation. The only thing he manages to think with clarity, through the storm brewing in his chest, is, You doofus, what on earth are you talking about. “Jack. The season is over."

"Right," Jack shoves his hands in his pockets, squares his shoulders. "But -- still. Technically we kept up with a.m. practices even after the playoffs, so."

Because you are an insane person, Bitty thinks to himself, coming to terms with the fact that the tone of his thoughts is on a scale ranging between neurotic and cloyingly smitten. He opens his mouth, not sure what’s going to come out of it, but Jack keeps talking without pause.

"Anyway, the NCAA allows intra-team dating but doesn't say anything about involvement with captains. I checked."

This bowls Bitty over, a new wave of warmth rushing to his cheeks. "You checked?"

There's a sheen of what can only be nervous sweat above Jack's upper lip that shines under the glaring ceiling light. “It’s only thirty pages.”

Bitty feels lightheaded again, as he allows himself to consider for the first time that evening, with some measure of possibility, that Jack Zimmermann in fact came into his room and kissed the right sense out of him with the intention to date him. It’s almost too much to consider, making him weak at the knees. He grabs the edge of his desk to be on the safe side.

“You -- I -- dear god, what is even happening? What brought this on?” Because they’ve been spending -- well, they’ve spent almost every waking moment together this semester, excluding this odd week since the damned Swallow article. Jack had plenty of opportunity to confess his feelings had he possessed any, and the best time certainly wasn’t while his mother was waiting for him downstairs to go to a formal dinner.

“Well, I,” Jack stammers, dropping his chin to his chest. His ears are bright red, dark enough to be seen from a few feet away, and Bitty is enchanted by it. “I didn’t know, but. I read the stupid thing in the car because I couldn’t -- my mom said -- I kept thinking about you in every kitchen that we looked at, and I…”

Bitty can feel his eyes widen, his organs flipping over inside him. "You… did?"

Jack lifts his head, and when the two of them finally make eye contact it zings through Bitty’s body. "Yes. I mean, I guess it’s hard not to. If you're not on ice, you're baking, Bittle. Or tweeting. Or baking and tweeting."

He winces as soon the words are out of his mouth, and Bitty can’t help it: he bursts out in laughter, high-pitched and giddy. This boy, Bitty marvels, and euphoria spreads like thick cotton candy in his chest, making it hard to speak; to breathe.

Jack’s face still looks vaguely horrified, like he’s regretting ever opening his mouth. "Crisse, sorry, it's not -- I wasn't trying to --" he blows out air, starting over. "It's fine that you do. I mean, more than fine. I thought about you in the kitchens because I like it. I like you."

His voice is unmistakably uncomfortable, and beads of sweat are glinting on his temples. Bitty’s so overwhelmed by hearing Jack speak candidly about his feelings that he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. "You like me? But you're -- I mean, I thought you --"

Jack’s eyebrows draw down and his mouth thins. He looks irritated, but Bitty knows it’s the shape his face takes when he’s distressed. "I know last year it didn't seem like -- but I thought this year you knew things changed --"

"-- were straight," Bitty exhales, chest heaving. God. This is real. "I thought… you were straight."

Jack squints, stopping himself in the middle of his sentence. He seems honestly, genuinely confused, the big lug. With a more functioning part of his mind Bitty recognizes that this is probably the most facial expressions he’s seen Jack make since meeting him.

"But I kissed you."

"Yeah," Bitty swallows, cheeks probably glowing bright red. Somehow it’s so much more jarring hearing the words out loud than it was to have Jack’s mouth on his. Like something that’s not supposed to be discussed out in the open. A secret lifted right out of Bitty's subconscious, manifested by sheer will. "Uh. Sure did. Thus my confusion."

"Your -- confusion…?" Jack trails off. His flushed face begins shifting by degrees, a smile spreading slowly but steadily and creating the smallest, sweetest crinkle at his eyes. He wipes his shiny brow with the back of one forearm and then crosses the distance between them in a few short strides, sweeping in to kiss Bitty.

It’s not any less mind-blowing the second time around. Jack's fingers slot under Bitty's jaw, titling his head up, his other palm sliding from Bitty’s neck to his shoulder and down his back in a tantalizing stroke. Bitty grows hot all over, bending his body into Jack's to press their chests together, his hands hesitatingly finding their way to Jack's hips. He hooks them over the sharp curves of Jack's hip bones, feels the strength in Jack’s obliques through his clothes.

Their mouths create a soft slick sound when they glide against one another, lips meeting and parting smoothly. Bitty gathers the confidence to attempt parting his own lips, applies the slightest pressure of tongue to Jack's bottom lip, and is rewarded by Jack's shudder and the tightening of his hand on the small of Bitty's back.

Jack pulls his face back slowly enough for Bitty to blink his eyelashes open and catch Jack licking his lips, exhaling shakily.

"I like you, Bitty," Jack leans their foreheads together. His eyes are staring right into Bitty’s, drooping and soft and so clearly fond that Bitty feels the tremor flow in his body all the way to his toes.

"Me too," Bitty whispers. His heart is still beating irregularly, vainly trying to catch up with the emotional upheaval of the last few minutes. “Jack --. I like you, too.”

Jack smiles at him, and it’s more honest, more tender than Bitty's ever seen it. It makes Bitty so happy that he wants to burst into giggles, wants to hide his beam in Jack's chest until butterflies stop fluttering in his ribcage.

Jack runs his fingers into Bitty's hair, gently brushes through it. He's bashful, both of them avoiding prolonged eye contact, and it's so absurd that they're shy after kissing like that, but Bitty can't help it. Jack tips his head to kiss Bitty's chin, his temple, makes Bitty actually giggle when he kisses his ear and then settles his lips in Bitty's hair, tugging him closer into the crooks of Jack's body.

"Hey, Jack?" Bitty says quietly, leaning his cheek on the curve of Jack's shoulder and wrapping his arms around Jack's waist, hands linking at the arch of his spine.

"Yeah?" Jack mumbles into Bitty's hair, mouth moving against the crown of his head.

Bitty presses his lips briefly to the closest patch of Jack's skin he can reach, which is the dip in his clavicle. It's barely a kiss, but his entire body shivers with the knowledge that he’s allowed. "Wanna be my date to Spring C tomorrow?"

Jack draws back far enough to be able to look down, tilting his chin into his neck and catching Bitty's eyes with his. His face is pink and his lips are swollen and Bitty's so unbelievably in love with him, but it's the furthest thing from pathetic now. It seems funny that it was ever something shameful at all.

"It'd be my pleasure," Jack smiles, and leans in for another kiss.

[mdianasims]

Now that it’s confirmed that gardening will be fixed, I can safely pre-order Cottage Living (let’s pretend like I wasn’t going to anyway, I want that bonus bicycle). And I’ve given this some thought. I usually make a test save to play around with the new features. Given the things I’m currently playing, that is what I will do again this time. Because I like lengthy ramblings, I’ll sum up why - 

Globetrotter challenge - while this new world/pack would be perfect to add to this challenge, I do feel like it fits best in the end. Given that Iker is still in Mt. Komorebi and has like 6 more worlds to go... I’ll never get to that part on time.

Nightmare legacy - short lifespan is brutal, unfit for peacefully exploring a new pack/world

Grayson legacy (it still exists) - I have completely different plans for gen 2 and 3, and I’ve had those plans for so long that I’m not gonna mess with them. Even if I’ll probably never get far enough to play them out.

So. I could do as I always do, create a random(ish) new Sim and play. But... This world (the little we know of it) just gives me major Midsomer Murders / All Creatures Great and Small / Every Casual Farming/Villager Befriending Game vibes. Now, my new pack playthroughs are gameplay focused so, option one kind of misses the mark here (though I have every intention to one day do a village based mystery story and I will not refrain from turning Adam Hunter into a country copper).

Which leaves us with two other, more gameplay suited concepts, that I’ll pitch below. I do not intend to consistently share anything, so expect a few random moments and scenery screens. But well, I’ll play out the story in my imagination, saves me oodles of time (we all know, but no-one ever mentions it, but simblring is excessively time consuming). I personally like both concepts, and since I won’t share very much of it, there is really no point in this exercise except me displaying another attempt at mediocre editing of fancy banners that I’ll never use. And I just like writing a good story pitch and then never writing said story.

TL:DR - just pick one of the below - vote here:

A Vet’s Life - In The Country

The return of a classic, with a twist. After the premature demise* of his beloved wife Jasmin, Derek has been feeling rather depressed. Little Lynn thinks she knows just the thing to cheer her dad up. How about they move away from Brindleton Bay and make a fresh start? The vet practice in Henford-on-Bagley has been in dire need of a new vet and there’s a little farm for sale in the vicinity. As old Nugget and Sly tag along, will Derek find happiness again among the udder chaos of country life?

* Disclaimer: Skip, Leon and Laika have also sadly passed by now (aka, it’s impossible to have a dog to adult sim ratio of 4:1). And Jasmin needed company in the afterlife.

Old McAlister’s Farm

From a long forgotten (attempt at) legacy, Poppy Addison is all grown up now. She’s recently inherited old Grandpa McAlister’s farm (who died peacefully in his sleep not long ago) in the lovely little hamlet of Henford-on-Bagley. Once Poppy arrives here, the farm is in a sorry state and it’s her job to restore it to its former glory.* She cannot do so without the help of the local villagers. A new adventure awaits and many new friends are to be made.

* Poppy may bring along her sister Holly for this.

[0ghostwriter0]

Peaky Blinders Imagines

This is a bit random. This is not edited or proof read so please read and like if you want. Not tagging anyone for this as can be very sensitive.

Pairings: Thomas Shelby x Original Character (Lucille Hughes)

Warnings: Suicide but no major detail, emotions, violence, mention of affairs, swearing

The two meet for the first time when Shelbys chose to expand to south London. Lucille is the niece of Father Hughes so she’s uses to a different way to life.

