#i probably am on some breed of a high horse here but i actually fucking hate the idol industry

[thatlittledandere]

I love the twins and Yumoto arguing about what being an idol is about and what is important. They have SUCH different motivations for doing things that they fundamentally cannot see eye to eye. Yumoto lives in the moment and is guided by emotions and ideals, while Beppus are pragmatic and goal-oriented in a way Yumoto just isn't.

They're also right that being an idol is business. I know Yumoto has some experience too thanks to Kurotama but theirs is a small, intimate family business, a shop, a service tied to one place manned by two people. Thy're not particularly trying to expand or really compete with anyone. He doesn't know or understand the brutality of massive-scale show business and how it impacts those whose life has been entirely dictated it since they were likely less than ten years old, who started not out of a childish desire to "just have fun", but because it seemed like a viable means to a specific goal.

also they were manipulated into it by a scummy adult exploiting their young age, loneliness and feelings of literal alienation,homesickness and hero worship to make them his little pawns but this isn't about him

I love how I now seem to agree with the Beppus. Yeah Yumoto is being dismissive and condescending fuck that guy (jokes)

[colossal-fallout]

Historia and male bodied reader. Breeding kink. I'm making you go further down this hoe you dug

The Farmhand Father 🌾

Male bodied reader X Historia

Momma Sarah is feeding you male bodied readers well with this one...

Warnings: 18+ NSFW smut. Breeding kink. Size kink. innocence tainting. Seducing. Orgasm denial. Slight pillow Princess Historia.

Seriously... This is filth. You've been warned.

You remember mere hours ago that cute face of Historia blushing deeply, squirming in such a shy way, you thought it was absolutely adorable. Her huge, sky blues' glancing away nervously, her hands behind her back a sure sign of her feeling uncomfortable as she confessed her desires for you.

This powerful, high queen dressed now in normal clothes as she came to your farm escorted by her two most trusted guards.

You blink, her words melting into a blur as if you were receiving some awful news.

Yet, it couldn't be further from the truth.

Queen Historia. In all her royal glory. Someone who had visited your farm a fair few occasions. Nothing special. Royal duties and all that. You had been in awe at her beauty - as were most. She was straight from a fairy tale. Innocent, pure and sweet.

No.

She wasn't like she were from a fairy tale. Historia was the physical manefestation of inspiration to write the most gorgeous queen in the land. The most dangerous calling siren; her luring beauty so hazardously tempting.

You had to admit it, you were more than surprised to see her at your door, still looking devine even in nicely pressed civilian clothes.

"And so, due to royal duties I must produce an heir, to keep the Riess bloodline and - "

You were sure you'd heard her but your mind just wasn't accepting it. This had to be a dream. There was no way this was actually happening.

Perhaps you'd fallen and hit you head on the horse plough again and this was some weird coma dream. You were sure to wake up to those two Colten boys from the next farm over annoying you by trespassing. The usual, fantasy free life.

"Of course, I understand if you don't want to. Please don't feel forced because I am your queen. It's just... You are my first choice. I've wanted you for some time." Her crimson face glances away.

You already felt your cock twitch at the mere words of her suggesting what she was.

It was torture every single time she's visited to boost morale of the farmworkers. Her graceful form would float in, her delicate frame surprisingly strong as she even helped out with certain tasks, her kindness overflowing, pouring into the hearts of her citizens.

God what you wouldn't give just to smell her...

The amount of times you'd tugged yourself stupid, panting her name and imagineing her little pussy stretching around your colossal cock.

Boy was she in for a shock.

You hold yourself steady, your mouth watering with excitement. You did well to hide it. Surely if she knew how desperate you were for her, the extent of the yearning for her would surely make her rethink her decision.

You sit tense - still not really allowing yourself to believe this was real.

"What about your guards?" You ask, trying your hardest to keep your words steady.

She glanced back out of your living room window, the guards waiting by her carriage at the bottom of your large yard.

"They've been told to stay put. But, I don't mean we do this right now. I want you, I do. But shouldn't we get to know each other a bit more?"

Shit.

Now she was within your grasp, you couldn't risk her changing her mind. This was an opportunity of a life time. And you'd be damned if she gave up her innocence to some soldier.

But what could you do?

You most certainly were not going to force yourself upon her. You weren't a monster. Also, even if you were, you would probably be executed for such a thing.

And rightly so.

Your mind races as she stands up to excuse herself.

"It'll allow you some time to think. I'll be back here in one month from now."

A whole month?!

30 whole days of knowing she wanted you, was wet for you and might change her mind at any given time?! No way were you about to let that happen.

You spring to your feet, throat now suddenly dry.

"Historia. If I may...?" You hold out your hand feigning patience.

You're thrilled when her satin soft palm lands within yours, a touch you'd craved for the longest time. A gasp escapes her as you sit back down and pull her comfortably onto your lap. Her heart hammering with excitement as this strapping farmer she had been wanting for a while now pulls her down with such bold strength.

Her lips stay parted and that cute magenta tone etches her cheeks.

"Of course. Let's get to know one another better." You sneer. "There's something I must warn you about."

"Oh?" She sings in surprise as you allow yourself to finally inhale her scent. Her warm form on your lap was enough - your monster cock growing, yawing and stretching itself awake.

You swivel her around so she's now straddling you as you lean back further into the chair, your hands firmly caressing her thighs as her crotch sits on your solid errection.

Her eyes widen, nails slightly dig into your skin reflexively when she feels the sheer size and girth of you. Her thighs subconsciously squeeze together as that Magenta colour deepens into more of a crimson hue.

"Oh... I..." She stammers, squirming uncomfortably.

She didn't think it would be possible to want you more. You'd certainly caught her eye and she'd thought about you often, wondering how you were doing and wether or not you saw her the way she did you. And now, feeling your huge beast beneath her ceased all of her cognitive functions.

"Would that be okay, my sweetheart?" You coo, brushing her hair from her face and holding back a sneer.

You needed this to work.

You. A mere farmer about to fuck the queen. The innocent, pure queen who no one else had fucked (male anyway). You didn't mind the rumours that she had dated a fellow female soldier in her cadet days. She's still untainted by sinful cock.

Beneath your cool exterior was a panicked inferno of hazed lust. There was no possible way she was walking out of that door without being fucked by you, now you felt the warmth of her pussy rolling through the cloth of her panties under that skirt as her legs splayed across you.

Historia's blood ran hot and she was close to crumbling.

"I need to go." She muttered yet didn't make a move. Her eyes were still wide - her mind telling her to leave but her body refusing to let her.

Your fingers snake up to her waist before you begin you push her back and forth, her slit rubbing against your large buldge.

"I just wanted to make sure." You mutter, your soft facade quickly falling away as you have her warmth massaging you, moving her small form with such ease. "Before you go. I need you to be sure. I need you to really feel me. To know what you're going to be having."

Her face deepens in colour as warm, beautiful sensations caress her clit and folds as you rock her up and down against your length what was now throbbing; aching to be released and inside of her.

Wit great restraint, you prevent yourself from running your hands all over her. If you come on any stronger it would surely break the spell. You had to wait for the right moment.

"y-yes. Of course." She swallows hard, her chest rising and falling as you push her down a little harder, your groan being held back.

"You're so beautiful." You marvel, as if it was your first time noticing it.

Her hands suddenly and quickly run up your chest as she leans forward with a moan and crashes her lips against yours, her hips now grinding against you on their own accord, your hands now free to roam up her back as her hands run through your hair with desperation.

You sneer into her mouth, her lust too far gone for her to notice as this beautiful woman rubs against you frantically like a cat in heat, moaning into your mouth.

"I need you." She breathes, rubbing her head anywhere she could against you. "Please don't let me go. I need you now. Please have me... Oh please..."

With a grunt you get to your feet, her body wrapped around you as you carry her towards your bedroom. Your tongue swirled around her sweet little mouth, devouring her as you lock your door behind you and lower her down onto your bed.

"Jesus, Historia..." You gasp when you see a wet patch on your trousers where she'd been sitting.

"I'm sorry!" She squeaks, mortified. You didn't think there were a deeper shade of red on the colour spectrum as she slithers in embaressment.

"Don't be." You breathe, removing your damp pants and springing your cock free.

She gasps at the sight of your huge dick, it's fat head gleaming with malice as it almost angrily pulses and throbs, demanding entrence inside of her.

Pushing her legs up harshly, you put your face close to her soaked crotch, finally inhaling her scent before you encase your mouth around her, sucking the moisture from the material - your hot breath feeling heavenly as her head throws back.

She'd never wanted a man so much in her life. Nor had she been so turned on in all of her twenty one years.

You continue to suck and hum, your wish finally coming true. You couldn't wait to ruin her tiny frame, your fingers hooking at the cloth and pulling them down her legs.

"Please, don't stop." She pleads.

You glance down at her bloom that sat neatly between her legs.

Thick ropes of slick covered her small pink lips, her hunger making it twitch and clench, her insides spasming and trying to grab onto anything it could to ingest.

"fuck..." You sigh before leaning down and running your tongue up, moaning at her taste.

"Ah~!" She cries out in Hysteria, her back bending and hands gripping your sheets as you run your tongue painfully slow over her clit.

You had to give her the best orgasm of her life. You would go insane having her then not being able to again.

You take a fingertips and push it against her warm hole. You weren't sure how your were going to fit inside of her.

You'd make it fit.

Your name leaves her lips over and over as you insert your index, her insides instantly pulling you inside with glee.

Suddenly you pull away, leaving her starving as you make her way up her stomach, removing her shirt.

"You can't cum yet..." You explain as your trembling fingers removes her coverings. "It needs to be huge and at the same time as me. Best chance of becoming pregnant."

She nods, pained but understanding.

"Gonna fill your pretty pussy with my hot cum..." You groan into her as her now freed breasts are caressed by your mouth. "Get you nice and full with me. Gonna breed you like a pedigree bitch."

She whines at your words, your name repeating over and over as you kiss her breasts as if they were her mouth; tongue lapping and swirling around her pink nubs, lips smacking loudly against her soft, clean skin.

You lean back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Queen Historia, a flustered quivering and pleading mess - naked and splayed on your bed.

"Let's get you a little used to my size, huh?" You grunt, pupils dilated with a predatory hunger, pushing her arms up by her head and hovering above her chest removing your shirt with one hand.

You push your leaking head to her mouth.

"Kiss it." You command.

She does so immediately, her mouth pouting as she presses it against you, smearing your messy liquids around her lips. Rocking your hips you grab her hair with one hand pushing her mouth down. Her jaw is wide and you can only get her lips just past your huge head.

Hissing loudly you push her as far as she'll go, her eyes tragically beautiful as they water at your size her warm mouth sealed tightly around you; her tongue flat as you rock her head by her hair, her stifled moans loud and hysteric.

"Shi~~~t..." You sigh, as she gags and chokes, the back of her throat spasming around you, pulling her faster as you thrust into her, now with two hands as you push yourself up higher onto your knees.

"You've never had your mouth around a dick before, huh?" You ask.

She shakes her head, wet lashes fluttering with blinks before they roll with another loud choke.

You pull out, allowing her some air, ropes of her saliva sticking to you, keeping you connected to her mouth.

She whines your name after her gasp of oxygen before you push yourself back in, thrusting harder than before, your grip on her hair nice and tight as you skull fuck your queen.

"By the time I'm done with you, you'll only ever want my cock." You hum, sneering as her eyes roll furher, the squelching noises like music to your ears. One final deep thrust and you pull out, your orgasm brewing at a dangerously high speed.

"Take me, please!" She begs. "I need you inside of me! I'll do anything... Please!"

Panting you spread her legs, the arousal of you fucking her mouth now a wet patch on your bedsheets. Taking the bottom of your shaft you line up to her heat. You can already feel her walls trying to pull you in from within her. You sluggishly rub your thumb againt her external g spot, pushing yourself forward.

She cries out loudly, her spine folding backwards and head tilting as your head squishes into her tiny hole.

"It's s'so big... Ah~! I'm so full!"

"Oh baby..." You frown. "My head isnt even fully in you yet."

She whines in response as you slowly rock yourself, your angry errection tainting her with its poison, her purity ebbing away with each push, each millimetre that slides inside.

"So fuckin' tight." Your moan is desperate, hungry and predatory.

Glancing down you see her lips splitting apart at your girth, the pink colour washing out into a faded white as they attempt to swallow you.

"y/n!" She warns. "I can't. It's too good!"

You were inside of her now. You were too far gone to care as her entrance begins to spasm at the delicious full feeling of you, her orgasm hitting her hard as she silent screams, her eyes rolling.

"Fuck..." Your mouth waters as she gets even wetter, her ridged tunnel attempting to pull you in deeper. You take this opportunity, harshly thrusting into her while her mind was swirling in the void. You jut forward as your head finally passed her entrance, just as she comes back around.

You can't believe your eyes as you see the bump of your head pushing up against the flesh of her lower stomach - the sight alone almost making blow your thick load.

Historia is now extremely needy, her hands pulling you down and her lips taking yours faithfully as she sobs.

"S'so... Good. Ah~! Don't ever s'stop. Baby..."

"Never." You grunt pushing further into her.

"I can't... I'm going... Again...!"

Your eyebrows fly up in surprise as her nails sink into your back as she clings to you for dear life, holding you as close to her as possible as she cums once more around you.

Your eyes furrow closed. It was getting harder and harder not to cum and you hadn't even thrusted yet. You still weren't fully sheathed. Maybe you shouldn't have gotten cocky and fucked her sweet mouth.

You finally push yourself fully into her as her tongue lolls from her mouth.

"s'so full ah~! Y/n."

You begin to slowly dip into her, her snug insides so warm and tight, embracing your length lovingly, clamping and dancing around you in joy.

"I can't... Go back " she suddenly groans. "Not without you. Without this. Come back with me. Fuck me whenever I please. Your queen commands it."

Had you died and gone to heaven?

You nod. "Sure."

"Fuck me like this every night. I'll just lie here and your size alone can just... Ah~! Again~!"

Your dick is squeezed again, as she cums for a third time without much effort on your part.

"Fuck me over and over. Keep impregnating me. Only your cock is good enough, y/n. Yes! YES!"

Those words pushed you over the edge as well as her greedy tiny cunt sucking out your essence.

"Historia. I'm gonna cum."

"Give me it all." She sobs. "I want every last drop!"

Your pace quickens your hand grabbing and tugging her hair once more.

"Your dick is the only one I've had. And only one I ever will. It's too good not to own. It's mine now. Fuck me, please!" She cries out as she cums yet again.

You roar as your thick, hot cream splurges out of you, colliding with her cervix as she milks you dry. It sure as hell felt like she was taking every last drop - your orgasm going on and on. Your cum is leaking out of her stretched lips by the time you've filled her to the brim - her eyes in the back of her head and mouth open.

She'd ment it too. You didn't even have time to pack your stuff after you'd recovered as she whisked you away to her carriage. Admittedly, she was walking a little weird for a few days after.

Part 2 coming soon....?

[vivithefolle]

I just wanna ask, and don’t get mad at me cause I’m genuinely curious, how do you stan Ron? Like, I like him, but he is definitely misogynistic (slut shaming Ginny, treating hermione like she owes him something and being mad that she kissed someone years before, always objectifying Fleur, and acting like girls who aren’t pretty aren’t worth much). Like, by DH I feel like he definitely has mostly grown out of it, but still 6/7 books he’s kinda unbearable IMO

how do you stan Ron? 

Like this:

OH MY GOD HAVE YOU SEEN. HAVE YOU SEEN HIM DID YOU SEE MY BABY OH MY GOD. WHEN HARRY’S ARM HAD GONE KABLOOIE BECAUSE OF LOCKHART AND HE. RON. HE WAS. HELPING HIM GET DRESSED???? OH MY GOD BABY???? HHHHNNNNGGGG. AND. AND. AND ALSO WHEN HE. OMG. WHEN HE WAS PUTTING FOOD ON HIS FRIENDS’ PLATES LIKE. MOM FRIEND ALERT MOM FRIEND ALERT MOM FRIEND ALERT. AND THE WAY HE’S ALWAYS BLUSHING AND BEING EMBARRASSED AT THE SLIGHTEST PRAISE BUT ALSO HE’S SO DESPERATELY SEEKING IT BUT HE KNOWS HE CAN’T TAKE IT AND EEK EEK EEK THAT’S SO CUTE SOMEONE HOLD ME IT’S ADORABLE RONALD WEASLEY YOU ARE SO GOING TO BE THE DEATH OF ME IT’S ILLEGAL TO BE THIS CUTE!!!!

Ok and then.

he is definitely misogynistic 

No. And here’s why.

slut shaming Ginny 

Yes, that was wrong. And guess what, that’s also something he probably - scratch that, definitely - picked up from his mother. And also his brothers, recall how Fred and George too don’t like to see Ginny go around with boys. There’s also something to recall: Ron was there when Ginny was taken into the Chamber of Secrets and learned later that it was because she had trusted an older guy. You seriously wouldn’t be paranoid about who your sister dates after that? It was wrong. Yeah. And he more than learned his lesson when Ginny clapped back by virgin-shaming him and basically told him that he was childish because he hadn’t have a relationship yet. So would that make Ginny sexist too? Or is it just for Ron?

treating hermione like she owes him something 

..................... uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh... when? When the fuck did anything like that happen?

He made a prat of himself at the Yule Ball, that much is obvious. But he didn’t tell her anything like “you should be with me” or didn’t insinuate anything of the sort. He was a jealous bitch but kept attacking Krum, not Hermione.

If you mean in sixth year when he treated her with “icy, sneering indifference” for the course of two weeks, yeah that was bad but that’s not “treating her like she owes him something”, the fuck?

being mad that she kissed someone years before 

Yeah. I know. And that was bad, ooooh you got me to admit Ron did bad stuff, that’s what you want to see, right? And I reckon he was also mad that she hid it from him, and that he had to learn it from his sister of all people. We see Ron handles what he considers betrayals terribly. I have some meta discussing the possibility that he has a form of Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria.

always objectifying Fleur 

Um... no, he doesn’t. He makes a stupid comment about her once in GOF then stops. Let’s also fucking remember that Fleur is a Veela, she literally makes guys stare at her as part of her powers!! I’m not blaming her because she’s literally born that way, but you can’t blame someone who is under magical compulsion either.

acting like girls who aren’t pretty aren’t worth much 

So tell me why he was friends with Hermione then?

Because Hermione wasn’t Emma Watson the super hawt sexy model goddess. Hermione was Mrs Generic. Until this once at the Yule Ball when she got the pretty princess perfect Mary Sue makeover but then stopped because she had to remain ~relatable uwu~.

Again. Ron made stupid sexist comments. But it’s actively shown that he doesn’t follow up on them. If he did indeed live by the motto “girls who aren’t pretty aren’t worth much”, explain to me why he wasn’t simping and drooling all over Padma Patil who is explicitly stated to be one of the prettiest girls at school when she was his date? Why exactly did he ignore her and was a miserable twat the whole evening instead of basking in the joy of having snagging a girl that was “worth it”? Well surprise, it’s because HE ACTUALLY ISN’T LIKE THAT AND WHAT HE SAYS IS MAYBE SHIT HIS “COOL OLDER BROTHERS” SAY AND HE THINKS THAT BY EXTENSION IT WOULD MAKE HIM COOL TO REPEAT IT. MIMETISM, THAT'S BASIC FUCKING HUMAN PSYCHOLOGY FOR FUCKING TODDLERS MY FUCKING GOD.

Like, by DH I feel like he definitely has mostly grown out of it, 

............

...................................

...............................................................

so. so why. so why wouldn’t you. use that. as a reason. to stan him.

like.

fuck all the “hurr durr ron weasley the boy who made it out of the friendzone!!!!” bullshit, let’s start going with “Ron Weasley, the Boy who became a Man, and not one of those 'uugghh im such an alpha male’ ones but one that’s got the balls to say ‘hey love, I’ve got an idea, what if you kept doing that job you love and feel passionate about while I support you and do the majority of the childcare while also working a smaller job on the side so we’re never short on money’“

Why you people gotta be “yeah I like Ron BUTT” when you know full-well this fucking awful fandom will rake him over hot coals over the slightest mistake he does - worse, will actively go out of their way to interpret his positive moments in the most negative way possible??? Fuck off with that bullshit. Ron dared to say bad stuff omygah big deal, he was forgiven for it all and you’re just all cowards looking to feel “pure” by telling yourself “oh yeah but he was problematic once uwu”. FUCK. THAT. NOISE.

but still 6/7 books he’s kinda unbearable IMO 

And IMO he’s not, funny how that works

So.

I guess it’s impossible to stan Ron because he was problematic uwu.

Ok.

Then I hereby decree that it’s impossible to stan Hermione Granger because:

“I’ll bet you wish you hadn’t given up Divination now, don’t you, Hermione?” asked Parvati, smirking. [...] “Not  really,”  said  Hermione  indifferently,  who  was  reading  the  Daily Prophet. “I’ve never really liked horses.” She turned a page of the newspaper, scanning its columns. “He’s not a horse, he’s a centaur!” said Lavender, sounding shocked. “A gorgeous centaur . . .” sighed Parvati. “Either  way,  he’s  still  got  four  legs,”  said  Hermione  coolly.  “Any-way, I thought you two were all upset that Trelawney had gone?” - Order of the Phoenix, ch 27

wow casual use of a racial slur yay!!! A+

And it’s also forbidden to stan Harry Potter either since:

It was raining hard now, and she was nowhere to be seen. He simply did not understand what had happened; half an hour ago they had been getting along fine. “Women!”  he  muttered  angrily,  sloshing  down  the  rain-washed  street with his hands in his pockets. “What did she want to talk about Cedric  for  anyway?  Why  does  she  always want to drag up a subject that makes her act like a human hosepipe?” - Order of the Phoenix, ch 25

and

“Harry! There you are, thank goodness! Hi, Luna!”  “What’s  happened  to  you?”  asked  Harry,  for  Hermione  looked  distinctly  disheveled,  rather  as  though she had just fought her way out of a thicket of Devil’s Snare.  “Oh,  I’ve  just  escaped  —  I  mean,  I’ve  just  left  Cormac,”  she  said.  “Under  the  mistletoe,”  she  added in explanation, as Harry continued to look questioningly at her.  “Serves you right for coming with him,” he told her severely.  “I thought he’d annoy Ron most,” said Hermione dispassionately. “I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on the whole —”  “You considered Smith?” said Harry, revoked. - Half-Blood Prince

Victim-blaming! Nice Harry, nice. Always classy.

Ok, Ginny stanning is already cancelled because she virgin-shamed Ron, right, so who’s left, who’s left... ah yeah:

“There you go,” said Fred proudly. “Best range of love potions you’ll find anywhere.” - Half-Blood Prince

Selling date rape drugs proudly ouh là là. Bye Fred.

"Do they work?” she asked.  “Certainly they work, for up to twenty-four hours at a time depending on the weight of the boy in question...”  “...and the attractiveness of the girl,” said George, reappearing suddenly at their side. “But we’re not  selling  them  to  our  sister,”  he  added,  becoming  suddenly  stern,  “not  when  she’s  already  got  about five boys on the go from what we’ve...”  “Whatever you’ve heard from Ron is a big fat lie,” said Ginny calmly, leaning forward to take a small pink pot off the shelf.

Assuming that only girls use love potions, and only on boys. Men never rape in JKR’s world, only women do, you heard it from George Weasley here folks, I’m just passing on the message. Ah and I hope you’re also starting the Fred And George Hate Club given how he’s also slut-shaming Ginny.

“What’s this?”  “Guaranteed  ten-second  pimple  vanisher,”  said  Fred.  “Excellent  on  everything  from  boils  to  blackheads,  but  don’t  change  the  subject.  Are  you  or  are  you  not  currently  going  out  with  a  boy  called Dean Thomas?” “Yes, I am,” said Ginny. “And last time I looked, he was definitely one boy, not five. What are those?”  She  was  pointing  at  a  number  of  round  balls  of  fluff  in  shades  of  pink  and  purple,  all  rolling  around the bottom of a cage and emitting high-pitched squeaks.  “Pygmy  Puffs,”  said  George.  “Miniature  puffskeins,  we  can’t  breed  them  fast  enough.  So  what  about Michael Corner?”  “I  dumped  him,  he  was  a  bad  loser,”  said  Ginny,  putting  a  finger  through  the  bars  of  the  cage  and watching the Pygmy Puffs crowd around it. “They’re really cute!”  “They’re  fairly  cuddly,  yes,”  conceded  Fred.  “But  you’re  moving  through  boyfriends  a  bit  fast,  aren’t you?”  Ginny turned to look at him, her hands on her hips. There was such a Mrs. Weasley-ish glare on her face that Harry was surprised Fred didn’t recoil.  “It’s none of your business. And I’ll thank you” she added angrily to Ron, who had just appeared at George’s elbow, laden with merchandise, “not to tell tales about me to these two!”

Ah, good on you for defending yourself, Ginny, but remember, Ginny stanning is prohibited because she’s been problematic in the past and is gonna be problematic in the future and that’s baaaaaaad. