#help ive been thinking about Jack too much again

[lady-bess]

The way he turns here and you can see that his eyes are so soft, and so full of worry, physically pains me. A man who is so stoic, cold, and keeps himself to himself is nothing more than a broken shell at the end of the day, years of turmoil and pain so evident. His eyes betray who Jack so badly wants to be. And that got me thinking; what if Jack had survived TGC and, one day, let someone into his heart again...

The worry in his eyes make it seem like the world has stopped, as if he's just seen his sweetheart get hurt, or heard her call out for him - and he always listens for her voice. He always responds, because he knows what happens when he doesn't. He's already lost the love of his life once, and he'll be damned if he loses another. He can't imagine a world in which she isn't alright, the first woman he's let in for so many years. She *has to* be okay, and he makes it his mission in life to protect her at all costs. He knows if ever he were to lose her he'd never survive on his own now. She is his and he is hers.

She is eventually the reason why he leaves Statesman. Too frightened to lose her Jack, he hates the pain she goes through every time they have to part ways. Jack, of course, never listened to Champ and told her what his job was, down to every detail - even the ones he wasn't proud of. He couldn't help himself. One look into her eyes and he was a goner; he couldn't lie to her.

Above all else, he loved her too much. He fell fast, the feelings taking him by surprise at how suddenly they made themselves known. But he fought his fear, and pushed it aside for a chance at love with her.

And he never looked back. Jack lived out the rest of his life on the family ranch with his sweetheart, his old Statesman weapons stashed nearby to protect her should any unfriendly faces from his past come knocking one day. To his delight, they never do, and he gets to live out the rest of his life in tranquil peace with the woman he loves...

[orcelito]

Actually it is SO weird to me to remember that I was an engineering student and that later on I had been pursuing a minor in statistics

I may be a IT & com person in the end, but I do have the foundations of engineering and statistics in my brain too. Wild !

[butyoudidthis4what]

Congratulations on the 1k milestone!!! Could you write something with a female reader and Abbot where he’s says "Let's get you in the shower and we'll take it from there." to her? 💜

Hi friend, thank you so much for sending this in! I hope you enjoy this little drabble and thank you so much for your support!! ♥️

Tepid

Jack Abbot x F!Reader

1.5k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: None, really. General cold/flu discussion. The slightest bit of angst if you squint in the form of Jack being worried about you for thirty seconds. Fluff.

Summary: Jack arrives home from work to you sick in bed.

AN: Fluffy sick fic! That's about it, really! I hope it's okay!

Even wrapped in the cocoon of blankets you’ve brought to bed with you, you’re still shivering. And miserable. Very, very miserable. 

“Honey?” Jack’s caught off guard when your purse is still on the console table just inside the door. It makes his pulse rise just a little. He hates it, but he always goes to the worst case scenario, it’s what he’s trained for. He knows you must’ve overslept or fell back asleep on accident, but his brain runs through every possibility of you being injured or dead somewhere in the apartment you share.

He walks back to your bedroom and is glad to see you’re in bed. You look so fucking adorable wrapped in all the blankets you’ve brought in, but he knows it means you must be sick and that hurts his heart. He doesn’t want to disturb you but he does want to know what’s wrong, if you’ve taken meds, how long you’ve been like this. Why you didn’t call him the second you weren’t feeling well. 

“Jackie?” Your small and raw voice resolves his conflict for him. You don’t open your eyes yet.

“Hi sweet girl, what’s going on?” He sits on the edge of the bed next to you and puts the back of his hand to your forehead. “Definitely have yourself a pretty good fever.”

“You should go,” you whisper. He’s not sure if it’s really a whisper or just as loud as you have the strength to speak right now. “You shouldn’t be close to me, you’ll catch it.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he murmurs. “You taken anything?” 

“No, I just woke up enough to tell work, pee and get more blankets.” You finally blink open your eyes to look at him. “You need to sleep and I got the sheets all gross with my sweating before I got cold. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care, don’t apologize. You’re sick, you can’t help it. And sweat doesn’t bother me. Especially not yours.” He runs his hand up and down your side, though he’s not sure you can feel it under all the blankets. But it soothes him just as much so he continues. “Feel like a bad cold? For how long?”

“I guess, yeah. My throat is killing me. I can feel congestion coming in and some settling in my lungs. Nauseous too.” You cough a little to clear your throat, wincing at the jolt of pain it causes. “Went to sleep with a vaguely sore throat. Didn’t think much of it. Woke up at my alarm and was like this but I was so hot and sweaty the sheets were almost soaked, I swear. My whole body hurts, it feels like I’ve been hit by a semi.” 

“I’m sorry, Baby, I wish I could take it on for you or kiss it away.” Jack leans down and presses a couple of kisses to your forehead and one to the tip of your nose and both of your cheeks. He smiles brightly when the kisses pull a smile from you, even if it’s smaller than usual. It reaches your eyes. “You could��ve called. You know that, right? I would’ve left,” he murmurs. He’s not chastising or chiding you, just reminding you. 

You nod, roll a little so you’re not quite on your back but not totally on your side. “I know.” 

“Good.” Jack kisses your forehead again. “I’m going to get you some meds, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, eyes fluttering closed again. 

Jack walks into the bathroom and looks through the medicine cabinet. You sound a bit more flu-like than cold. He could ask Robby to drop by a test. Maybe an IV if he can’t get you to drink enough fluids. It’s almost certainly viral so it’s not really a matter of treatment but of controlling symptoms. He decides on some meds, makes sure there’s a pain reliever and fever reducer in there somewhere. He also grabs the thermometer. He wants to know exactly how hot you are. 

He goes and grabs you some water before heading back into the bedroom. “Alright sweet girl, can you sit up for me?” He takes his place on the edge of the bed next to you again. You whine at the request as you open your eyes. “Please?” Jack gives you a little pout. 

You let out a halfhearted sigh and let Jack help you as you force yourself up and your blankets open enough for you to get your arms and hands out. You hold your hand out for him. 

“Thank you for sitting up. Under your tongue,” he instructs softly as he puts a single pill in your hand. “Zofran. For the nausea.” You do as he asks and once it’s dissolved he hands you the other pills and you swallow them. 

“Thank you.” You give him an exhausted smile. 

“You’re welcome.” The smile Jack gives you in return is a little sad. You know he hates seeing you sick, just like you hate seeing him sick. “I’m going to get your temperature really quick, okay?” You nod and Jack takes it, gives a kind of noncommittal frown at it. “102.5. Too hot, but not get you to the ED hot. And we need to keep it that way. So I think we should get you a shower and I’ll change the sheets okay?”

You groan. “I don’t want to shower. I don’t want to leave the bed. And I’m cold, Jackie. I don’t want a cold shower.”

“I know, Baby, I know.” He grabs one of your hands and brings it to his lips, presses a few kisses to it. “It won’t be a cold shower. But it won’t be hot, either. We need to keep it tepid.” 

“I’ll be fine,” you whine a little. Showering sounds exhausting. Getting out of your blankets sounds freezing. Making Jack do work and change the sheets sounds unfair. “Just give me a minute or so and I can change these sheets for you and then go in the guest room so I don’t get you and your sheets gross.”

“Yeah, because I’m ever going to let that happen.” He gives you a knowing look with a soft smile so you know he’s not mad or upset or anything. “Showering will help. Feeling cleaner will make you feel at least a little better.”

You shrug. Your brain isn’t firing on all cylinders and you feel too tired to keep yourself upright for any extended period of time. “Well, I don’t think I can stand.”

Jack blinks at you for a few seconds to see if it registers. It doesn’t.

“Well, it’s a good job there’s a bench in there.” He gives you a little smirk and winks at you. You cringe and grimace a little for a second. How could you forget that? It’s just become so normal you don’t even notice it.  

“Don’t smirk and wink at me you cruel man.” You pout overdramatically at him. 

“Cruel?” he laughs. “How am I being cruel taking care of you?”

“You know how hot you look winking and smirking and doing the two together. Teasing your poor sick woman.” Before you can say anything else you start coughing and are quick to bring your blankets up to cover your face. It hurts. All of it. The sudden movement of your arms, your throat, your chest muscles.

“It’s okay,” Jack soothes you, slips his arm behind you to help hold you up and rub your back. Eventually you’re able to catch your breath again. “I’ll make it up to you once you’re feeling better, I promise.” 

“Yeah, if I haven’t passed my misery on to you,” you huff a little, a decision you regret immediately when the fire that is your throat flares again.

“I think I’ll be just fine. I come into contact with this type of thing almost daily.” He leans in and kisses your forehead again. He’ll stay away from your lips, in part because he knows you’ll just push him away if he even tries to keep him from getting sick. “And if I do get sick then I get sick.”

“Well if you do then I’m taking care of you and I don’t want any pushback.” You give him the sternest look you can muster which is clearly not very stern judging by the way he bites his lip to hold back a laugh at how adorable you are. 

“Okay, Baby.” Jack stands up, holds his hands out for you. “I’m going to help you to the shower and then once I’m done changing the sheets I’ll help you shower and get clean, okay?” 

You don’t move. “I’ll just make the next set gross. There’s no point.”

“You might not. Not if we can get your temperature under control here a little.” Jack nods in encouragement. “And it’ll be nice to feel clean after sweating that much.”

“But what if I do just get them all sweaty again? It’s not fair to you.” You start to worry your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Then I’ll change them again.” He shakes his head as you go to argue further. “Hey, let’s get you in the shower and we’ll take it from there, okay?” 

I hope it was alright and you enjoyed! Thank you for reading and your support and your interactions mean the world to me! ♥️

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[numenoria]

The Rings of Power Season 1 Ep 1-4 thoughts/observations/commentary ✨

EP1:

RIP Finrod 😥

Galadriel is a badass consumed by vengeance. I'm sure this WILL NOT come back to bite her.

Galadriel girl you're on your own!!

Young Elrond's hair is quite interesting...

Your honor, I'm convinced this Gil-Galad person wants to fuck Elrond

Evidence:

Arondir the beautiful elf that you are!

Bronwyn is gorgeous and level-headed.

Lil boy put that evil trinket back where it came from oh so help me!!!

These proto-hobbits are adorable and scruffy. I like Nori, she's spunky. I wasn't feeling the Hartfoots hair choices at first but it grew on me.

Galadriel being literally shipped off. Yeah this is def a coverup for something

The blond masc elf REALLY wants Galadriel to stay on the boat

Galadriel: 🤸🏻‍♀️🌊

Who the fuck just fell from the sky?? Naked??

EP2:

Nori is definitely a "run towards the danger" kind of gal

Is that GANDALF?? It's Gandalf right?

Feanor mention!! Simarils?? 👀

"True creation requires sacrifice" Yeah that's not the last time we're going to hear that phrase.

I've been saying Celebrimbor's name wrong this entire time. 😶

YAY Dwarves!!

Elrond is besties with a Dwarf! Durin IV?

Durin why are you showing out!? Elrond just wants to say hi :(

Oh...

20 years!!? Elrond you missed his wedding and the birth of his babies?? I'd show out too!! Trash friend behavior!

Disa! The dwarf queen that you are! She's so inviting and warm. OMG her hair is gorgeous! Durin IV I will fight you for her hand in marriage!

I haaateeee Durin's Hair/Beard combo. They lowkey did him dirty imo.

Why are these people on this raft?? Galadriel do not trust that man!

I'm not sold on the Halbrand thirst yet..

ORCS UNDER THE HOUSE??

I bet yall believe Bronwyn now!

Bro killed the Fireflies oop :(

EP3:

The Elves are slaves?? prisoners?? I don't like this

Who is Adar??

Galadriel and Halbrand are on a bigger boat.

Elendil you ruggedly handsome man. The genes are strong in that bloodline.

Numenor is breathtaking.

These people do not like elves

Galadriel does not know how to talk to people

Queen Tar-Miriel *I AM LOOKING RESPECFULLY*

I thought Pharazon was being played by Jack Black. Like a cleaned up Jack Black. I'm Sorry to both actors.

The Numenorians are very stylish.

Isildur??

Oh no he's dissociating at sea (trauma perhaps?)

I prefer look of these orcs over PJ's orcs.

Some losers are interrogating Halbrand.

Oh shit these guys are about to get curbed stomped to hell!

Halbrand's locked up

OH NO HE'S HOT!!

Evidence:

Why did he look at her like that??? . They def have some simmering sexual tension

"I am not the hero you seek." FORESHADOWING!! Galadriel do not trust this man!

An unsuccessful Elf rebellion. Arondir was giving action hero vibes

Wtf is that?? A warg? An orc dog??

Blurry Adar

EP4:

Miriel holding a baby. She loves her people

It was all a dream

Pharazon is plotting something!! He's very much a Brutus type.

Arondir meets Adar

I am slightly turned on and disgusted

Theo is attached to the evil trinket almost bound to it...

Arondir saves the Theo (I think that's his son?? But they don't know it yet)

Disa is a bad liar 😂

Mithril???

Galadriel locked up.

Halbrand teaching Galadriel about playing mind games. Yeah girl don't trust him!

Galadriel is free

Miriel and Galadriel bond. Do people ship them? Should I ship them? 🤔

The King's health is failing. Poor Miriel.

A Palantir? That's not good. Six more? Like dragon balls?

The crystal nerd in me thinks the Palantir is composed of lapis lazuli (the stone of visions/psychic powers)

Galadriel's getting the boot from Numenor

Arondir to Theo's rescue!

The orcs are ashy and they hate the sun

Disa you better sang to those rocks!!

This scene was very touching.

I love Dwarves!

Durin/Disa/Elrond warms my heart

The Dwarf King knows something is up

Theo do not trust that creepy old man.

Sir unhand that boy! 🔪

The darkness has consumed this old man

Galadriel is shipped off again!

The petals of the White Tree fall.

Galadriel is back w/Queen Miriel's support

Me thinks the people will not take this well

Overall the show is visually pleasing (aside from some styling choices). The cast is strong and very talented. The music is excellent. There's a lot of characters being introduced but that's typical of anything Tolkien related. Thanks for getting this far! I'll continue episodes 5-8 in a separate post ✨🩷

-Davi ☽︎♡︎☾︎

Edit: Not sure what happened, but NONE of the pics/memes I put in the post saved on tumblr mobile! I edited it on desktop so they should show up now. ^^

[ask-postcrash-curly]

well. We’ve established your thoughts on Jimmy and Anya. What about Swansea and daisuke rn?

I’ve known Swansea for years. He‘a got a rough exterior, but he’s a good man. (Though apparently I’m not a good judge of that.) And an excellent mechanic! Tulpar must be on her last legs if there’s nothing he can do about the vents… Not that it matters, since the company’s collapsing and we fucking crashed anyway. I forgot about that. Ship must be beyond wrecked now. But yeah, Swansea’s great. I trust him. Can only imagine what he must think of me now…

I can’t believe he broke his sobriety over mouthwash. Can’t blame him either, considering how bad our lot is, but— No, changed my mind, I can blame him. Why would anyone drink mouthwash? It’s disgusting. I can barely stand to use it. The thought of swallowing it on purpose… Ugh. They’re probably going to start feeding it to me when the IV fluid runs out… Not like I can choke down solid food. Anya tried at the beginning. It did not go well. Bleagh. Sorry, got off-topic. I can’t stop thinking about the mouthwash. So gross.

Point is, I like Swans. He’s got a wife back home. And a dog. Kids, too. They’re not much older than Daisuke. He deserves to get home to his family.

Speaking of Daisuke: I don’t know him like I know the others, but he’s a damn good kid. Not the best mechanic, at least but he’s trying. The problem is that for Daisuke, “trying” can mean “making whatever was broken much worse.” Swansea was at his wits’ end. Hell, a week before the crash, Daisuke somehow triggered the emergency foam trying to fix the vent!

I do like him, though. He never wanted to do this internship, you know. But he’s always brought everything he has, always gone out of his way to make us all smile. Hell, even now, he visits me. Tells me what’s been going on, plays games next to me. He can still barely look at me, but… Well. I knew the kid for a few months before I (allegedly) pulled a murder-suicide on him. And he still tries to help, in his own Daisuke way.

A guy like that shouldn’t be in this place. Shouldn’t have this shitshow of an internship ruining his life before it’s even started. Damn it, I never should have let them bring him on board! They built an extra bedroom for him, but no fucking cryopod! You know, there’s meant to be enough food and drink and medicine to cover however many people there are on the crew, plus one for safety. Guess what? They didn’t give us jack shit extra when they put Daisuke on board. We should have an entire person’s worth of surplus right now, and we don’t. And I fucking let it slide.

Damn. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to keep getting worked up. God, I… Jimmy and Anya don’t have much waiting back on Earth, you know. Tell you the truth, I don’t think either of them is expecting to make it. Anya at least deserves to, anyway, but… Swansea and Daisuke have families. Families who might never see their husband, father, son, and sibling again thanks to me and Jimmy.

[sharp-silver4795]

A misadventure of living and loving a demon…

Desperate Hunger

Notice: I hc Liu as genderfluid and use all pronouns.

Summary: EJ waited way too long to eat and, now, Liu and Toby gotta rush to get him some food. The ending is a cutoff, sorry. I’m bad at angst.

Ok, ya really gotta calm down

The demon was pacing, occasionally shaking his head around trying to suffocate the need his body was pushing.

I’m trying I’m trying I’m trying I’m - I, I know. It’s ok. C’mere. L,Liu wi, will be here soon.

He’s on all fours, tail occasionally skidding across the concrete floor as he goes over to the twitching man. Jack lays his head on Toby’s lap, claws tensing, begging for something to dig into. If it could cry, it would. The closest it could do was scratch at its knees.

Woah woah w,woah! Cut it out, cut it out - It hurts - I,I know it hurts b,but you got,gotta stay strong for me, ok? - mmmmm

A choked sob escaped the demon, digging his nose into Toby’s side, begging for a way out. When it looks up to Toby’s face, he’s surprised to see… concern?

The human seems genuinely scared for him. If he wasn’t so hungry, he’d probably be all giddy and snuggle up to him, but no. He can’t do that now. His hands flex and unflex. He can’t hold back as much as he’d like, and his self control is slipping.

-

It doesn’t take long, and, once it happens, he wants immediately to pull away, but he can’t . It’s a satisfaction that he can’t let go of. His vision goes fuzzy and blacks out…

~~~

He doesn’t feel the pain, but he feels the blood pooling on his side. It happens fast, and nearly escalates if Toby hadn’t look fast enough.

Jack’s jaw sunk deep into his lover’s side. He freaks. He tries to pull Jack away from him while also trying to keep his torso intact. He pushes its head, trying to pull him away again and again, but fails… miserably.

He scrambles for his phone, hastily turning to Liu’s contact to call them.

Help! Help! - what? Is everything - Jack bit me!! - WHAT?! - I, I think he’s gonna rip my whole side out. - ok ok, I’m going as fast as I can. I have the body, I’m just carving the organs he can’t have out. Did he rip anything off? - No, no, h,he,he’s just holding his face th,the,there. - I’m almost done, do NOT let him pull off of you, ok? - WHAT?! - If he pulls off, he’s taking a hunk of you with him! - al,alrig,ht.

~~~

The original plan was to do the opposite: carve out the organs Jack can digest, put em in a bag, and book it.

Well, there’s not enough time for that. She digs her knife into the man’s body, slicing out the stomach, ureters, bladder, etc.

They stab out the man’s eyes since decapitation’ll take far too long.

It takes about 30 minutes to pry it all out, but it’s easy for Liu to throw the corpse- which is nearly falling apart- over their shoulders to sprint for the house.

~~~

Toby’s panicking. His first instinct is to pull it off but, after Liu’s advice, he knows not to. Instead, he holds Jack’s head down, preventing him from pulling away.

Liu has got to hurry

***

The door all but breaks as Liu swings it open, hands smeared with blood. EJ unlatches from Toby’s mauled torso, slowly stalking towards Liu.

Toby immediately rips off his hoodie, pressing it into the wound. He may not feel the pain, but he sure knows about death by bleeding out.

When Liu takes off out the door, Jack follows, chasing him like a wolf to a deer.

Toby is pressing as hard as he can, but he’s not sure if it’s enough when his vision gets fuzzy…

***

He wakes up with Jack leaning over him, a face mask covering his mouth and nose and tense hands pressing on his chest.

Hey! Hey! How are you feeling? - I,I’m fine.

The demon looks like he’s seen a ghost.

Good good. I got you hooked up to an IV and I bandaged and stitched up your wounds.

He’s silent for an uncomfortable moment.

I’m sorry. I… I am so, so, sorry. - It’s fine. I,I don’t care. Yo,you’re good. You couldn’t,couldn’t help it. - I should have been able to. I need to get some fucking self control. - Dude, y,yo,you are g,good. I kinda signed up for it.

He looks… angry at that comment.

The fuck you mean you ‘signed up for it’? - I,I mean… y,you eat people.. - And? - A,a,and…

Toby pauses… he’s dug himself into a hole…

He looks up at Jack’s mask, unreadable and uncomfortable. He can’t help but slightly shake under its gaze.

Jack slowly backs away, and Toby squints and hisses at the lights in the infirmary.

Toby sits alone in silence… he fucked up. He hit a soft spot. He knows he did…

Fuck.

[say-hwaet]

That's the Way it Is

Chapter Eight: Things Were Fine Until They Weren't Previous Chapters: VII VI V IV III II I Word Count: ~7,100 Summary: Life has somewhat resumed at camp, but the mundaneness fades quickly, for soon, you'll be on the move again. Warnings: Mature Themes, Language, Child death Next Chapter: IX

“If it involves the gun store, I can only imagine what it could be,” you laugh as you hang laundry to dry. You have been talking with Abigail to help make the chores go by faster, and with Jack running in between you, the laughter often drowns out most of what Abigail has been saying.

Despite the sunshine and banter, there’s a heaviness to the day—like the calm before a storm you can feel pulsing just beneath the surface of the soil.

“Jack!” Abigail chides. “You gotta find somewhere else to be.”

You don’t blame Jack for wanting to have a little fun. Ever since he went on that fishing trip with Arthur a few days ago, he’s been a little more anxious, running around and asking questions. And to be honest, so have you. 

Arthur had come back from the fishing trip, feigning a smile as he returned Jack to his mother, and you could tell something was off. 

You left feeding the chickens to meet him, but he quickly went into Dutch’s tent to speak with him, and so you had changed course, acting like you were busy cleaning off the nearby table.

That’s when you heard Arthur say it: he saw Pinkertons.

The news hit you like a bucket of ice water, chilling to the deep recesses of your spine. Pinkertons meant trouble — they were always trouble. You knew the gang was always on a thread-thin line, balancing between the law and complete anarchy, but this... this was a noose tightening.

And since, then, regardless of who heard it, the air has been thick with tension. Arthur didn’t share his news with you, perhaps to protect you, but it has only got you thinking more about your past, as if that didn’t consume your thoughts already.

Jack grabs your legs, leaning out and taunting his mother. “Aunt Kit doesn’t mind!”

But you reach down and playfully grab him and pull him away from you. “Don’t you dare pull me into this, Brouček,” you chuckle. “You best do what your mother says.”

His laughter rings through the air as he scampers off, a dust cloud marking his path. Abigail shakes her head, a weary smile tugging at her lips. “That boy will be the death of me,” she sighs, folding a sheet neatly and placing it in the basket.

You nod, feeling the weight of her words more than she can imagine. "He's a spirited one, that's for certain," you reply, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear and watching Jack disappear between some of the tents.

As you return to your chores, your mind can't help but wander back to Arthur. His usual sturdy demeanor seemed fractured, like a well-worn leather strap finally giving way under too much strain. You remember the way he looked around nervously, eyes darting to the treelines as if expecting an ambush at any moment. That isn’t the Arthur you’re learning to know, the one who faces danger head-on with a cocky grin plastered on his face.

“Your mind went somewhere else again,” Abigail teases, taking the shirt that you have failed to fold out of your hands.

You shake your head, jostling yourself. “I’m sorry, Abigail, I just keep wondering what they’re up to?”

“I already told you. John is havin’ Arthur get a rifle from the gun store.” And then she lifts a brow. “That doesn’t really get your mind wanderin’, does it?”

You force a smile, your nerves tightening like the strings of a corset. "No, I suppose not," you lie smoothly, taking the shirt back and folding it with deliberate care. Your fingers tremble slightly, betraying your calm exterior.

Arthur getting a rifle should be simple, mundane even, yet nothing feels simple now. He could be out on a dangerous job, maybe even a secret mission to take out a Pinkerton leader, you don’t know, that’s what’s bothering you. “John didn’t tell you much else?”

Abigail furrows her brow. “He ain’t the type to talk.” She takes down a blanket from the line and begins to fold it. “Most of the time he just flaps his jaws and says somethin’ nasty.”

“What is going on between you two?” She gives you a look and then you add, “Amnesia, remember?”

She sets the folded blanket down in a crate. “What, Arthur ain’t fillin’ you in on all those details?”

You shrug. “We don’t talk about everything.”

“That’s surprisin’.” Abigail leans in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You and Arthur, everyone can see there's somethin' between you two. You ain't foolin' nobody, Kitka."

Your heart quickens at her words, but you don’t seem to be convinced. “I guess everyone knows something that I don’t.” You take the folded clothes back in your arms and prepare to deliver them to their owners. “If there was something between us, you’d think he would have said something already.”

Abigail sighs. “I don’t know, Kit, Arthur ain’t the outspoken type.” She points a thumb in the direction of Arthur’s tent, which is attached to the weapon’s wagon. “He usually keeps his thoughts in a journal.”

This gets your attention.

You nod, a plan forming in your mind. "I see.” You readjust the clothes in your arms, still moving carefully due to your healing wound in your side. “I guess I will go put these away,” you sigh, though it's more of a pained grimace as the confusion inside you, not your injury, twists tighter.

With the pile of clothes still in your arms, you make your way across the camp, dropping off each item to its respective owner with quick, polite exchanges. Your mind, however, remains fixed on Arthur's journal. It feels like an intrusion, a betrayal of the trust you're not entirely sure exists between you and him yet it might hold answers to the questions tangling up inside you.

Reaching Arthur's tent finally, the camp noises dim around you as if it is another realm entirely. Aside from dropping off clean clothes on his trunk, you really haven’t set foot in his tent, his space. Though now, you are tempted.

Setting his shirt and pants on the trunk, you let your eyes wander about his sleeping quarters.

It isn’t disorganized, but it exudes a lived-in warmth, with nuances of a man who has seen too much yet clings to remnants of a simpler life. There are old photographs pinned against the wagon’s side right above his cot, one catching you by surprise.

It is a photo of Dutch, Arthur, Hosea, and you. John isn’t in it, you aren’t sure why, but you are wearing the same outfit you wore when you robbed that bank.

You look so young, so serious with your unsmiling expression, but there is a light in your eyes as you stand beside Dutch and right behind Arthur as he sits in a chair.

He, too, is young. They all are. All handsome in their own way.

How did you end up with these folks? Did you find them intimidating at all? You don’t feel anything, except for the memories that you’ve already recalled, nothing seems to pop out at you, and your head doesn’t hurt.

You spot a mugshot of Lyle Morgan, who you deduce is Arthur’s father, and a photo of a dog. You can ask Arthur about it when you see him again.

You lean away from the cot and look around some more. You don’t see the journal, but you do notice two pictures on his makeshift end table. Looking around to be certain that no one is looking, you make your way over and pick the first one up.

The photograph is old. At least thirty years old. The woman in the photo has a soft expression on her face and light-colored eyes. Of course, the photograph is in black and white, but you don’t seem to recognize her anyhow. You flip it over and see there is some writing on the back.

Beatrice Morgan.

“Oh,” you say softly. “His mother…”

You place the photo back on the table, gently, as if the very act of touching it could fray the edges of Arthur's hidden vulnerabilities. Next to Beatrice's photo is another, this one smaller and the frame newer. As you pick it up, your fingers tremble slightly — perhaps from the cold that sneaks in with the breeze.

It is of another woman. Young, dark hair, pearl earrings, with a mole on her cheek.

You don’t recognize her, either, but you feel as though she is important somehow. You flip it over. Nothing. So, you don’t even get a quick answer. She had to have been someone important, otherwise he wouldn’t have put it near his bedside. You have a sinking feeling in your chest, an ache that seems to not have a place. You put the photograph back.

You see a flower on the nightstand, too, and a drawing from Jack, but there really doesn’t seem to be anything else here. No journal, no secrets, what else could there be—?

You see something beside some throwing knives. It looks like a newspaper clipping. It’s rather small, but you decide to pick it up and read it.

April 15th 1887 BRAZEN BANK ROBBERY THREE MEN AND A WOMAN SOUGHT

Major T.J. Bellard has been a cashier at the banking house of Lee and Hoyt for a number of years but nothing prepared him for what transpired last week. "It was about 2 o'clock. There was a commotion outside, and so three of my associates went out to see what was going on. It seemed to draw the attention of other clients out of the bank, leaving me the only soul inside. Then, three men, strangers to me, came through the door and walked up to the counter. One of them, the eldest of the three, was a fine talker and engaged me in conversation. Suddenly the largest, a big, sullen young man, brandished a firearm and held it up to my face.

"Throw up your hands," the third one said, who appeared to be the boss. The other two repeated the order with an oath and the leader said, "My fine patriotic friends and I are going to relieve you of that gold and introduce a few folks to the benefits of civilization." They came around the corner and the counter, and grabbed some sacks which contained $5000 in gold. They demanded to know where the rest of the money was, and I pointed out three sacks containing silver, but it was too bulky for them. They retreated and one warned against sounding an alarm. Once they left, the commotion outside ended, and I saw a flash of embroidered red and black run past the window. It was a woman, young and barefooted, and it was clear that she was with them. I was never so terrified in my life," Mr. Bellard told a reporter.

The robbers are reported to have lingered in town, and there are unproven claims that the men and the woman traveled to hovels and shanties and even a home for orphans and gave handfuls of the ill-gotten gains to the poor…

It is your first robbery. And it briefly mentions you. You stare at the clipping, the ink blurring slightly as your hands tremble. The memory of that day is still a bit foggy, but the rush of adrenaline and fear is something you can almost taste even now. The description of the woman in red and black–it couldn't be anyone else but you.

You look down at your feet. Your shoes have always felt cramped and hot in the leather, not because the boots are too small or are of bad make, they just feel…restrictive.

You set the clipping down, and leave Arthur’s tent.

And just as you come out, you see another set of red and black.

Micah, in his red shirt and black jacket.

“Leavin’ him a present, were you?” he asks, a hint of suggestion on his tongue. “Don’t he have to be here for that?”

You decide not to give him the satisfaction of an answer and decide to walk away.

“Hey, I’m talkin’ to you…!” And he reaches out to grab you.

Your reflexes, honed from years of darting through circus crowds and avoiding the grabs of rowdy spectators, kick in before you fully register Micah's intent. You twist away, slipping out of his grasp as smoothly as a shadow flits through the moonlight.

"Nemám ti co říct, Micah, leda v jazyce, kterému nikdy nebudeš rozumět… " you hiss. “Ty blázne z přírody!”

It seems to only interest him more, his laugh filthy as he takes a step toward you. “You can speak that way anytime, sweetheart.” And he tips his hat. “I got the gist of it…” And he backs away before you get the chance to scratch him.

You clench your fists, your long fingernails digging into the skin of your palms. If you weren’t so curious to get to the bottom of what happened in Blackwater, you’d be keen on being rid of him. But he knows something, something that could connect the missing threads of your past. You resolve to keep a closer eye on Micah, despite the distaste it stirs within you.

As you walk away, your thoughts are tumultuous. You can’t help but feel the weight of those unread chapters of your life pressing down on you. The sun is still high in the sky, but the day feels like it is dragging its feet. It seems that others are trying to keep busy, waiting for an attack from the Pinkertons.

Even Dutch and Strauss have gone into town. Dutch said he had some plans, as usual, and Strauss, of course, wanted to check in on the cures and how many have been sold this past week. You are just waiting for him to get back and confront you about giving one away for free to a desperate woman, but since you’ve grown more confident in your own skin, you aren’t worried about the repercussions.

You walk past the clothesline and see that Abigail is gone. The laundry must be finished, which means moving on to the next chore.

You see Susan, grinding some more herbs, and you decide to approach her. “Ms. Grimshaw?”

Without saying anything, she sets the pestle down and holds out a hand. “No, Kitka, I’m not lettin’ you chop wood.”

You had asked her that earlier today, but she told you no. You are getting bored with the same old thing, and since you’re still recovering, it seems that the delicate treatment you tried so hard to avoid is all that it has been. Your shoulders droop and you sigh. “I’m not here to chop wood, ma’am.”

“I guess you need more chores?”

“Yes.”

She thinks on it, then shrugs. “I don’t have anythin’ else for you to do.”

You blink. “What?”

She waves you off. “Girl, you’ve been chewin’ my ear all day about how bored you are and how useless you feel, all the while still with a wound in your side.”

You instinctively place your hand there, as though the mere mention of it will make it worse. “I don’t want to be taking advantage of your kindness.”

She chuckles. “Kindness? You’re like a daughter to me, Kit. It ain’t nothin’ to do with kindness.” You smile softly, understanding her meaning. If she ever did love you, this is the way that she is showing it. She waves you off again. “Now, go on and rest for a while. You’ve earned it.”

You decide to take your leave, far be it for you to argue with her. As you begin to walk about the camp, you spot Odliv in the distance and you get the urge to go for a ride. Smiling to yourself, you make your way over to her.

“M-miss Kit…!”

You stop and looking in the direction of the voice, you see Kieran walking up to you. You smile gently and wave. “Kieran…”

“I-I-I see you ride Odliv bareback?”

You look back at your horse and shrug your shoulders. “Yes, what of it?”

“I was polishin’ saddles, and-and came across one that nobody’s usin’. Maybe you can use it?”

You think about it. You don’t mind riding bareback, but you really haven’t been riding fast or for long distances. Perhaps a saddle would be good. You turn back to Kieran and nod. “Maybe. Can you show it to me?”

Your answer clearly delights Kieran, as he smiles broadly and motions for you to follow. “This way…!”

He leads you to a spot near the horses, where some other saddles rest near a crate. It looks like a makeshift workplace, and you assume this is where Kieran goes to do his work. You’ve noticed he keeps to himself, trying to stay out of everyone’s way, as most do show their indifference to him.

Well…aside from Mary Beth. Since his freedom, and his slow integration into the gang, she’s been keeping him company, making his face beet red most of the time.

Kieran bends down and picks up a dark leather saddle and turns around to show you. “What do you think?”

Your head feels a buzz as you recognize it. This is your saddle. The one you remember from your memories of riding Odliv with Arthur and the rest of the gang. You reach out a hand to graze your fingers across the floral embroidery, a traditional pattern from your home country. Did you make this? Was it your mother's? You don’t know, but it isn’t something you can easily purchase at a stable or from a catalogue. 

“I’ll use it,” you say softly. Kieran nods and motions to give it to you. As he transfers it into your arms, you feel its lightness, which is surprising. It would make sense, given all the traveling your family must have done, no need to burden your horse. “Thank you.”

“Sure, Miss Kit.” And he turns to return to his work.

You turn around and make your way over to Odliv, her head perking up once she senses you. Her eyes follow you as you walk to her side and she remains still, clearly understanding what you are about to do. Putting on her saddle, you see how it suits her, her golden coat against the dark leather makes a beautiful contrast, like wheat against the dark earth. Your hands act as though on their own accord, securing the cinches and the breast strap. You back away to get the full picture, and your heart flutters a little at the anticipation of the ride.

After packing yourself a small lunch, and putting on your gun belt with your sawed-off, you mount up and ride Odliv out of the camp.

You decide to take the trail that leads to one of the roads you’ve traveled before. If you go westward, it leads you to Valentine. You don’t want to go that way, you’ve spent enough time over there, and after the incident with the working girls, you are afraid to be recognized. You look eastward and become curious as to where it should take you.

With a clicking sound from your mouth, you steer Odliv in that direction.

The ride is relatively quiet and peaceful. You find yourself relaxing in the saddle and letting your free hand hang down at your side. You regard the nature around you. On the left are high plateaus just in the distance, bushes and drying grass, the other is scattered trees that appear to slope down to a lakeside only several yards away. How diverse this land is!

The sun rides high in the sky, its light casting golden hues over the landscape, making the waters of the lake in the distance shimmer like a thousand tiny stars. It's a sight that nearly takes your breath away, and for a moment, you forget all about your past troubles and the empty spaces in your memory.

As you continue along the way, you begin to hear a strange thundering behind you, the sound soft but slowly gaining in volume. Tempted to look back, you turn your head slowly and see a rider coming at you at a full-blown gallop. In the distance, it is hard to see who it is, but by the way they move, you aren’t sure you want to find out.

Kicking Odliv’s barrel with your heels, she starts in a gallop and you grip the reins tightly, before nearly falling off. You haven’t ridden like this since returning to the gang, and you haven’t had much of a chance to adjust to it, but right now, you don’t have the time to practice.

Odliv is fast, and you’re grateful, but the rider behind you is gaining. You blame your rusty horsemanship and the late start you had on them.

You keep your eyes focused ahead, should you need to vault over some kind of obstacle.

And out of nowhere, they catch up to you. “OUTTA THE WAY…!”

Wait. That voice! You’d know it anywhere by now.

Just as you turn your head, you see the buckskin jacket and black hat rush past you.

“Arthur…!” you call out and upon hearing his name, he pulls back on the reins, and Montana skids to an abrupt halt. You slow Odliv down and canter up to him.

He's breathing heavily, drops of sweat beading on his furrowed brow, a look of urgent confusion etched across his rugged features. "Kitka," Arthur says, his voice thick with emotion and surprise. He looks at you as though you scared the living daylights out of him, but he speaks to you with an unusual calm. “We gotta go.”

“Go?” you ask. “Go where?”

He looks behind you and his breath hitches. “Follow me.” And before giving you a chance to respond, he spurs Montana on and they gallop off.

That’s when you hear gunshots in the distance.

Oh no. He’s in trouble.

But you aren’t about to stay and talk sense into angry lawmen. You aren’t that good at persuasion. 

You gallop after him, your heart pounding in rhythm with the hooves of Odliv hitting the ground. The familiar exhilaration of a high-speed chase washes over you, tinged with a fear you can't shake—the fear of losing Arthur again, just when you've found him.

As his figure grows larger before your eyes, the landscape blurs into a mix of green and brown. The gunshots grow distant, more faded, as if the very earth is encouraging your escape. Dust kicks up from Montana's hooves, creating a storm behind him that you can barely see through. But you don’t need clear vision; you just need to keep close to Arthur, as you catch up to ride along beside him.

You think to ask what happened, but you can ask when you are out of harm’s way.

***

After riding several miles, you have lost the law. You’ve stopped the horses in a thick forest up north, past a place called Moonstone Pond.

After dismounting, rather carefully, you remove Odliv’s bridle and let her drink from the water, letting the bridle fall with a metallic plop. Arthur had already dismounted and now sits on a nearby log, removing his hat and wafting cool air in his face.

He looks bulky, sitting hunched over like that, his large hand on the crown of his hat, his head down.

The air nearly crackles with tension, questions you have that need asking, but the immediate necessity of dealing with what just happened takes priority. It frustrates you, the need to be blunt, but you know that tact is the strategy here. You realize that this is your acting and con skills going to work. You have developed the ability to read people, or are at least relearning it.

“How’s your battle wound?” he asks casually as if you hadn’t just escaped the law.

“Fine,” you answer in the same manner. Feeling the need, you begin to remove your boots, pulling up your pant legs to get to the laces.

Arthur lifts his head and looks at you, his face expressionless. “What’re you doin’?”

You lift up your foot with skilled balance and pull off the boot with ease. Staying balanced on one foot, you switch feet and do the same with the other. Once your feet are free, you wiggle your toes in the grass and sigh. “That is so much better.”

Arthur lets out a chuckle. “Was wonderin’ when you’d do that.” He shifts on the log, eyes now scanning the expanse of trees shadowing you both from the late afternoon sun. His face, usually set in lines of determination or concern, relaxes for a moment as he watches you. "You always hated boots," he murmurs with a hint of nostalgia, his voice low and almost aching.

You look at him, your shoulders drooping. You want to just sit with him and ask him if he will tell you more, but first things first. “What happened in Valentine?”

His eyes flicker to the ground before coming back up at you. “We shot the whole town.”

Your heart sinks. “What?!”

“Leviticus Cornwall showed up. We robbed one of his trains a few weeks back, stole some oil, he’s riled up. Sent the Pinkertons after us. They nabbed John and Strauss…but I took care of that…” He rubs a hand down his face. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Arthur’s confession hangs heavy between the rustling leaves and the creak of the log under his weight. The sun is beginning to enter the dusk, the shadows turning his face into a mask of remorse and desperation. You draw a deep breath, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten—anger, fear, and concern mingling together like a storm cloud that has blocked the sun. You take careful steps toward him and sit down beside him.

“It seems that is what we are good at.” You look down at your hands, imagining how many towns did you shoot up throughout your life? You haven’t remembered shooting a gun, but you just got done shooting O’Driscolls without so much as a second thought. “Blackwater, now this.”

Arthur nods, not arguing with you. “Yeah.”

You turn to look at him, though he doesn’t meet your gaze. “We’re going to have to leave Horseshoe Overlook, aren’t we?”

He looks up, casting his eyes toward the horses as they rest. “Looks that way.”

You exhale, your body feeling more heavy than you had hoped to feel today. “This isn’t the way we used to do things.”

Arthur turns to look at you, his eyes reflecting a certain curiosity. “What things?”

You clear your throat. You aren’t about to tell him that you were in his tent when you came across the newspaper clipping, but you have to explain what you mean. “I mean, back then, when we used to rob the rich and give money away.” You tuck some hair behind your ear. “But now we just kill people.”

Arthur’s body tenses slightly, his tone coming out as defensive. “I shoot those as need shootin’. That’s how Dutch has always done it.”

You find that hard to believe. Not after what you’ve heard and seen. You think about Heidi and what had happened to her. As far as you can tell, she didn’t need shooting. “Not anymore, he doesn’t.”

Arthur sighs, signs of fatigue coming out in his pinched brow and slumped shoulders. “I know that what just happened in Valentine weren’t good, but—”

“I’m talking about what happened in Blackwater, Arthur.” There is a silence that falls between you and after a moment, Arthur rises to a more erect sitting position. You exhale and look away. “It seems like nobody wants to talk about it.”

“I hear that.”

You pick at your long fingernails, getting dirt out from underneath them. “If I was on that boat, it means I saw what happened.”

“Yeah.”

You turn to face him, and his deep blue marine eyes meet yours, reflecting the uncertainty and confusion that you feel. He looks just as lost and in the dark as you are. “I just wish I could remember what happened,” you say softly.

Then his brow pinches, a pained expression crossing his face. “Why? Ain’t it bad enough just to know that things went to hell?”

You shake your head, not even sure how to answer. Your words come out jumbled, stammering as your emotions begin to swell. “I don’t know, I just…I just—I can’t—There’s just something deep in my bones, Arthur, deep within my soul that there’s something going on. I…can’t help but wonder…if…if that is going to make or break something.”

Arthur's gaze softens, the harsh lines of his face easing into a more thoughtful expression. He reaches out, his rough fingers brushing lightly against your arm, grounding you back to the present. "Kit," he starts, his voice low and gentle, a stark contrast to the usual gruffness. "Maybe it’s best that you don’t know…I see what rememberin’ things does to you. I—” he cuts himself off for a moment, his lips forming a flat line. “I hate to see you hurt.”

His words, though meant to comfort, only serve to stir up more turmoil within you. You nod slowly, trying to digest the gravity of his statement. It was true that each fragment of memory retrieved has sent a wave of pain and confusion through your heart, but the unknown seems just as menacing, if not more so.

"I appreciate that, Arthur," you say, patting his hand. “But I need to decide that for myself.” And seeing the expression on his face, you add, “You can’t always be there to protect me.” This seems to cut him even more, though that wasn’t the intention. Then, you remember what Mary Beth said, how he blames himself that you had supposedly died. “Arthur, I meant—”

He shakes his head, bringing his hand to his lap. “It’s alright, Kit.” And he swallows. “Not a delicate flower, right?” He feigns a smile and a chortle, but you can see right through it.

“Arthur…”

He rises to his feet, rolling his shoulders. “We need to head back to camp. We gotta pack and move somewhere else.”

You guess that’s that then. You rise to your feet, brushing invisible dirt off your pants. “Where?”

“Don’t know.” He avoids your gaze, almost purposefully this time. “We will just have to see.”

***

Clemens Point. Your new camp. Dutch had sent Arthur, of course, to go and scope out a new place to hide from the law and he took Charles with him. You were glad of that. It’s evident that Charles is one of the good ones, and you know that he wouldn’t put anyone in danger unnecessarily.

It was a long wait back at camp, even with spending the majority of the time helping everyone pack up their belongings, your eyes often drifted to the tree line, wondering when and if they’d be back with good news.

“We will be gone before the law finds out where we are,” Hosea tried to reassure you. “You’ll believe that once your memories come back.”

You figured this has happened more than once, which makes you realize that if things were better, you’d probably all be settled in a ranch or an actual house by now, enjoying the pleasure of riches, health, and safety.

Broken dreams, broken plans, and broken promises.

You continued on without saying much of anything, your mind going back to your last conversation with Arthur. He seemed really hurt by what you said, when all you were trying to do was to lighten his burden a little. You don’t want him to worry about you. If your head hurts in the cause of remembering, so what? You’d be whole again, and that seems to be what everyone wants for you.

At least, you think they all do. You want them to.

And before you were about to get the idea of going out to look for them, Charles returned to camp, announcing to all that he and Arthur found a spot better than the one that Micah had suggested. A place called Clemens Point. It was supposedly secluded, by a large source of water, and was near a town that could be promising.

That was enough for Dutch to make the call, ordering everyone to get moving.

You rode behind the caravan on Odliv, growing more comfortable on the saddle than you have ever in a wagon. She made an even stride as the landscape changed from arid and cool, to humid and warm, and you weren’t sure if you liked it. Your skin instantly felt sticky and hot, and you questioned if you ought to be wearing dark jeans and a red shirt with yellow flowers on it. But you like red, yellow, and black, so you were stubbornly going to stick with your decision.

As the gang turned off the road and into some trees, you got the feeling that you were close.

That’s when you heard Dutch loudly exclaim up ahead, “This is perfect, Arthur. Just perfect…!”

You’ve since begun to settle into the camp, everyone falling into their place as though you’ve been here for months already. You have your own tent now, covered and private, sequestered between two trees just behind the medicine wagon, much to Strauss’s delight. Any way to remind you to keep making cures, right?

But not too far is Arthur’s wagon, and beside his is Dutch and Molly’s. Just beyond the camp, is the lake, and the promise of fish to eat carries the promise that the gang won’t starve.

After a long day of setting up camp, you finally turn in for the night. You crawl into your tent and change out of your clothes into a nightgown made of cotton, which will help combat this heat, even in the evening.

Wanting to let in some air, you peek out of your tent just as the sun sets. Without affecting your side too much, you rest on your stomach and prop up your head on your elbows, and get a nice view of the lake. The golden orange hues blend into the darkening blue of the water, creating a tranquil painting that calms your unsettled mind. The sound of the gang’s laughter and the occasional clinking of bottles drifts over, a comforting reminder that you're not alone, even if part of you sometimes wishes to be.

You watch as figures move around the camp, silhouettes, and soft voices as people settle for the evening.

And there, on the lake’s edge, stands a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette, the glow of a cigarette illuminating his fingers. He brings the cigarette to his mouth and he nonchalantly looks over his shoulder. The light illuminating his face, you can tell that Arthur is looking straight at you.

His gaze holds something unreadable, a mixture of concern and an almost imperceptible longing, as if the distance between your tent and the lake was not merely physical. You realize that despite the chatter and laughter all around, both of you have been navigating a silent storm of your own.

Letting the flap fall back into place, you create a barrier that settles your heart a little. Then, turning around and laying into your bed roll, you fall asleep.

***

“You need to go, ségra…” Antek coughs, though he doesn’t try to move out of your arms. “You’ll die if you stay…”

Your eyes shine with unshed tears, the tightness in your chest increasing the longer you try to keep it all in.

You had to stop and rest. Carrying him on your back has taken its toll and after banging on the door of two doctor's offices, you are weary of begging.

It’s terribly hot, the sun beating down on you as you sit on a street corner, and you can feel the heat of Antek’s fever. You wish that your circus band could have waited just a little longer, but you know better than anyone, they have to keep moving. They are out of money and in order to make more, they have to travel. That’s the nomadic way of life.

“Kitka…?” your brother’s voice is growing weaker, not the spry, energetic voice that you know. He looks so small, so frail for a twelve-year-old. He could juggle heavy stones for hours without tiring, and walk the wire as well as anyone, but now…

You wipe the sweat from his brow, shushing him gently. “I’m here, bratříček. I’m here.”

You hear someone coming and you look up and see a man and woman, dressed in fancy daywear and noses upright. You try to lock eyes with them, but it seems as though they are purposefully trying to avoid you.

“Please,” you beg. “Help us. My brother, he’s very sick. Can you spare any change so I can get him some medicine?”

The woman averts her eyes, clutching her parasol tighter, while the man frowns and quickens his pace, muttering, “Immigrants. Nothing but lazy gypsy vermin…”

The sting of their rejection is more painful than any other slur they could throw at you. You aren’t a stranger to it, but you didn’t need help, then. You weren't subjected to the mercy of strangers, to the cold indifference that seemed as harsh and unyielding as the desert around you. But here you are, cradling your brother's feeble body against the backdrop of an unkind world.

Your parents, dying in that terrible fire two years ago during a fire-breathing stunt, you and Antek have been all that remains of the Petrovs. You stayed with the traveling circus, vagabonds and carpetbaggers with dreams, and the closest to a family that you have. But they clearly had their own lives to lead. And with the promise to reunite as soon as possible, they moved on.

Tears finally spill over as you rock Antek, murmuring comforts that feel as hollow and brittle as the street debris beneath you. You're not just out of options; you're out of hope. The ache in your heart mirrors the empty streets, where even the dust seems to settle with a weight heavier than before.

“Shh, bratříček, don't fret,” you whisper, though your voice hardly carries past your lips.

You begin to sing a lullaby, one that your mother had sung when she carried both you and your brother in her arms when bad dreams kept you up at night. The words come out whimpering, sorrowful, as the tears continue to fall. One tear falls and lands on his forehead, but he doesn’t stir.

You pause in the middle of your singing. “Antek…?” you ask, your voice so soft it hides beneath the stillness of the day. The world around you appears to dim, the sounds of pedestrians and wagon carts becoming faded and distant. Panic claws at your chest when you feel no rise and fall in Antek's chest, his breath as absent as the compassion in the eyes of the passersby. You shake him gently, your voice barely a whisper, broken by fear, "Antek, please."

But he doesn’t move. His eyes closed and his mouth parted from the last words he had spoken.

Antek is dead.

You bend and hide your face in his hair, holding him close to you as you cry. You do not care who sees or hears you, for grief has swallowed you whole, rendering the judgments of the world insignificant. The sound of your sobbing is a lone mourning cry in the bustling indifference of San Francis. You remember how Antek used to tug at your sleeve with a mischievous smile, urging you on to new misadventures. Now, the coldness of his skin is all that you feel now that his heart has stopped beating.

The minutes stretch like hours under the relentless heat of the sun, but you continue to hold him, refusing to move. What can you do? You can’t just bury him in the ground. There needs to be a ceremony, words to be said. You don’t have money or a way to do that. You worry you will have to dig a grave with your own bare hands.

“Miss…?”

The sudden voice startles you, but you’re so weak, that your head turns slowly to look up. You see a man, in his early forties, with blond hair and brown eyes. He doesn’t look like a regular San Fernandian, or anyone around here, for that matter.

You blink, feeling the tightness on your cheeks from the tears that have since fallen and dried. You try to speak, but your voice is too hoarse.

Without saying anything, he takes a canteen from his shoulder and offers it to you. “It’s water.”

You hesitate, the distrust woven into the fabric of your life makes you wary of strangers. But the parched feeling in your throat overpowers your caution, and you take the canteen with trembling hands. The water feels soothing as it flows down, quenching the thirst that had gone unnoticed amidst your grief.

Once you have had enough, you hand it back to him, your hand returning to hold your brother.

The man points to the boy, speaking hesitantly. “Is he alright?”

“My brother. He’s dead,” you say flatly, your voice still hoarse but you can speak now that your thirst is quenched.

The man's face softens, his eyes reflecting a sorrow that seems to go beyond mere sympathy. He removes his hat in a gesture of respect and looks down at Antek's lifeless form. "I'm sorry for your loss, miss. If you need help... with arrangements or anything,” he offers, hesitating as he comes closer. “I can help.” You only blink, but he must see something in your expression, an opening, a vulnerability that invites him to try some more. “My name is Hosea. Hosea Matthews.”

You swallow. He doesn’t appear to show any prejudice or malice. After what you have endured, you feel desperate for any bit of kindness and in your fatigued state, you are almost tempted to give it. “Kitka,” you say. “Kitka Petrova.”

He nods, smiling softly. “Ms. Petrova, if you’ll let me take your brother, we can see about laying him to rest. Properly, as he deserves.”

Your eyes roam over Hosea’s face, searching for any hint of deceit. But all you find is a genuine concern etched into his weathered features, something that almost resembles the kindness you had known in your parents before tragedy scorched its way through your life. It's strange and unsettling, this offer of unbidden help, but the temptation to accept is too great now.

You nod your head. “Okay…”

And with that, he bends down near you, and gently takes Antek from your arms. Your arms feel lighter, empty, and your eyes never leave his limp form as you struggle to rise to your feet. Hosea waits for you and once you’re standing, he motions for you to follow. “Come,” he beckons. “My child.”

Thank you so much for reading!

Tag Requests:

@photo1030 @eternalsams

[quinnfebrey]

pls give me your review of Next to Normal London youre the only one i trust

do i want to talk too much about next to normal? yes, i do. 

some disclaimers: first, i am extremely specific about my opinions on next to normal, so if you're thinking "that's a dumb thing to say!" well sorry but remember ive been marinating in this show for over a decade. also, this is just going to be a review of the principle cast! i did see a cover run but i wont talk about them here (feel free to ask about them though if you like)

alright, without further ado here are my thoughts on each actor + the staging/general thoughts:

diana (caissie levy):

i thought she did a great job overall, but i didn’t love some of the vocal changes she made to the songs. she has a beautiful voice, but her version of i miss the mountains was a little too “i’m performing!” for me. missed the needed rawness of alice here

i did really like her change of softening “can” in “i love you as much as i can” though

her acting was phenomenal, the moment with gabe's baby clothes was heartbreaking. she also had AMAZING chemistry with natalie, and i think her version of so anyway is my favorite that i've ever seen

i’m interested to see how she develops further into diana because i think there’s room for more understanding in the more nuanced parts of her character. she improved a lot as the show went on which tells me she struggles with the humor and manic side to diana that is more prevalent in act 1

dan (jamie parker):

i think his singing voice is perfect for dan, but his speaking voice was so strange to me. i don’t know if it was him trying to act around the accent or his true interpretation of the character, but a lot of his dialogue didn’t work for me the way his songs did. like i would be absolutely in love with a number and then he'd speak and i'd be thrown out of it i don't know

his acting was great though, i really enjoy this goofier version of dan than the original version. he's more playful and i really like that it humanizes him more and also helps bridge the dan that fell in love with diana and the dan of today

he's also i think the first dan i've seen play the role with so much anxiety? like clinical anxiety, he's basically having a panic attack at the end of i'm alive reprise/during the break. i really really liked the nuance that it brings to dan

gabe (jack wolfe):

his voice is great for the role, and the way he looks too just fits with the character idk really good casting here

he was definitely less creepy than i felt the original version wanted him to be, i haven’t decided if i like that or not. i think it added more to gabe’s development as a character, but i think took a little away from the fact that gabe is not actually a real person

he seems like less of a comfort object for diana in this version as well, which again i don't mind but changed the dynamic. this gabe felt more attached to the whole family

REALLY good solo in light, heartbreaking sweetness in i dreamed a dance

natalie (eleanor worthington-cox):

i absolutely LOVED her. she was by far the standout for me in this cast. her acting was perfect, she clearly understands natalie incredibly well, and her voice is wonderful too. very good understanding of the purpose of the songs.

she made a couple dynamic changes during catch me im falling that i thought were strange, but i could also see that coming from her trying not to copy the original

i think her natalie is the most scared that i've seen it played, which worked well with this interpretation of dan. it all built up really well to her breakdown in hey#3

i also felt a stronger connection between dan and natalie in this version more than i have with any other, so light hit a lot harder

henry (jack ofrecio):

i feel bad about this one but honestly i really did not connect with his interpretation of henry. that’s the nicest way i can say it

he seems like such a sweet guy and his voice is absolutely gorgeous, but... that's kind of where my likes end

he didn’t seem to understand any of the jokes he was telling because he couldn’t make any of them land (and he’s a very comedic character so what happened bro 😭)

he was too “nice guy." henry is written in a way that can come off really insensitive and whiny and it takes the actor bringing it to life to get away from that. he just didn't seem to add another side to it

for example, when he says “then i’m sure they will be” during catch me i’m falling i wanted a little more… i don’t know, hesitation or disbelief in himself? and when he says “why do i get denied” i was just like my god bro she’s dealing with real shit, get over it. acb’s delivery of that line comes across way more as like. im hurting because i don’t know how to help you, please let me help you. this guy was just a whiny boyfriend.

again, great voice, but everything besides his singing either just felt very flat or was aggravatingly annoying to me.

madden/fine (trevor dion nicholas):

honestly i don’t usually have strong opinions on this guy. his voice was great, he did a solid rockstar.

his biggest part for me is at the end when he’s trying to convince diana to stay in treatment. it’s the first time you see his douche doctor mask fall and you realize he genuinely believes his way is correct and doesn’t understand why it isn’t working. i think he did it really well, i’ve never seen a madden/fine do it with so much anger but it actually worked for me 

staging:

honestly i applaud them for being brave enough to change this much. having a real set already helps me separate this revival from the original run

i think the lack of true set in the original adds to the tone of the show, though, so this production did feel very different and more concrete which made some of the weirder blocking not work as well (like during my psychopharmacologist and i). instead of feeling more abstract and conceptual it was like oh They're In A House

but i don't necessarily think it's a bad thing, i just think it makes it a slightly different show and a person's preference will probably just be which one they saw first. i'm sure people who see the london version for the first time will see the original and wonder where tf everything is lol

i also seriously missed dan wiping up during i’ve been (i know he still does it but the double bucket is SUCH an effective stage trick)

and i missed gabe's general parkour, again him really just owning the stage like that helps him feel like not a real person

my one criticism of the staging is that in my opinion it felt cluttered and busy at times

general pros:

the kids felt younger, particularly gabe (even tho the actor is older than aaron and kyle were?? he just looks like he’s 14 i guess), which i think changed the tone a little for the better. makes them more sympathetic

the band ROCKED. slight mixing differences but not unwelcome 

i loooooved this version of maybe. literally every second of it was perfect. 

general cons: 

i don’t know if british people are just irritating or something but the jokes were not hitting unless it slapped them in the face. they also seemed to miss a lot of references like the one to macgyver, one flew over the cuckoo’s nest, sound of music, but they laughed at the portland joke EVERY TIME? lmao idk

why the balloons lol cut that pls

i’m probably missing soooo much so pls send specific asks about anything in the show (with or without my opinion attached lol) and i’ll do my best!

[melishade]

Hi it's me again Emman haha

Quick question, how do you think the AoT cast would react to 'Die with a smile' by Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars

I always had this on my mind on how would they react when someone on Earth like Jack or Miko play's it by accident while they are helping them rebuild Paradis

I guess this is a good Segway to go into:

Attack on Prime: The Future Anthology: Music IV

Main Story

Music I

Music II Music III

Christmas

Long Overdue

Boxing

Pieck, Falco, Annie couldn't help but cover their ears at the sound of Miko's music blaring through the speakers as they continued cleaning more of the rubble from the houses that used to be along the Wall. The grinding of the guitar, the loud, hoarse screaming, it was too much.

Annie looked over at Gabi and Colt, but they didn't seem to care about the music. They just continued doing their work in picking up the broken wood.

"Why aren't you guys reacting to this?!" Annie demanded.

"Miko played this a lot during quarantine!" Colt answered, "She calls it 'Slash Monkey'!"

"Someone turn it off!" Falco yelled over the noise.

Miko stopped dancing to the music on her phone when someone yanked the portable speaker from her person and turned off the device. "Hey!"

"You need to stop playing that here," Jack scolded her before handing the device over to Arcee. The two wheeler held the speaker between her fingers before opening up her chest and placing the device there.

"No fair!" Miko yelled.

"If you're gonna listen to music, use your earbuds." Jack gestured to the device in his ear.

"Music is a great motivator for working!" Miko retorted.

"Your music hurts my ears!" Pieck yelled.

"You don't have to keep yelling," Mikasa informed.

"What?!" Pieck yelled.

"Great job, Miko. Pieck is deaf," Jean deadpanned.

"Can we please get back to work?!" Bulkhead demanded, "I told Historia that we'd have this cleaned up and leveled by the end of the day!"

"Sorry, Bulkhead!" Armin apologized.

Miko narrowed her eyes at Jack's phone as he pressed play on a song she couldn't see. "So what are you listening to?"

"None of your business," Jack answered.

"Well, it is my business. You took my stuff," Miko whined as she put her hands on her hips.

"None of your business," Jack repeated as he walked away from her. Miko cracked her neck before running forward and jumping on Jack's back, "H-ey! HEY! MIKO!"

"Tell me what you're playing!" Miko tried to snatch Jack's phone, but the older of the two grabbed his phone and extended it outward to keep it away from her.

"Should we stop them?" Armin asked Arcee.

"...I'm sure Jack's got this," Arcee decided.

"Give it! Give it! Give it!" Miko knocked Jack's phone out of his hand and it hit the ground. Miko jumped off his back and grabbed the phone before disabling the bluetooth, playing:

Lately, I've been, I've been losing sleep

Dreaming about the things that we could be

But baby, I've been, I've been praying hard

Said, "No more counting dollars, we'll be counting stars"

Miko shot Jack a look as he dusted himself off. "Really?"

"Yes. Really." Jack stomped over to Miko and snatched his phone back, pausing the song.

"It's overplayed!" Miko insisted.

"Well, I like it!" Jack shot back.

"The sound's different," Arcee commented.

"Different?" Annie asked in confusion.

"Yeah, guys that's different from the one that you put on the list," Arcee called out.

Jack sighed. "Yeah, the band released a remix of their original song a while back."

"I like it!" Gabi raised her hand.

"It's better than the screaming," Annie mumbled.

"Wow! Okay! Good to know that you all prefer mediocrity!" Miko accused with a pointed finger, "We're alone in this, Bulkhead!"

"I'm staying out of this!" Bulkhead informed.

"Look, we don't mind listening to your music. It's actually very informative to hear how music has evolved on your planet," Erwin interjected, "But play it loud enough we might not be able to hear it at all."

Miko rolled her eyes and groaned. "Fine. I'll lower the volume. Can I get my speaker back?!"

"We're listening to Jack's music!" Falco declared.

"Mediocre!" Miko shouted before storming off.

"Alright, I will put this on shuffle and we'll continue working," Jack declared as he tapped his screen.

"Oh! Can you play Bohemian Rhapsody?!" Sasha raised her hand.

"You guys played Bohemian Rhapsody for them?" Jack asked Arcee with a smile.

"With a few other songs," Arcee smirked.

"I feel bad that Hanji and Historia are missing out," Armin lamented as the song continued to play.

"Diplomatic relations call, I guess," Jean shrugged.

"I'll be willing to play for them both when they get back," Jack reassured.

As the day progressed and the work continued, everyone seemed to clean up at a faster pace due to the music. The music itself was rather fast paced and upbeat, but it wasn't intense and grating like Miko's music. Miko had merely called it mainstream before shoving her earbuds into her eyes to listen to her own music. But as the music continued to play, some of them began to dance along to the music. Even Arcee and Bulkhead jammed along to the rhythm.

"Well, looks like we cleared everything out," Bulkhead commented as the sun was beginning to set, "Thanks for the help you guys."

"Of course, Bulkhead," Pieck smiled.

"So can we please listen to something else besides pop music?" Miko demanded as she took out her earbuds.

"You're just mad no one wants to listen to people scream," Jack teased.

Miko scoffed as Jack's music continued to play. "At least Raf has more taste than you."

I, I just woke up from a dream

Where you and I had to say goodbye

"Um...what song is that?" Pieck asked.

Jack snapped his head to the phone in his pocket while Miko looked at Jack in horror.

"Jack! JACK! Turn it off!" Miko shouted in a panic.

"Shut up! Shut up!" Jack scrambled to get his phone.

So I'm a love you every night like it's the last night Like it's the last night-! Jack pressed the pause button and stopped the song altogether.

"What song was that?" Sasha snickered.

"A song that just came out that's in very poor taste in our current situation," Jack answered.

"Can you...can you play more of it?" Mikasa asked.

"HA?!" Miko gawked.

"Uhhhhh..." Jack trailed off.

"I'm curious to listen to it," Erwin admitted.

"You can't be serious," Miko groaned.

"You can't deny us the full listening experience to Earth's music," Erwin proclaimed, "We can't only listen to the songs that are about happiness or dancing."

"Okay does everyone here want to listen to the song?" Jack demanded, earning mutters and nods of agreement, "Okay! Fine! But don't complain if it's in poor taste!"

"And this is why mainstream music is a curse," Miko commented as Jack hit play.

If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you

If the party was over and our time on Earth was through

I'd wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile

If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you

"...I can see why you didn't want to play it," Annie commented.

"Yeah, it's in poor taste," Jack sighed.

"It's still a pretty song," Gabi commented, "And the lady's vocals are nice."

"Well, they're professionals," Miko said.

"I thought you didn't like this kind of music," Jean teased.

"I'm not going to deny good vocals," Miko declared.

"If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you." Everyone froze at the new voice joining the vocals on the soundtrack, "If the party was over and our time on Earth was through." They all turned to the source and found the source coming from...Mikasa! The Ackerman had her eyes closed, but was enraptured by the chorus that she had only heard once! "I'd wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile! If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you!"

Jack paused the music, causing Mikasa to open her eyes and stop singing. She noticed all eyes were on her, and her face flushed with embarrassment. "Ummm-!"

"YOU SING?!" Miko screamed.

"I-!"

"Yeah, I agree! You sing?!" Sasha pointed at Mikasa, "All these years that we've known each other and you never told us this! Armin, did you know?!"

"I...might I have heard it once or twice before we join the Cadet Corps," Armin confessed, "You didn't sing often so I figured I wouldn't share it."

"Also impressive that you've managed to sing a chorus you've only heard once," Arcee commented.

"Yeah, Ackerman genes will still do that," Annie stated.

"The song has!...nice lyrics," Mikasa mumbled that last portion, "Can we listen to more songs like this?"

"If you sing more of it, then fine," Miko smirked, "Oh! We should do Karaoke Night! That'd be perfect and it wouldn't cost much!"

"Adding that to the list of things we need to do with you guys." Jack typed away on his phone.

"Does Karaoke involve liquor?" Sasha raised her hand.

"Sometimes," Miko answered.

"Then we're in!" Sasha grabbed Jean's hand and raised it high.

"Can we pick a song?!" Gabi asked.

"Sure." Jack showed Gabi his phone and began to scroll down the list. Mikasa placed a hand over her mouth trying to hide her embarrassment at her singing. The only other people she sang in front of were Kenshin and Megatron, but Megatron didn't care and Kenshin complimented her. But now a good portion of her friends knew. And at least Miko seemed to like it. What about everyone else?

"You have a wonderful voice," Erwin complimented as he patted Mikasa on the back.

"Oh. Thank you," Mikasa replied bashfully.

Erwin then smirked. "Levi can sing too."

Mikasa's embarrassment was replaced with shock. "Eh?"

"Yeah, he doesn't like to talk about it. But if we do this Karaoke thing, Hanji will definitely make him," Erwin declared.

[wincest-in-the-corner]

Chapter 2 of Inbred is posted!

Here's the link!

and Here's the fic<3

Sam and Dean pay a visit to a well-known, well-hated healthcare CEO.

Dean sits up, slightly discombobulated. He looks over at Sam, sleeping peacefully in Dean’s bed. Smiling at him, he swipes his hair to the side and kisses his forehead. He doesn't usually show affection like this, but he can't help it. His baby brother just looks so cute. He hears a bark, and Miracle runs through Dean’s open door. He opens his arms and goes to hug the dog, but Miracle runs straight up to Sam and licks his face, laying on him and, somehow, looks like he’s smiling.

Dean gives the dog a look and snorts. “Asshole mutt.” and lays back down to pet him. He looks at Sam's face, clearly barely awake and half-petting Miracle. He just stares. He could never get enough of just looking. Of course, he could touch and hold his brother, the bread of his life, for the rest of his life and still die a starving man. But there's just something so intimate, almost tangibly so, about simply looking and not touching.

“Creep.” Sam grumbles, still not entirely awake. Dean just chuckles and keeps looking.

“Found anything yet?” Dean asks. He already knows the answer, considering how they had spent their day yesterday. Tangled up in each other and hardly taking breaks. Sam tells him exactly that.

“Yeah, I had a feeling. Breakfast?” Dean waggles his brows at Sam, obvious innuendo intended.

“Fine.” Sam grumbles, only one eye open. “But real food after. I don’t think ive ever been this hungry.”

And they dive right back in, feasting on each other, losing themselves together, dying over and over again.

~

Dean is concerned. Sam is currently scarfing down real, actual bacon, waffles drowned in butter and syrup, and the greasiest hashbrowns on Jack’s green earth. What the hell happened to his little brother?

“Sam… are you, y’know, okay?” dean asks, slightly patronizing.

“Oh, shut up Dean. I’m allowed to indulge every once in a while. At least I don't eat like this on a daily basis. We definitely know who’s going to make it to 50.” Sam snarks back.

Dean just hums in response, chuckling but not wanting Sam to see. They’d been looking for anything, any signs of monsters for 2 weeks now. They’ve been going insane. Fighting more than usual, then hate-fucking into oblivion. They love each other, more than life itself, but being cooped up together has been less than ideal. In fact, it's been torturous.

Sam types away on his laptop between bites. “Nothing. Although I did read about this healthcare CEO, Mark Donnelly. He’s been denying people’s cancer treatments and insulin, and then he just bought himself a third yacht. Fucking disgusting.” Sam spouts off. He looks angry and disgusted, but mostly sad. For the patients, for the families. I mean, who the hell needs 1 yacht, let alone 3?

Dean frowns into his cup of coffee, having already finished his pancakes and bacon. “He deserves to be shot just as much as any monster. Fucking psychopath.” He growls.

Sam goes silent. “Dean.” He says slowly, not meeting his eyes.

“Sam?” Dean asks, wondering if they were both thinking the same thing.

“We shouldn't hunt him.” Sam says, almost as if trying to convince himself.

“We shouldn't. He’s a human being.” Dean says, agreeing, but not really.

“Too bad, it would've been so easy to hack into his accounts and find out exactly where he lives. And so, so easy to find the quickest route there." Sam sighs, finally looking Dean in his eyes.

He starts to eat quicker, throwing his laptop in his bag and clearing the table. Dean throws a couple twenties down and they quickly stand, walking out and practically running to the car.

~

“Alright, we have everything we need?” Dean asks. Sam confirms. They run over the plan once more.

They're in a dingey hotel a few hours from Manhattan, where the fucker lives.

They already have any weapons they could need, a stolen car, since they can’t risk anyone seeing Baby, and have the cameras in the house down for 12 hours, if they're lucky.

They plan to break into his house at 3:00 AM to avoid witnesses, silence the private guards by any means necessary, sneak up to the asshole’s bedroom, and slit his throat in silence. Leave the scene, ditch the car, sleep for a few hours in the hotel room, and haul ass back to the bunker.

“Okay.” Dean says, picking up a duffel from the hotel bed. “Let’s fucking kill this nasty son of a bitch.”

~

They have eyes on the house they need. They were expecting so many more guards, there were double this many when they hacked into the cameras before. Dean can see Sam’s nervousness, and he slides a hand to his back. He knows they can handle them, even if Sam doesn't. They get out of the stolen car and walk up to the house, sticking to the shadows. Who the hell needs a house this big?

Dean picks the lock with ease, and as soon as they’re inside, Dean motions to Sam to go left, and goes right himself. There’s a double staircase, each side leading up to the bedroom levels. Under the stairs is the foyer, and beyond that is the hall leading to the living room, den, and offices. Sam had forced Dean and himself to memorize the entire layout before they had even left Kansas.

They both easily take down the guards on each respective side of the staircase, and run up the stairs to meet in the middle. They only had moments before the guards in the Maid’s Quarters were awake and headed for them. At least the fucker knew he was hated and took the proper steps, which included the best of the best personal guards, to protect himself. But Sam and Dean were better.

They run down the hall and slam open the bedroom door to see Dear Old Markie getting ridden vigorously, by someone who was clearly not his wife. Well, fuck. The girl, who looks as though she could be several years under 18, jumps off him and scrambles for the sheets to cover herself.

“Get the hell out of here and never come back.” Dean growls at the girl, disgust and anger curling in his stomach at the thought of that little girl being forced to do this, or worse, being tricked into thinking she wants it. She squeaks at his demand and runs, the sheet trailing behind her.

The man, Mark, is now left with only a pillow to cover his very unimpressive dick. Dean walks over to him, glowering and glaring, as Sam runs to lock the door and anchor a rope to the bedframe to lead out the window as their escape route.

“Pl-please, I can give you money if that's what you're after, I have gold and jewels! Anything, please!” Mark begs, crying like the coward he is.

Dean just laughs in his face, and reaches over to make Mark look at him, holding the knife to his chin. In one quick, fluid motion, the fucker has blood flowing from his neck. He gargles, trying to scream, but he can’t. Dean just smiles as he watches the monster drown in his own blood. While he’s still alive, Dean carves 3 words into his chest.

Defend. Deny. Depose.

~

They had easily slidden down the rope and got out before the rest of the guards had even been alerted. They got in the car, throwing the duffel (which they would burn later) into the back.

They shared a look, and immediately Dean was holding Sam’s neck, dragging him into a kiss, searing and over far too quickly.

Dean relives the moment in his head many times as he lies in the bunker bed, holding a still-sleeping Sam. He knows he should feel guilty, but he doesn't. He feels relief that a monster like that is gone. He rolls over and sees Cas sitting in his chair, staring at them, and nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Jesus, Cass, could you at least give a little warning?!” Dean shouts.

“Oh, but it's so much more fun when you dont know I'm watching.” Castiel croons, his voice silky smooth.

Dean knows what he wants, and he can't help but want it too. He loves to show off his sammy, knowing Cass can’t touch, and would never try to, knowing Dean would kill him before the thought crossed his mind.

“Wait, you watch us without us knowing?” Dean asks, ashamed to admit it only turns him on further.

“Oh, Dean. I watch you every moment of the day.” Cass gives Dean a look. He stands and looks away to pick at his already-immaculate nails. “Speaking of, how was your little heist last night?” He asks, pacing around leisurely.

Dean almost rolls his eyes. “Successful, obviously. Did you not have faith we could do it?” he asks. He already knows the answer.

“Of course I knew you could,” Cass pouts. “I wish you would've just invited me. You could have let me kill the guards at least.” he whines.

“Jesus, cass. You're more bloodthirsty than I am, and that's saying something.” Dean chides. He knows he can't talk Cass out of it, and he doesn't really want to. It's useful having a psychotic angel around.

“Well, an angel needs to get off somehow.” Cass retorts. “Since I haven't been invited over here in ages.” he whines again.

“Well, too bad. We had a rough night last night after we got back and im not forcing him to perform for you again so soon. You'll just have to wait.” Dean smirks at Cass, shooing him away with his hand.

Cass gives an exaggerated little pout, waves, and disappears out of thin air.

[mockerycrow]

ive only seen like... 3 jack mitchell fics so how about jack mitchell x fem!reader with the prompt “I don’t want anyone else. No one else can make me feel like you do.” ?? :3

ONLY ONE CHOICE (Mitchell x Fem!Reader) — 4K CELEBRATION

authors note; anon. i’m actually going to kiss you so hard on the forehead!!! i did NOT expect any advanced warfare asks!!! this is short i’m so sorry </3

[WARNINGS; Overthinking, advanced warfare spoilers, fluff.]

MITCHELL HATES BEING away as often as he is. He hates only being able to talk to you through a speaker most nights and not face to face. He hates the fact that he can’t feel your skin against his most of the time, that you’re not there to help him through his phantom pain spells, or when he’s reliving that one day. That one day. The hushed conversations at night, the quick “I love you”s and deep talks are nothing compared to actually holding you, actually kissing you and genuinely looking into your eyes and not staring at them through a screen.

So when one day, you’re uncharacteristically quiet on the phone and he asks if something is the matter, he’s absolutely fucking baffled. Mitchell has to ask you to repeat yourself to actually process that you ask if he’s happy with you. You begin to ramble about how he technically has so many choices of women to choose from, and that you’ve been wondering if he’s unhappy—if you have been holding him back.

“No, just—stop talking,” Mitchell utters into the phone with a laugh, hearing you stutter. “Baby—baby. I don’t give a damn about the distance. Do I wish I could hold you? Sure, but it’s my choice to stay in the service.” Mitchell murmurs. “I wish I could hold you, kiss you and rub your back like you ask me to when I’m home.”

You try to interrupt him, but Mitchell continues without hesitation. “I wish I was with you so I could wake up next to you, have you in my arms—have you run your fingers through my hair since you like it so much,” He pauses, voice getting quieter as he gets a bit choked up. “I wish I was with you so you could help me tie my tie like when I first got my arm. I wish I was there so you could kiss my forehead when I wake up from my nightmares—I wish was there to do the same to you.”

Mitchell hears you sniffle over the phone, and he isn’t sure if it’s a good sign, but he continues nonetheless. “Do I wish I was with you right now? You bet your ass I do, but there is no one else I want. I don’t want anyone else. No one else can make me feel like you do.” You let out a sob. “Fuck, you’re such a sap. Shut up.” You let out a broken laugh, earning you a loud chuckle from Mitchell. “I love you, and I don’t know why you question me about it, but..” Mitchell hums. “..I’ll always be here to remind you that I do.”

“I love you too,” You reply, your voice shaky. “I just.. all of the women in your company are so beautiful. I hear so many stories about military men cheating and I trust you, babe, I do, I’m just.. I’m me, and they’re them.” Mitchell replies without skipping a beat, saying, “And that’s why I love you, okay? You’re you and I don’t think I would ever be able to love anybody else. What’s that one saying about the.. the worm?”

You bark out a laugh, covering your face as your boyfriend is trying to remember. “What, the question of ‘would you still love me if I was a worm’?” You question, which Mitchell agrees enthusiastically. “Yeah! That one. I would buy a mason jar, build you a home, keep you with me. Attach you to my exosuit, baby.” You feel your face burn as Mitchell sounds serious. You giggle until you’re full on laughing again, forgetting about the tears staining your cheeks. Mitchell’s chest feels warm and fuzzy from your laughter over the phone—he could fall asleep to it, it’s so soothing to him. His favorite sound.

Your laughter soon dies down and you yawn. “Tired?” He murmurs, earning him a sleepy “mhm” from you. “Go to sleep, hon. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[echoingbirdsofprey]

Take Me Back To Eden

One - When We Were Made

Pairing: ii x OC Violetta Kastor

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: swearing as usual for anything I write and this is not a slow burn, so there's immediately flirting and talk of an ex

A/N: Out of respect for the band and their crew, I've decided to use made up names, as it gets a little taxing writing the Roman numerals over and over. It is clearly explained who everyone is. I've also made up physical details if needed, some true (eyes that we know of), some not. The actual plot and storyline is entirely fictional except maybe some of the tour dates but those are also mostly rough estimates so don't come after me! Enjoy!

Violetta had no idea that the first thing she was about to do at her new job was tech for a ritual. Fresh out of school, she'd been hired on a recommendation by her favorite band, which was the craziest shit that could've happened to her. What band, you ask? Well, Sleep Token of course. Yes, the masked and mysterious collective hired Violetta to be a guitar tech. And she could tech with the best of them. She'd majored in music production and recording and she was top of her class. Her professor knew the record label owner and sent him a message because she wanted Violetta to be successful. 

Well, what a way to start. She'd been thrown to the fucking wolves the very first ritual. Theo, their tour manager and lead on the soundboard met her and immediately pulled her toward the stage during soundcheck. He went over everything quickly and concisely as the sultry sound of Vessel's voice was overheard through the microphone.

"You're gonna hang with Jack tonight and he'll show you how everything works. We've got in-ears. We'll get you a pair to use for now and then the boys will want you to have a custom pair once we've decided to let you stay." Theo explained, placing a hand on her shoulder and smiling. Violetta knew this was her audition for the rest of her career. She was used to pressure but she couldn't have imagined the amount put on her in that first night.

Luckily, everything ran so smoothly that instead of coming out in a state of panic thinking she wasn't good enough, she'd been congratulated so many times she couldn't even count. She hadn't done much but noticed the mics sounded off just before the set, then restringing IV's 8-string Jackson when the top two strings gave way, faster than she'd ever restrung and tuned a guitar, and that made it all worthwhile. 

The funniest thing that had happened that night was her becoming fast friends with Jack. He was just like her friend at home, Brian, except Jack wasn't gay as fuck. Not that she had a problem with that, but it could be a lot for people just meeting him. Jack was nice, down to earth, could joke about anything, and would take a selfie at the best moments. She really liked Jack. 

Everyone had been stupid nice to her. It was later on, after the ritual, that she had her second dose of reality dished to her when she headed backstage. She'd helped pack away all the gear, and mind you, getting to help put II's drums away was the highlight of her life until she entered that green room. There, sitting and looking very normal, with a water bottle in one hand, phone in the other, was Vessel.

"Hi, you must be Violetta. You were top-notch tonight, darling." He said, the rumble and rasp in his voice so evident after singing. He looked like a dang noodle of a man, floppy brown hair and a clean shaven face, with crystal blue eyes that wrinkled at the corners with happiness. She smiled and thanked him, going to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. She kneeled down, taking one from the bottom rack and surveyed what else was in the fridge. Fruit, lots of energy drinks, cans of soda, sushi, and finger sandwiches of all different kinds. "Feel free to eat anything too, hun, that's all for us and the crew."

She wasn't terribly hungry, but she thanked him again and sat across the room from him at a foldable table that was set with several folding chairs. She took a few sips from her bottle and took out her phone. She scrolled through the pictures that had been taken that night by their photographer, Alex. One in particular she quite liked was of II, the drummer. He was for sure in the moment, sticks blurred in the air, and his head thrown back as if in ecstasy. Speaking of the drummer, that was who came through the door next, taking a can of Coke and a bottle of water out of the fridge. He took up residence on the couch that was facing where Violetta was sitting. He glanced over and smiled.

"You must be Violetta." He said, soft spoken and slightly higher timbre than Vessel. She nodded and he smiled again, his deeper blue eyes lighting up. He looked tired and still fairly sweaty, even though she was sure they'd cleaned up, but maybe he hadn't just yet. He was the shortest member of the band, but still taller than Violetta as she was a short five feet tall. He popped the Coke open, placed it on the floor by his feet, then unscrewed the cap from the bottle of water and chugged half of it before putting the cap back on. 

Jack swooped in, gave Violetta a bear hug, then swooped out with water and some food on a plate. He poked his head in again, realizing he'd forgotten to tell Violetta something.

"I think you're rooming with one of the guys tonight, if that's okay? They're not too annoying." He said, a lilt of humor in his tone as he smirked at Vessel and II. "But ask Theo again, he'll be able to tell you." He said and then he was off. 

She glanced down at her phone just as she received a text.

Unknown Number: hey 👋 

She tilted her head and sneakily looked over at Vessel, then II. They were both on their phones. The timing of the text was rather conspicuous.

Vi: hi, who you?

Unknown: wouldn't you like to know 😏

Vi: yes. I would in fact 

Unknown: who do you think I am?

Vi: honestly, don't know, but you're timing is awful fuckin weird

Unknown: is it?

Vi: yeah 🙃

Unknown: Oh c'mon, just guess

Vi: are we using real names or the numbers that Sleep gave you?

Unknown: clever girl

Vi: you're in this room with me, you have to be, otherwise you're standing out in the hallway

There was a pause in messages. She hadn't thought to listen for a text tone, but she looked up just as IV walked into the room. He didn't have his phone out.

"Hey, I really appreciate how quick you restrung my guitar. You did a great job, babes ." He said and she couldn't help but smirk at his use of very British slang. He walked to the fridge and stood in front of it, surveying the food and drinks available for a few moments before grabbing a few things on a plate and sitting down at the table next to her, but sort of across from her.

Unknown: well?

She didn't hear a text tone. She glanced at Vessel, and typed a message back.

Vi: you all have blue eyes

Unknown:  okay?

Vi: is it a requirement to be in Sleep Token? Have pretty blue eyes?

Unknown: possibly, you think my eyes are pretty?

Vessel and IV hadn't typed anything. Vessel was scrolling. IV had just sat down. She averted her eyes to II, who was also scrolling.

Vi: floor tom 

Unknown: kick drum

She watched as II's thumbs typed fast as fuck. 

Vi: snare

Unknown: you like?

Vi: I have questions

Unknown: shoot

Vi: how the fuck did you get my number

Unknown: Theo

Vi: are you flirting with me?

Unknown: are you?

She looked up and straight at II. He smirked but didn't look at her. He typed something back.

Unknown: hi, I'm Cal, am I your favorite?

She stood, going to throw her empty bottle of water away.

Vi: it's always the quiet ones

She clicked the number and saved it as "Cal" with a little drum emote in the notes. She received a text.

Cal: ✨️ 

Vi: did you just use a sparkle ✨️ emote?

Cal: I did, yes

Cal: im your roommate by the way

Her heartbeat picked up and she full-on stared at him, lips parted for a split second, then she bit her bottom lip and took a breath. 

Fuck .

Cal: is that okay?

This time, he turned and she gazed deep into the ocean blue of his eyes, her very emerald ones seemingly lit with fire behind them. And not a rageful fire, but a very lust filled one.

Vi: how'd you know you were my favorite?

Cal: im good at guessing

Vi: guess my next move then

Cal: why don't you guess mine?

Vi: nope

She grabbed another bottle of water, a can of Coke, said "good night" to the guys, then headed out into the hallway, running into Theo. Cal stayed seated for a few moments before deciding to do the same and try to catch up with Violetta. Theo stopped her for a moment.

"Hey! You were awesome tonight. I meant to tell you earlier, Cal's your roomy for tonight. I figured that might work for you since he's pretty quiet and easy to get along with. I gave him your number so you could get the room key from him when you were ready for it." He explained and Violetta nodded and thanked him. He pulled her in for a hug. "Welcome to the crew."

She smiled wide and then headed down the hallway. She became aware very quickly of the drummer's footsteps behind her. He caught up to her, grabbing for her hand.

"Hi." He said, same soft tone as before. Violetta smiled and she could feel her cheeks getting redder by the second. He was...cute...no...he was hot. He was both. He had a little bit of facial hair, matching dirty blond hair on his head and through his white t-shirt she could see some of the dark, traditional, and colored tattoos that painted his chest. He had two full sleeves of tattoos as well that crawled their way onto his hands. The black body paint really did a great job of hiding it all. She glanced down at his hand that was still holding hers. 

"Sorry." He said, going to pull away but she stopped him.

"Still flirting with me?" She asked, intertwining her fingers with his. She felt him twitch like he was going to pull his hand away but he stopped himself, mesmerized by the way his hand fit in hers and the tattoos on her arms.

"Do you...want me to?" He asked sheepishly. His heart was pounding out of his chest just being by himself with her.

"I was kind of enjoying our little text dialogue. Never had that happen before." She said, a wide smile forming on her lips. 

He studied her for a few moments, before bowing his head and pulling her toward the exit door. The hotel was just across the street, so they walked, acting like a normal couple, but she could tell he was slightly on edge, by how his grip on her hand tightened slightly. He didn't want to be recognized, she surmised. 

He led Violetta to the elevator, going up a few floors before they exited and walked down the hall to room 409. He fished in the pocket of his shorts, tapped the card on the sensor, and the door clicked open and he allowed her in first. He flicked on the light. To her surprise, someone had thoughtfully brought her bags up and placed them on the single bed. 

There's only one bed. Fuck. Oh, wait, there's a couch.

"You can have the bed, sweetheart . I'll take the couch." He said, touching the small of her back before taking a pillow from the bed, saluting, and diving onto the couch with an audible " fuckin' hell".

She felt her temperature rise again at the use of the pet name. She wondered what III's nickname for her was going to be, since he was the only one of the boys she hadn't met yet. 

She sat on the bed and glanced over at II...or Cal. She placed the can of Coke and her bottle of water on the night stand that filled the space between the couch and the bed. He was laying down, arms behind his head, his phone on his chest, and his eyes closed. He'd kicked off his shoes and his legs were propped up on the arm of the couch. Violetta leaned back against the pillows, turned the light off and took out her phone, setting the brightness as low as possible.

Vi: you don't have to sleep on the couch, it looks uncomfortable  

Vi: also that can of Coke is for you

She waited and glanced over as she saw his phone light up. He took a second, opening one eye, typing a slow response then sending it.

Cal: really?

Vi: really what?

Cal: you can't just talk to me?

Cal: also thanks, how'd you know?

Vi: I can, I just kind of though this was cute

Vi: I guessed 

Cal: very cute...sweetheart, if I come in that bed, we're not sleeping

Vi: is that a threat?

Cal: it's a fuckin promise

She sat up, her heart racing. What a fucking player. She didn't think he was like that. She responded back.

Vi: that's awful forward of you

He shifted, turning on his side with a loud sigh, then typed back to her.

Cal: im staying on the couch...not a good look for your first day if we fuck around

He'd been able to relax a little and feel confident in his words, as he wasn't saying them out loud. If he'd had to, he wouldn't be saying any of this.

Vi: maybe my second? 🤭

Cal: you're fuckin adorable

Violetta smiled and closed her eyes. Her phone vibrated again.

Cal: let's get to know each other first...not saying I'm not interested... I'd just like to know you better ...makes the sex better

Violetta let out a little squeak and laughed quietly. She kind of hoped he didn't hear her, but he probably did. She put her phone down next to her and rolled onto her side, letting her dreams take her to places she'd never been before, with the drummer hot and heavy in her thoughts.

¤ ¤ ¤

Conveniently enough, the next morning was not a show day, so the boys and the crew could relax. Violetta was still a little in college mode, so even though she'd gone to sleep past one in the morning, she still woke up at six a.m. her body ready to go for a walk like she did every morning for the past four years. She opened her eyes and it wasn't as bright as she'd thought. She certainly wasn't going to go for a walk in a country that she didn't know, without people she knew, so she looked over to the couch. Cal was gone. She looked down at her phone, which had two texts. 

Cal: left you the key, text me when you're awake

The other was another unknown number.

Unknown: mornin, girlypop, waiting in the next room for you when you wake up

Violetta shook her head and smiled. This kept getting weirder, but more exciting. She dressed quickly, black leggings today, and a maroon Sleep Token sweatshirt over a navy Northlane tank top. She tousled her hair, putting it up in a claw clip, letting her bangs fall over her eyes. Now she knew III's nickname for her.

She took her phone and the key card, and headed out into the hallway. She texted the unknown number, who she was pretty sure she knew who it was.

Vi: uh, which next room?

She only had to wait a few seconds before she heard a door click to the right. A short girl with black long hair had stepped out, followed by the tallest, lankiest, most British looking guy she'd ever seen.

"Hi, Violetta. I'm Piper. I'm the merch manager. This is Steve." She outstretched her hand for Violetta to shake and then she shook Steve's hand after. He smiled wide, the smile reaching all the way up to his eyes, making the corners wrinkle. 

" Girlypop , huh?" Violetta said with a smirk. Steve's laugh bellowed through the hall and Piper smacked him on the arm.

"You're so loud." She said and he grabbed her around the waist and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Yeah but you like it. C'mon. Girlypop , breakfast time." Steve said, gently pushing Piper toward the elevator and making a come here motion with his hand at Violetta. When they stepped inside the elevator, Violetta took out her phone and texted Cal.

Vi: you didn't sleep much

It didn't take him long at all to respond.

Cal: mornin sweetheart, I'll meet you at breakfast

Vi: how do you know where we'll be?

Cal: you're not hard to find 😉

Violetta smiled as they left the elevator. They walked down a short hallway and entered a large dining room with several buffet tables set up. There were a lot of bands playing last night and a lot of them had stayed at this hotel. She followed Piper and Steve as they went through the line and grabbed food. Violetta wondered if she should get a plate for Cal.

Vi: food?

She waited a moment before scooping some scrambled eggs onto her plate, then bacon, some sort of sausage patties, and two muffins.

Cal: I'll share with you

She loaded the plate up with a few more things and saw that there were the big ass cans of Redbull. She took one of those and a big water bottle also. She followed Steve to a table, where Piper was already seated. Steve scooted in as close as he could to her and put an arm around her waist, pulling her close. 

Out of seemingly nowhere, Vessel and IV showed up. Vessel sat on the other side of Piper with a muffin and a bottle of water, certainly not as close as Steve. IV sat next to Violetta with a full plate. He began devouring his food, glancing at Violetta every so often as she was slow to begin picking at her food. 

Then she felt a presence beside her, a warm body touching hers. A tattooed hand reached out, stealing a piece of bacon from her plate to eat. He chewed happily and then placed one arm around Violetta's shoulders.

"Hi, sweetheart ." He said, low enough that only she heard it. No one seemed to notice him sitting, or putting his arm around her. Or eating from her plate the whole time. He even drank from the same can of Redbull as her, which made her chuckle a little the first time he took a sip, because he took it out of her hand and took a long sip right after her, then placed it back down.

Once everyone had finished, Vessel had volunteered to clear everyone's plates. Steve and Piper decided they were going to go down to the festival so they headed out soon after finishing. Violetta made sure she saved his number in her phone as "Steve" and put " Girlypop " in the notes. Cal still had his arm around her when IV sat back down.

"Sorry. I didn't actually introduce myself yesterday. I was so fuckin' tired. I'm Jesse." He said, offering his hand for Violetta to shake. She did and he smiled warmly back at her. Cal leaned forward and raised a brow at him. Jesse took Violetta's phone and put his number in by himself, then texted her.

Jesse: hey babes

She smiled and shook her head, then checked the little note next to his name. It was a winky face emoji. She immediately texted him back.

Vi: hi flirty

Jesse: you bet I am

Violetta raised her brows at him and he gently touched her shoulder before leaving the table, leaving her and Cal together. He leaned back again and took the last sip of the can of Redbull. Vessel sat down across from them.

"You can call me Roman if you want...instead of Vessel. Or call me Vessel. Or Ves. Doesn't really matter to me." He said, catching Violetta's eyes immediately. 

"How are you going to give me your phone number, because everyone else's attempt has been an experience." She said with a grin. He also smiled and held his hand out. She put her phone in it, and he typed his number in the box at the top then gave it back. He'd left the name part blank.

"I leave that up to you, darling." He said, his super low baritone sending a shiver down her spine. She now had all four of the boys' numbers. She saved his as "Roman" but put "Vessel" in the notes.

"Anyone ever gets my phone they're gonna know all yalls identities." She said and glanced at Cal. He was scrolling on his phone, not paying much attention to their conversation, but his arm was still around her. It had fallen slightly and was more situated near the middle of her back now. He'd unconsciously begun drawing small circles there, which she had not realized until now. Her cheeks heated and she sighed, trying to put away any unwanted horny thoughts, but they just wouldn't stop.

"That's alright. We're on our way to revealing ourselves anyway." Roman said, finishing up the water he had grabbed. 

"You are?" Violetta asked and he just nodded.

"We're healing. We've become something new." Roman said, then gently reached for her hand, placing his on hers for a moment before leaving her and Cal to each other again. She turned to him and he looked up from his phone immediately. 

"You're healing?" She asked, brows knitting in concern.

"That's why I said I want us to get to know each other first. I have...some baggage...and I want you to be sure you wanna deal with my shit." He said, reaching for her other hand. He put it on his chest and she could feel his heartbeat was fast. Faster than it should be for sure. "This..." He motioned between her and himself, "is so unbelievably fuckin' nerve-wracking for me right now."

"Why?" She asked softly, spreading her fingers under his. He took a deep breath and she felt his heart kick up a notch more and his breathing quicken slightly as well. 

"I had...an ex...batshit crazy. Trying to out us all among other things...which I want to tell you but I can't right now...but...she fucked us all up." He explained, trying to stay calm and not trip over his words.

"You don't have to tell me anymore right now." Violetta said, feeling his grip on her hand tighten. She saw hesitation in those ocean blue eyes of his. She could even catch a twinge of fear. "I won't pretend to understand what you went through...but I'll be here for you if you want to talk about it...and if you don't...we don't have to."

He smiled warmly at her admission and pulled her close for a hug to show that he appreciated it. When he pulled away, he caught a glimpse of her emerald eyes and he could've melted at how pretty they were in the morning light. Violetta leaned closer, the tip of her nose touching his and he closed the last few centimeters, letting his lips just graze hers, a ghost of a kiss. When they parted, Violetta noticed he was shaking slightly and she embraced him once again.

"What the fuck did she do to you?" She asked softly, not necessarily at him but just in anger toward his ex. She'd beat the shit out of the girl if she ever met her. 

[itsaspectrumcomic]

man ok idk if youll be able to advise on this or something but like. do you know anything regarding dealing with like internalised ableism?

i live in a rural part of ireland, right? and idk what it is about rural ireland but some of the people are heinous. my school is in a small miserable-ass town and like. God, man. not everyone sucks, of course but like. jesus lol additionally i have a ~mildly ableist~ mother (a "we're all a little bit autistic" and "erm. youre not disabled because youre not in a wheelchair or blind/deaf" etc etc type stuff. + "npd = bad person" which isnt particularly good for me specifically because i have npd (that i both Cant get an official diagnosis for, for various reasons, and im not really Looking for one either because i know what i am and its not like you get support for it because ~ooh scary narcissist~.)

and like. idk if this is Obvious but that can kinda cause a weird-ass relationship with You (being Me in this case, yk how it is with the second person perspective when. ranting) and The Concept Of Being Disabled. like, objectively. im disabled. im autistic, ive definitely got adhd (that im hopefully going to get examined for at some point cause college stuff requires it for the disability forums and stuff. gotta love that. fuckin 80% comorbidity right?), ive got a laughable number of repetative strain injuries, i have a sensory processing disorder, an endocrine disease that effects my Entire cardiovascular system, a spine that felt a lil quirky and bent in too much. so on a so forth

but also like. it feels wrong to call myself disabled. yk, like im doing a disservice to all the other ~actually~ disabled people (being Anyone but me lol) (none of this is At All helped by the fact that my mother refuses to listen to me regarding Jack Shit about my health in Any way. "oh you nearly passed out on top of a hill because of your cardiovascular condition? erm youre just not exercising enough actually" "you dont have depression [said while i was filling out an assigned mood diary after being forcefully brought to camhs for Reasons" like. shut the fuck up and Listen to me please. at least Entertain the idea that i could be right about something for fucking once lmao. cause ive been right about EVERYTHING regarding my mental health so fucking far so. fuck off /nay ofc) (also man. like, even if you ignored the physical issues ive got im still disabled on account of being autistic. like, motor function is fine, despite being a lil clumsy and/or unsteady sometimes but like. my emotional needs are Fucked. think of the response youd get if you asked a. fuckin. 8 year old or something to do algebra. but with a very emotionally stunted and traumatised 17 year old lol. lmao, even /lh)

so like. if youve got. any advice or whatever on any of this thatd be Super cool + no pressure obvs. sorry this is a whole. like. fucking essay's worth of Random Guy Complaining To You On The Internet lol

-🐢 <- just so i can find this again if you respond. i Like Turtles. i am Normal about the tmnt and also turtles The Creatures. i wont talk at length about turtle mutant anatomy (i am deceiving you)

Internalised ableism is a really hard thing to deal with, especially when you're surrounded by people who constantly re-enforce it. I've also spent a lot of time worrying that I'm not disabled 'enough' to deserve certain accommodations, that I'm making an unnecessary fuss. But the truth is, autism IS a disability and if there are accommodations that can help support you, you deserve access to them. You're not taking away from others with disabilities by advocating for yourself.

It's taken me a long time to understand this and I still worry sometimes. What has helped is talking about my experiences with people I know understand, like my therapist or best friend, and learning about the experiences of other autistic people through books, social media, YouTube and even real life.

I'm sorry your mother and others aren't being understanding - remember that's a them problem, not you, and try to spend your time with people who do understand.

🐢🐢🐢 <- the turtles wish you luck

[crushedsweets]

Can you talk more about Eyeless Jack? I really love him😔❤️

holds him in my hands... yes i can.. yes. i . can..

ive already gone on about his sacrifice and whatnot.. ok . ok. what to talk about. im gonna repeat hella stuff prob.

jack nyras .. mid-late 20s... human sacrificed to a demonic deity. . cute guy overall.

as i mentioned, similar to the proxies, he has a rando cabin in the woods. slenderman actually sees him as a good utility, so while he's not a proxy, he's kept around and allowed freely in the forest without any uhh... chaperone, i guess.

his cabin is even smaller, 1 bedroom 1 bathroom, small kitchenette, small living room, etc. there's a bit of an underground bunker, sort of like a tornado bunker. he keeps 2 freezers down there. u can imagine whats in them.

the main sort of ummm... like, driving issue and character 'arc' for jack is his guilt and battles w his own humanity. he was technically possessed by a demon/deity for a year straight, and while the demon is now 'resting', he still committed the atrocities he did, and he still relies on humans. for a while after he regains consciousness, he's really skinny bc its really hard on him emotionally to eat. eventually he just gets sort of numb to it (with the help of the other creeps.. not intentional help moreso 'dont be a pussy do what u gotta do man') . jeff is especially the one telling him to 'man up and do it' so he lives. toby and ben are more understanding of why its so hard for jack.

again jacks the eldest of many siblings. i'm thinking perhaps it goes.. jack>daughter>daughter>son>son>daughter. 3 sisters, 2 brothers. he was driving and working by time he was 16, his parents had too much pride to let him help with bills but he was getting groceries and cooking a lot of food for the house.

family meals were kind of a thing in the nyras household. jack was a good cook, lots of traditional meals, etc. he's been cooking dinner for his siblings since he was like 11. his dad always thought it was odd that jack took that on, esp since he had a sister a few years younger than him, but he legit just liked it.

there was a good bit of parental pressure to be a doctor, but if that weren't the case, he'd love to go into culinary. you know. before he had to cook human meat.

he can digest raw meat, and he has a theory that he goes longer between meals if he eats raw meat, BUT he often still cooks it and tries to make it just. more normal for him.

also he can and does still eat normal food, but it lost a ton of its taste for him. he relies still on human meat, but he can go like a 1-2 weeks between meals before he starts getting violent and dealing with severe pain. sort of like tokyo ghoul style ?

mmm.. he still has a missing persons case file open. his mother still tries to get the police to keep looking, and his brothers have even tried doing crazy shit like going into creepy parts of the city alone to figure shit out, but his sisters and dad eventually gave up and assumed he was dead. his mom still believes he's alive fully. none of them know what really happened to him

he works as human remains disposal for some rando guys that ben helped him find off the dark web. thats how he pays for the cabin, but the cabin is under brian's name since...... well. um. lol. jacks missing and presumed dead and he sure as hell isnt human enough to have a house.

cute guy !!!

[trenchgardens-ooc-ooc-ooc-ooc]

my post covid syndrome is . like. . it fits the definition of myalgic encephalomylitis and and fuck. . fuck. i used to be able to DM. i cant even move my fingers or string together a typed out sentence at my worst. i specify typed because at my worst i cant fucking move my jaw.

have you guys ever lain on the floor unmoving having to change the way you breathe to constantly hold open your ribcage because you're terrified that if you let it close on another breathe out you wont have the strength to open it again??? have you ever even had to Think about the muscles in your ribs and back that help you breathe?

i dont think anything id been through before covid hit me like that and fucking broke me, my asthma attacks from ice cold pools were nothing like that cause fuck at least i could try to fight back.

thats not even fucking counting the shit like my allergies and sensitivities. i cant eat wheat, gluten, eggs, almonds, walnuts, colby jack cheese specifically for some fucking reason, I can't touch latex or COTTON and for that i dont even know if im sensitive to the cotton or the fucking formaldehyde IN the cotton, I cant breathe in any arteficial scents, i cant breathe in most fucking concentrated natural scents, i cant touch cats, dogs, horses, or rabbits and sometimes my hands itch when i touch other humans, I cant touch dust. just ambient dust i dont even fucking know what it could possibly be that makes it like that but it aparently applies to fucking book dust because i open old notebooks and the paper itfucking self makes me break out, i start to itch when i touch my own ashy thinly coated dead fucking skin still on my body sometimes or my greasy hair, i have hypoallergenic shampoo and conditioner that i still get allergic reactions to and break out from, and think i mightve just had a horrible fucking i-think-i-might-literally-die-because-im-too-fucking-weak-to-breathe moment because i ate fucking gluten free (i checked) jelly beans????????? maybe its some dye im sensitive to?????????

The only safe ISH rooms in my emtire fucking house are my bedroom and my bathroom. specifically a thin trace of path between my bed and my desk, and a thin trace of path between my desk and the toilet, i cant go downstairs or my eyes burn i cant go hug my mom or my grandma unless they specifically prepared their outfits for me and showered in the last three hours because my mom has a horse and two dogs one of which she sleeps with nightly and my grandma has a cat who she does the same with.

The muscle above my kneecap burns at night and heats up with fucking blood after days where i work a three fucking hour shift at a desk job and my hips scream like they were dislocated the day before when i dare to play fucking vr phasmophobia for three ghost hunts where i dont even stand up for the second half of the second or the entirety of the third and it wipes me out for the rest of the fucking WEEK and triggers one of those pretermentioned fucking button mashing quicktime events where if i dont fight hard enough i suffocate in my own fucking carcass unable to move or scream or cry or string together a coherent sentence in my brain through the fog.

Ive bathed once in the last month and it was the only thing i could do for that entire weekend because i had to wait in the bathtub for hours stewing in my own allergens soapy and otherwise home grown because i wasnt strong enough to sit up much less get fucking out of the tub. I got in the tub, sat for hours catching my breath both literally and metaphorically scratched as much dead skin off as i could around noon, waited till at least fucking three before i could muster enough to do my hair, brushed out like fucking half of it because jesus christ humans really do fucking shed like dogs there is no good fucking distinction between hair and fur you self deluding human exceptionalists, and by the time id gotten out of the tub when my skin started burning too much from the diluted conditioner i got out and dried myself wity a towel im allergic to and looked in the mirror to see what looks like a cadaver before stumbling back to my bedroom to collapse on a couch ive been sleeping on also made of cotton which im allergic to.

Do you know what brain fog is? You might. Did you know that brain fog gets worse at the same rate fatigue does? ask one of my fucking friends, one of my loved ones, how fucking bad it gets. Ask Ike or Jett or Gemmy or Morningstar if i make sense for the latter half of any fucking voice call ive done with them in the last months, ask them about when i tried to play dungeon master for them. ask them what my disability did to my campaign. my favorite work of fiction ive ever made which ive worked on since before i was in highschool. ask them how fucking incoherent my conversational skills are even at my best and how they just degrade with every complex thought i try to form as every neuron in my brain tries to strangle more ATP from my fucking probably broken mitochondria or whatever the fuck cfs actually fucking is.

I will go to the doctor and they will say congratulations your lab results look great and theyll stand there impotently and somehow fucking shocked as i cry because i just want fucking anything to cling to. My mom will make a snide comment about how if i ever wanted to leave my room i could come with her places and ill end up scream-sobbing about how i would kill if it meant i could be okay and ill realize im dead fucking serious while my mom backpeddles at what she may not have intended to say but certainly feels and the doctor uncomfortably talks about how i should lose weight.

im the one in my family who was terrified during covid that i would give it to someone else while my maga apologist rome fellating seventeen gun owning pissant of a father who works in elder law with almost exclusively people older than sixty decided masks were bullshit and my mother who works exclusively with children decided it wasnt important, and my hippie grandma who i love so fucking much entertained decreased oxygen levels being a reasonable fucking concern compared to covid.

Isnt it fucking ironic? Isnt it fucking ironic??? I was the one kept up at night terrified and spent daytimes begging the light of my life my grandmother not to come near my house for when she visited me because i was terrified i was so scared i was so fucking scared that she would die because of me by coming into contact with my family or god fucking forbid me.

My mom said this month that now that shes read into long covid shes convinced that its what ive had and that it makes so much sense now and she believes me, she just wishes we found out about LC sooner

i first told her about long covid in 2020 and i first asked her if she thinks my disability which at the time had tanked my grades and forced me to walk with a cane could be long covid in somewhere around early 2022.

Earlier today she asked if it was my antidepressants causing it.

. and now my moirail cant even come to my sisters wedding this summer because of trump. because trump got reelected. because musk funded him. because he cheated. because he admitted to cheating. and he got away with it. because the democrats dont give a shit and dont know how to talk like people and not billionaires in human flesh suits. because trumps SS are detaining whoever they fucking want and i would not be able to live with myself if he got hurt. and every turn looks more and more like the holocaust and im a trans disabled autistic faggot.

Post covid syndrome is my body's own personal global warming. Every time a disaster happens we cut back on my energy spending and its never enough. ive cut back ive done less ive done less ive done less ive done less and its never enough it just gets worse. and my grandmother will visit and ask me if ive signed up for classes this summer and my mom will talk to me about a night job as if they just fundamentally cant comprehend the concept of a sickness you dont recover from, as if they think ill somehow get better from something i have never once ever improved from. And I dont say anything. because I want to go to school and i want to work a job a Real job. but ive bathed once in the last month, and i think at this rate this autumn ill need an iron lung or a ceder casket.

and my moirail critiques how much i talk about death. because even he doesnt seem to understand, it really. because he has hope that the USA will get rid of trump by law or uprising or a depressed socialist's suicide or something, and he wonders why i dont have hope to escape, he offers to take busses up from state to state to save on flights, refusing us driving to get him, because he doesnt live in this country, he doesn't see what i see, and he doesnt live in this body, and he doesn't feel what i feel. and i just hope my death wont hurt him whenever it comes around. If its from some stranger in a bathroom who heard me speak, a plain clothes ice officer the one time i leave my house, or my own body trapping me inside it forever.

...

does anyone want to play DW with me?

[thegeminisage]

star trek update time. last night we did ds9's "hard time" and "shattered mirror," which, WOW

hard time:

so i knew going in this was going to be an obrien suffering episode but i did NOT expect it to escalate to an ONSCREEN SUICIDE ATTEMPT. JESUS CHRIST

first of all, even real prison would have been less evil than fake prison. argrathans are VILE

kira was so niceys to him when he woke up :( even though you could tell she was super uncomfortable

i read that this episode was originally supposed to be about that lower decks bajoran girl...i'm kind of glad it didn't happen to her, tbh, but also, what did happen to her was still so fucking horrible

episodes that make a great case for why julian bashir can and should join the obriens marriage. he can still see garak on the side!!

i mean was this not julian and miles: the episode?

it was just SO good. everyone trying really hard to help and no one being able to help because obrien is LYING ABOUT IT AND GOD. THEY WASTED THIS GUY ON TNG! FIVE YEARS ON TNG AND THEY GAVE HIM ONE GOOD EPISODE! ONE!!!!!!! HE STOOD AROUND AT THE TRANSPORTER DOING JACK SHIT AND FOR WHAT

i actually thought for a second at the end when they were starving in prison he was gonna eat that guys. tarsus iv blinders. actually what happened was kind of worse

suicide scene. what can i even say except bashir is the most gentle man and good person. and god obrien fucking CARRIED it. five years on tng and i didn't know he could do that except for one fucking scene which was also about the cardassian war

bashir assuring keiko obrien always bounces back and then he almost KILLS HIMSELF.

AND THE THING IS YOU GET IT! he was really scary when he killed his cellmate! he was scary when he hurt quark and almost hit molly! you can see why he would be frightened of himself! it's that moment of absolute rage and then it's over and that guy is dead on the ground and you can't undo it. even though he wasn't REAL and then julian talks him down ANYWAY god i'm actually not even making any coherent sense bc it was just That good. god. GOD.

shattered mirror:

mixed feelings about this one, but mostly positive

i really Don't like how easy it is for characters to hop back and forth between our verse and the mirrorverse. ds9's mirrorverse already takes SO much mystery out of the original, which i could except, but having jake's not-mom and sisko's not-wife pop over for a visit for nooo reason is like. too much really. it should be harder. seeing her should be a bigger deal

about five second after the words "this should be a bigger deal" left my mouth it started being a bigger deal and i immediately took it back lol bc im weak but ultimately thats the kind of writing i'd wanna see for mirror jennifer

i think her using her knowledge of their grief against them WAS fun and evil actually even if it was also evil to me. and jake was already lonely because nog was gone too GOD. hey, also, speaking of nog, why was quark all "oh jake comes down here and pines for nog like every day" like are they boyfriends?? young love? whats going on ds9

speaking of gay people, um. worf and garak. the. the bondage collar. the way we both at the exact same moment had the exact same thought, which was: slave bikini leia. whatever they had going on in this episode was so homoerotic there was even penetration (with a knife).

one thing mirrorverse will do is kill people. odo, quark, rom, and now nog and jennifer. i called both their deaths before it happened but jennifer dying was still SOOOOO. god. at least this time they got to say goodbye?

SO thrilled to see mirror kira again, ik nana visitor was against the evil lesbian stereotype but what if i did wanna see her just lez out now and again? it's pride month i have rights

theme of the evening: mood whiplash. we went from obriens suicide attempt to fun edgy horny mirrorverse worf and garak bondage to sisko and jake's shared grief over jenifer to mirror kira doing ✌👅 at the camera every chance she got. my head was spinning by the end of the night. good for them though

TONIGHT: ds9's "the muse" and voy's "the thaw"