Before the war, Lucille was abused by her father sexually and physically. His excuse was that he blamed his daughter for not being able to conceive another child after her birth. A fact that her mother had turned a blind eye to. During the war, Lucille was 14 when her father had left for the war and months later she would be orphaned following her fathers death in action which triggered her mother’s depression. By 1924, the 24 year old had been running the Hughes for 10 years. The Hughes were powerful business people but an even more powerful London based Gang. Much to the young Lucille’s dismay, the Hughes became notorious. Being the only person to hand during the war, it was her responsibility to control the legal and illegal business from going under. During the years of the war, Lucille face abuse and hardship from every angle. Much to her surprise, the uncle who comforted her sought out to abuse and rape her for many years before she claimed her full power in the Hughes during 1919. After which the young woman had prematurely aged in wisdom and became one of the most powerful gang leaders in London. After the Italians and Russians were run out of London by the Shelby’s, the young Hughes became a legend. The death of Father Hughes allowed Lucille to hide in the shadows and conduct her business as she saw fit. The once well known woman of society, started to decline from social events until she stop attending, the risk was too high to be left unguarded with socialites. As her power grew so did her lack of trust and rightly so.

By 1931, Lucille was reacquainted with Thomas Shelby. The two began their professional relationship but Lucille wanted an out. Thomas began to see a different side to Lucille that she tried to keep away from her work- the abused woman. Following his wife’s ultimatum, Mr Shelby kept Lizzie away from charity events in order to get closer to Lucille. But when Lizzie, got paranoid about Thomas sleeping with other women even though she said he could “sleep with another if they weren’t in their home and he hadn’t held his children’s hand the day prior”. The MP had been falling out of his marriage for years but for the sake of his children he would stay. One after noon, Lucille had received an invitation for a charity ball being held by the Shelby foundation. Such an invitation had not been received by Ms Hughes for quite sometime and with the added protection of the peaky blinders, Lucille chose to attend. The night was tedious. Lucille sipped on gin as she warmed up to the riches, even though she was also now a woman with money she felt out of place. After hours had passed, the near 31 year old started her goodbyes before meeting eye to eye with Thomas Shelby.

“I’ve heard that you’re making your great escape before the host can by such a beautiful lady a drink”

“Shouldn’t that woman be your dear wife”

“She neglected to join me tonight”

“Too bad she’s a lovely person to hold conversation”

“Not behind closed doors”

“I must be taking my leave Mr Shelby, I imagine the Monday meeting is still to go a head”

Thomas nodded and placed a kiss on the young woman’s cheek before escorting her to the door. Little to his knowledge, Lizzie had watched the encounter and after Thomas watched Lucille go, Lizzie confronted him.

“So that’s your new whore good to know she has no morals”

“What do you want Lizzie!”

“I want you to be mine, my husband not fucking whores”

“I’m not having this tonight Lizzie, there’s a room full of people waiting for me to go back out so just fucking leave it”

“So you are fucking her. Brilliant. I should have divorced you when I had the chance.”

“Divorce! You want a divorce, fine, I’ll give you one. Lizzie Stark you’re no longer my wife. You no longer have to worry about my business. Oh and that woman, the one that left, I haven’t fucked her”

In the days that followed, no one would have expected the events that unravelled.

It was the following Wednesday when Thomas Shelby proceeded to hand over the divorce papers as a man of his word. The past whore sat silently as she watched the Shelby walk away- walk out of her life. The peaky blinder was far from okay but would never let show the heartache he was suffering. His first wife died and haunts his days. His second, the woman who mothered Ruby and took care of his son, paranoid and divorced. He needed a friend, someone he could drink with and forget. Although, the only person he wanted to see was the lovely Lucille who always found a way to put him in his place.

Later that day, events occurred which no one could predict. Perhaps the only way you leave this family is through smoke clouds. It was around 11 when the Hughes meeting started.

“Now I know what you're going to all say so I'll say it for you. Why are we here? Well, it's come to my attention that over the years I've let things slip through the cracks. So if you're in this room, then you are one of the very few that hold my trust. I can count you all on two hands and I'm willing to cut off fingers. So I suggest you leave or prove that I chose correctly” she sat and waited for one of the rugged faces to stand an walk out on the Hughes for good.

“Right then, there's a file under your chairs. This information stays in the room. Any issues we sort them out now.”

They spent the next 2 hours editing and explain the lengths of the documents. It was 1:15 when Sophia, the Secretary, interrupted whilst stumbling through the door.

“Sophia, dear we're in the middle of a meeting, ” Lucille spoke softly while looking up from her hard oak desk. Although, after immediately meeting the gaze of the stumbling woman, Lucille nodded.

“There's a Lizzie to see you”

“Send her in, I'm sorry about the disruption this should only take a moment” Lucille nodded as she responded. Soon, a distraught sight of a woman entered the office.

“Mrs Selby, what-” her words caught off.

“You don't get to say that name, you whore.”

“Lizz-”

“Dont you fucking dare. He gave me these. I'm guessing your fucking doing!” Lizzie bellowed which shocked the room. Although, Lucilles attention was drawn to the divorce papers that fell on her desk.

“I knew you were fucking him behind my-”Lizzie was cut off by Lucille standing.

“Now I will stop you there, Ms Stark, I suggest you take a walk and return when you've calmed down. These papers have no reason to involve me, so please kindly leave”

“Im not leaving until you understand” as a gun was raise Lucille remained calm as she stood from her seat.

“Do you want to shoot me?” Lucille spoke softly as she gestured for the others in the room to hold their horses. Stepping around her desk, Lucille didn't hesitate to stand closer to Lizzie.

“As I see it you have two choices, stand here and shoot me or hand me the gun and go home.”

“I have no home. I've lost everything. So it's your turn.”

“You still have your daughter and your dignity so I suggest you hand me the gun or shoot me now” Lucille stepped closer.

In this moment, time started to freeze over.

From the corner of her eye, a man rose from his seat as Lizzie cocked her gun. Turning slowly, Lucille regretted taking her eye off of the distraught woman.

The next moments will haunt her for the rest of her life.

She felt the spatter before she heard the sound. One single shot. It wasn't the man she was now facing who had made that single shot. Trembling subtly, Lucille ran her fingers over the splatter of fluid that grazed her cheek. Her fears had been confirmed. Time stood still as the younger woman turned to the spot previously occupied by a broken woman. It was empty. Lucille refused to look down as the shocked faces confirmed what she needed to know.

Looking around the room, she planned the next step.

“In light of this sensitive event, I ask you all to hold your tongue on today’s events. Go home, kiss your other halves and I will converse with you when I am proficient.” she watchedas they all filtered out. Turning quickly,

“You ever try that again I will have your head. I was in control and you tried to be the alpha male. Today this is on me but next time it's on you. Now go.” she spoke harshly with a soft undertone as the burly man dropped his head and left like a stray dog.

The boss watched as the alpha male left and her heart dropped as Sophia started to head for the door.

“Sophia, dear I suggest you don't come in any further. Send for Mr Shelby, say nothing and take the rest of the week off. Inform the rest of the offices to leave for the week.” Sophia nodded and scurried away.

Fear filled her mind as she sunk on to the top of her desk before finally looking down. Lizzie Shelby had blown herself out. Yes Lucille was attracted to Thomas Shelby but knowing full well that Thomas was spoken for and a business partner of the Hughes. But now she had blood on her hands -her face- something she vowed never to do. She became everything her mother and father wanted except she wasn't a man.

[universitypenguin]

What happened to u? U okay?

Hello!

First off, thank you for your concern. I appreciate it and I needed it after the past two days. To answer your question - I'm doing great.

I don’t have a lot of context about your question, but I’m guessing your concern is due to my recent blocking spree. A day ago, I went through my followers list and found some minors. I’ve previously seen smut fanfic writers concerned by underage people interacting with their posts. Until I had to block a few of them, I wasn’t aware how uncomfortable it would make me feel.

Since the blocking spree, I've had a lot of thoughts. I'm about to spew them everywhere. You might regret asking me if I was okay. Sorry about that. No one needs to read this whole manifesto about my rollercoaster of emotions the past few days. But in the interest of transparency, I'm posting this very long note.

What I want my readers to know is the following:

Tumblr is both a place for fanfiction and a social media site.

When I interact with followers and write explicit content, I have to be careful about what I'm saying and who I'm saying it to.

I don't intend to block or purge my followers in the future.

As long as I appropriately tag and put warnings on my work, that is adequate protection for my blog. Everything I write containing explicit content is tagged.

However, I won't interact with users who don't have an age stated in their bio.

There have to be boundaries, given the content of my writing. But I've also come around to the realization that I'm not capable of policing every interaction. Tumblr is a public forum. Minors following me makes me uncomfortable. But by the same token, my work is clearly labeled at 18+ and so is my blog.

There's a lot of explicit content out there for minors if you really think about it. In my high school freshman English class we talked about the book "The Color Purple." Believe me, that was explicit and we were only 14. Any minor with a library card and a Google browser can access a lot more intense content than what I write. I hope they're all being safe, but I can't have a melt down blocking spree again.

I'm not a cop, I'm not a parent, and what minors consume is down to them and the adult responsible for them. If I know someone is a minor I'll block them, should I notice they're trying to interact with me. Otherwise, I'm not purging my followers ever again. It's too much drama. I'd rather leave Tumblr than do that twice. I'm tired and I'm starting to work on my post graduate classes, I work full time in a demanding job, I'm in the process of editing my novel, and trying to keep up with my personal life. Quite literally, I don't have time to block. Writing fanfic is supposed to be my fun time. Let's keep it that way.

Due to the fact that some people I blocked were later unblocked after I took a closer look at their blogs, I'm posting a full explanation below. A quick summary is this:

After only writing for three months, I'd amassed 500 followers. On Monday I blocked almost 200 of them. Then I reviewed my block list and editing down some people who were prematurely blocked. [I assume the anon is one of the unblocked who had me disappear from their dash. Sorry!] This blocking thing isn't sustainable. In the future I'll run my blog differently as far as interaction goes in an effort to be responsible.

Continue reading for the saga of:

The Great Blocking Spree and Existential Crisis of an Erotic Fanfic Writer.

The Blocking Spree:

On Monday I realized a thirteen year old was following me and interacting with my work. This creeped me out.

*Commence blocking spree*

Then I realized how daunting my followers list was. I had 500 followers prior to Monday. That day I blocked about 200 people (some of them prematurely - more on that later.) So after the daunting task of trying to assume, to check bios for ages, to review blog content and determine the user's age, I was tired. Today, I even took a moment to reconsider if I wanted to use Tumblr. Because if all this is my responsibility, maybe I don't have the time or dedication to manage it. When I can be chill, I try to be. This attitude also affected by blocking. It contributed to me unblocking people. When I was doing the blocking spree, I'd give people with no age in their bio a fair shot by reviewing their posts.

I blocked some bot accounts, then a bunch of blank blogs, some ambiguous people who very well could be of age. For the first 100 followers I was pretty aggressive. Then my attention span dropped off and I was a bit more ambivalent. I realized I was doing a crappy job of moderating and wondered what the point was.

The point was that the thirteen year old interacting with my work freaked me out. When I found two sixteen year old followers, it pushed me to continue the purge.

So on I go, blocking. I'm so responsible for doing this, right? But my methodology is crap. What is context for being an adult? Someone had posted about budgeting advice. I thought the budgeting advice was too good for it not to have come from an adult. But my father's a financial advisor and to be honest, I could have given that level of advice at fifteen just from osmosis. Someone had pictures of themselves entering their marijuana plants in the Oregon State Fair. Okay, you've got to be over 18. I didn't block them. Someone else complained about their stats professor and I didn't block them. But in retrospect, one of my high school friends got permission to take college level math courses when we were seniors. She was seventeen when she had a stats professor. The thought circles back - what am I accomplishing here? Next, I went back and unblocked someone who ranted about her Tinder matches being 60 year old men. I wondered if their post was even real. I've lied on the internet before. Nonetheless, I persisted and worked through all 500 followers. When I was done I had 312 followers left.

Post Blocking Spree Existential Crisis:

I know that all the blocking in the world can't stop a teenager who wants to read smut fanfic. I'm not much for posting on social media and I'm not used to a lot of anonymous interaction online. Honestly, I got rid of my SM accounts during college when I felt it was wasting my time. This is the first time I've really use a social media site to post content since college. My twitter account is unused, my Instagram is for close personal friends only, and my TikTok is for mindless consumption of cat videos. (I've trained the algorithm to feed me only cat videos, it's great and I highly recommend it.) I don't post on TikTok, so I don't consider it full use, just lurking.

Okay, Alice, get back to the point....

Right, being anonymous on social media. My blocks are a fence and it's based on self identification from the blogs that follow me. I have little faith in underage consumers to out themselves. I have even less faith in their honesty or respect for an adult's boundaries. They're at a stage in life where they want to push the boundaries. Telling them no is all but inviting them in. I did my blocking spree because I was worried about backlash from someone's parents. But what reasonable judge would come after a fanfic writer? Come on. Logical thoughts but me emotional distress was still brewing.

Why I am the one responsible for who clicks the follow button on my blog? I've always clearly identified what I write and tagged my work as smut.

That thought snapped me out of my whirlwind of anxious thoughts. So I started looking into the laws. My regular work involves medicine, not the legal profession, so I was lost. I found some state level laws that made me glad I'd gone on a blocking spree. California and Florida have specific language in their laws about 'providing minors with explicit content.' But what exactly is that? What I researched applied to the following activities: co-writing smut fanfic with other people, sexting, roleplaying and online messaging.

I run a fanfic blog with limited interaction. I've never done an ask. I don't roleplay on here and I don't want to.

The blocks weren't personal. They were partly based on the awareness that Tumblr is an interactive site and a place that's had a problem with child pornography in the past. But I'm not the smut police. I suck at blocking, and I doubt I did a good job of purging my followers list. This is when it hit me that boundaries are only what I can enforce. They've never been about how other people relate to me, only how I relate to them. (Wow. I've never sounded more like my mother in my life...) After this thought, I started considering what actions I ought to take if I wanted to keep posting fanfic on Tumblr.

My Post Blocking Spree Clarity...

It's up to me who I interact with. I don't have to reply to every comment and re-blog, but I'd like to. I'm stuck between wanting to write for everyone and handling interactions on a social media site that's mostly anonymous.

The fact remains: I can't be the smut police because I suck at it.

What I've decided is that I'll make it very clear on my blog that this is an 18+ space where I publish erotic fanfiction. Smut will always be appropriately marked. I'm not going to interact with reviews, re-blogs, and messages from accounts who don't have their age in their profile. I won't include them in my tag list either. The internet is a public forum. Just as with publishing erotica, once it's out there online for download, it's done. As a ghost writer and an author, I don't control who buys my original fiction, which is just as spicy as my fanfiction. (Trust me, it's explicit. I once had a romance editor tell me I should dial it back on the smutty parts of a novel because "it's a lot of sex for a non-erotica market.") The key difference on Tumblr is about interaction. And that's something I can control. I can decide when I reply to other users. What brought me around to this was the realization that even after the blocking spree, I can't review every single like I get. That's an amount of time and mental energy that's beyond me. Just the past two days have been exhausting and sapped my will to write. Which sucks because I need to go write the next chapter of "Restitution" before tomorrow.

I think the reasons I went on the blocking spree are nuanced. The thirteen year old freaked me out. So did the other underaged people who had ages in their bios. But it also relates to my work. In my job I've seen some nasty child abuse cases. Early on in my career, when I was a 23 year old new hire, I was working on an autopsy for a child abuse victim who'd been murdered by their parent. It was so terrible and graphic, I had to ask one of my older colleagues to take the case. This colleague didn't like me. But she took one look at my face and took the file. She closed out the review without a question and never brought it up again to anyone. I was very grateful. Where I used to work (and where this incident took place) was a major city that holds the unfortunate title of being the human trafficking capital of the US. And something I learned working there was that most human trafficking victims go with their captors willingly. In two years at that job, I never saw one who'd been kidnapped from a dark alley like you see on TV. They were all groomed on social media and thought they were escaping their families (who were often overbearing, toxic, or dysfunctional) for a get away with friends. It was a fun adventure with their internet buddies, until it wasn't.

In retrospect, the underage interaction I found on my blog made me react because of what I've been through. The autopsy case kept coming back to me today while I was at work and I've finally untangled my emotions enough to figure out what caused my melt down. When I was blocking, I was feeling an anxious motivation that I know can only stem from the stress I deal with at my job. Don't feel sorry for me about this - I know my work in medicine helps a lot of people and it's a tremendously satisfying career.

Our Saga's Resolution & How I'm Going to Deal With This In The Future...

- - - - -

In post block clarity, I offer this conclusion:

I'm writing on a public forum. My work is appropriately tagged as smut. In the future, I will also use the tag #no minors to help with filtering. I've always asked underage people not to interact. And on a public forum, what more can I reasonably do? Going forward I will only interact with those who have their age posted in their bio. But blocking sprees and policing every interaction isn't feasible.

I'll review how I'm going to run my tag lists as well. I need to think it over and let my followers know my decision as to if I'll continue using them. Because tagging is definitely interaction and my current tag list was not screened at all. *face palm*

Finally, to my readers who have blank blogs or don't have an age listed. I respect your right to privacy and I'm careful with my personal information as well. But I've also had an uncomfortable two days. If you've lasted through this venting session until now, you must understand that I'm upset by underage interaction. I'm setting my own boundaries and going forward, I'll own my side of the internet. No interaction from me, unless I know your age. Full stop - no exceptions. I think it is reasonable for me to suggest that you leave something on your blog that signifies you are not a minor, whatever that may be. Someone who I didn't block that stands out in my memory had a bio that said "90s baby." It was simple, direct, and left no doubt they were over 18. No age reveal and not even a name. If you put something like this on your blog it'll help explicit content creators feel more comfortable about their interactions.

I went on a spree this Monday and I admit to being heavy handed and aggressive about pruning followers. I had an emotional reaction due to work stress and I didn't think things through logically. I'm relieved for the chance explain myself and set new boundaries that I'm capable of sticking to in the future. But remember - the block button is on my side of the screen. At the end of the day, you might be unhappy with me for the block, but it's my button, it's my blog, and I'll use it as I see fit.

Thank you for reading.

[artificialdaydreamer]

I posted 1,089 times in 2021

261 posts created (24%)

828 posts reblogged (76%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 3.2 posts.

I added 1,050 tags in 2021

#jonathan sims - 377 posts

#martin blackwood - 247 posts

#jonmartin - 160 posts

#elian rambles - 73 posts

#tma spoilers - 48 posts

#jmart - 42 posts

#tmaspoilers - 38 posts

#tma - 24 posts

#the magnus archives - 23 posts

#tim stoker - 18 posts

Longest Tag: 123 characters

#if i had a nickel for every time johnny sims’ invocations caused eldritch beings to break into reality i’d have two nickels

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Martin: Man I can’t wait to get to this lake so I can show off how good I am at rowing and my boyfriend will be so impressed and we can have a romantic moment (despite Basira being there) and it will be so- WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S A CLIFF LADDER?

279 notes • Posted 2021-03-11 16:29:17 GMT

#4

At risk of causing controversy I am always a fan of Hot Jon Rights.

The only canonical descriptions we have for Jon are that he looks older than he is, has prematurely graying hair, looks like he hasn’t slept in a long time, and we also know he has a ton of scars from everything he’s gone through. The idea that someone who does not fit the conventional concept of handsome, that someone can have gray hair and scars yet still be considered attractive is something I will always support.

To add I am a fan of Hot Martin Rights for the same reason. Fat people, people with stretch marks, trans people, anyone who doesn’t fit in with the stereotype of beauty can still be hot.

In addition, what one person finds attractive others may not. Everyone has different ideas of beauty, and just because Basira said that Tim was “the hot one” doesn’t mean that the others couldn’t be good-looking.

In conclusion: Hot Jon and Martin Rights

317 notes • Posted 2021-07-07 14:43:34 GMT

#3

Look, Jon deserves kisses alright?

Edit: if you do draw/write anything for this please tag me or use…. Uhhh… #kissesforthearchivist

That’s a tag I guess

341 notes • Posted 2021-08-03 14:21:39 GMT

#2

It’s been a while since I made this but here’s a behind the scenes at the making of my TMA cake

Cakes cooling and traced logo!

Cake frosted? Cake frosted!

Take the traced logo and flip it over, retrace those lines in the same icing used to frost the cake

Flip that thing over and transfer the black icing to the cake to use as guidelines for the green

Trace with green and white frosting. Cry a bit because the frosting is too cold and the lines aren’t coming out as nice as hoped for.

Decorate with edible statements

Cut a slice and savor the taste of hard work knowing that Jonah Magnus cannot have any of this cake.

355 notes • Posted 2021-03-23 17:28:19 GMT

#1

This is how it went, right?

2265 notes • Posted 2021-05-08 18:14:12 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[ravensading]

It Was You - Chapter 3

*Please no reposting any of this story.  I don’t own BTS or any of their characters

"So you're back for good then?" Jimin asked, as the bartender put their drinks in front of them.

Jungkook nodded.

"I'm happy for you, Kook. You're finally being accepted."

Jungkook took a sip of his drink. "I guess."

Jimin rolled his own glass in his hands. "Your hyungs are fair. They're making things right for you."

He couldn't argue against that. Even though his stepfather didn't acknowledge him, his stepbrothers had done what they could to help him along. He couldn't have asked for more.

Jimin smiled. "Maybe we can do some joint work between the dance academy and the art gallery in the future."

Jungkook smiled back. "That would be nice." He looked at his friend. "How are things between you and Rose?"

Jimin bit his lip. "It's complicated."

"We've all known each other forever, hyung. Why so shy?"

"She knows everything about me."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Yeah...or a terrifying thing. I don't know. We'll see." He brushed it off...again. Jimin smiled slyly. "That girl Rose and I saw you with the other evening is pretty."

Jungkook looked at his friend. "She's off-limits."

"Really? I didn't see any branding."

"I work with her. She's off-limits."

"That's never stopped us before." Jimin said thoughtfully. "Are you interested in her?"

"No." Jungkook said, perhaps a bit too quickly.

But Jimin knew him too well to have missed that. "That's too bad." Jimin said. He'd let that go...for now. "See those 3 girls at the corner of the bar?"

Jungkook didn't even look up from his glass. "The ones with the shimmery dresses?"

Jimin smiled widely. "One thousand dollars to whomever can take 2 out of 3 home."

Jungkook smiled wolfishly. He paused when a pair of blue eyes flashed in his mind. He downed the rest of his drink. "Two thousand to the one who can get all 3."

"Deal."

**********

"I'm so happy that you could come with me to the menu tasting last minute."

"Happy to help." Yuna said brightly. She adjusted her oversized sweater. "But shouldn't you be doing this with Jin-oppa?"

"He had a last minute emergency. Hence, the last minute ask." Celia explained.

The chef came out to greet them, obviously smitten with Celia. Yuna didn't mind. She had spent her whole life with people telling her how beautiful her sisters are, and they were. But Yuna also knew that being known for your beauty took a lot of work and

discipline, even if you were naturally attractive in the first place.

Yuna shifted in her seat when Celia brightened at someone behind her.

"I'm sorry, sweetie." A voice said, and Jin came around to give her sister a hug from behind.

Yuna immediately stood up.

"I thought you couldn't make it." Celia asked, holding his hand.

"Namjoon said that he'd take care of it for me."

Celia smiled. "Thank him for me." She looked up at someone still behind Yuna. "Kook. So nice to see you again."

Yuna's eyes widened and she turned around.

Jungkook looked as surprised to see her as she was him.

"What are you doing here?" They asked at the same time.

Celia and Jin exchanged glances. "Do you know each other?"

"We're friends. We work together." Jungkook replied.

"Are you serious?" Jin asked.

"What do you mean?" Yuna said, incredulously.

"Jungkook is my youngest brother."

"And Yuna is my youngest sister." Celia put in.

Jungkook and Yuna just gaped at each other.

"But...he's..." Yuna couldn't get the words out.

The chef came to the table with the appetizers to taste. Yuna quickly gestured to Jin to take her vacated seat. The chef waved a server over to seat Yuna and Jungkook at a nearby table.

"Oh no, that's okay." Yuna said, knuckles white as she picked up her purse. "This is their deal."

"But I made you miss breakfast so that you'd be able to do this with me." Her sister insisted. She caught her sisters arm and steered her and Jungkook towards the table. "Just sit, and enjoy. We'll take care of it."

Celia left the two of them. Yuna sat with her back straight, eyes wide. Jungkook fiddled with his watch.

"So."

"So." He returned. "This is kind of cool."

What?!?!?!

"You know, we'll be kind of related."

Yuna paled. Oh my God. And we slept together what does that make us? But we're not blood related, so it should be okay. OMGOMGOMG. Why isn't he panicking? Of course! He doesn't know. He doesn't even recognize that it was me. Wait...

"But your last name isn't Kim." She pointed out slowly.

He reddened. "It's a long story."

"I have time. At least 5 courses of time."

He fiddled with his watch again.

She pushed her panic away as she picked up her fork as an old news item came into her mind. "Jeon." She said thoughtfully. "The mining family." Her gaze sharpened as she looked at him. "You're the lost prince."

His face hardened at the reference.

She realized what she said and put a hand on his. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

He sighed. "It's okay. The media had a field day with that one."

She started recalling parts of the story in her mind. She would have been too young to know, but she remembered her mother talking to her aunties about the high society gossip. She seemed to remember that Jungkook had been the only son of the eldest

son of a generations old mining family. Mega wealthy. When he passed away prematurely, his brothers fought over who would run the empire. The will had stated that Jungkook would inherit everything, but being 10-years-old, with uncles who had vulture-

like lawyers on retainer, Jungkook and his mother was kicked out with little more than the shirts off their backs.

His father had been close friends with the patriarch of the Kim family, whose money was made from hotels and other hospitality ventures. He had been widowed himself for barely a year when he married Jungkook's mother. That in itself had caused a

scandal, since the runour had been that he had wanted her for himself when they were young, but she had chosen Jungkook's father. Jungkook's stepfather was a prideful man, and even though he was never antagonistic towards the boy, he was not

accepting either. To try to protect her son from the media, she sent him away to school in Europe and North America, only coming home for the holidays.

Unlike Seokjin, Namjoon, and Mingi who had received money for all of the best education, this was not extended to Jungkook. So his mother saved everything she could so that he would receive a good education.

"It doesn't sound like he was particularly extravagant with your mother either."

Jungkook shrugged. "He was frugal overall. My mother said that it was because he was poor growing up."

"It must have been tough."

He nodded. "I would come home for holidays and summers, and at first, it seemed that everyone was welcoming, but I gradually learned that people only wanted to be my friend to get to my hyungs, who had taken the stance of being my protectors. Guys

and girls would try to make friends, and then ask to be introduced to them. That was a hard lesson."

"Yeah." Yuna said softly, thinking of her own childhood. "You must have made some friends who like you for you."

Jungkook grinned. "Rose? That girl that we saw the other evening? Her and Jimin and I grew up together. The three of us and Hanul, who's working in Paris at the moment." His expression softened as he thought back. "We got into a lot of trouble the

summers I was home. Because they were here all the time, eventually it got to the point where they would just tell me if someone was befriending me for me or my hyungs."

"How often were they right?"

"Often enough for me to believe them."

Yuna put her fork down as the next course was brought over.

Jungkook looked sheepish. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to dump on you. I don't usually tell people about my childhood, but you're really easy to talk to."

She smiled. "That's okay. I grew up to be a pretty good listener."

"I can tell."

Yuna tried one bite of the steak and pushed it away.

"Do you not like it?" Jungkook asked.

"It's delicious, but I'm getting full and there's still more food coming." SHe caught him eyeing the steak. "Would you like to finish it? If you don't mind that I took a bite of out it."

He smiled widely, showing his teeth.

She laughed and switched their plates.

"Thanks." He said sweetly, as he dug in.

**********

Jin and Jungkook were riding back to their offices together after the menu tasting.

"So what did you think of the food?"

"It was delicious, hyung. Thanks for inviting me to tag along."

Jin glanced at the maknae. "Seems like the food wasn't the highlight."

"What do you mean, hyung?" Jungkook asked, confused.

"Yuna. You two seemed to get along really well."

He smiled. "We do! But it might be because we also work together. She's a developer at HopeWorld Games."

Jin looked thoughtful. "You know, I didn't even think to put two and two together. She's the prodigy that came up with that video game while she was in university, right? Something with dragons?"

"Yes, hyung. That's her! She's really great. For someone who got so much recognition when she was young, she's really down to earth."

"That's true. I heard that she also got the hard end of it being the sister of beauty queens too, though."

"How so?"

"Seems like she had a few boyfriends who actually had their eye on her sisters. One in particular that she may have had feelings for even."

Jungkook was silent. He knew how that felt. "Sounds like the three of them of really close though."

"They are. I don't know Yuna as well as Grace, but everything I heard makes her sound like a great person."

"She is, hyung." Jungkook confirmed, vouching for her.

Jin smiled. "Are you interested in her, Kook?"

Jungkook smiled shyly. "I do like her, but I'm not sure in that way. I'm still thinking of someone else..."

"Ah." Jin recalled. "The mystery girl from the engagement party."

Jungkook blushed. "Have your photos come in yet?"

"No, the photographer got sick so there is a delay in getting them edited. He also took a lot, so it's taking a while." He looked at Jungkook. "There were a lot of people there. She may not be in any of the pictures, and even if she is she may have been a plus 1." He warned, trying not to get Jungkook's hopes up.

Jungkook got a glint in his eye. "Maybe, maybe not. After all, she left with me, right?"

**********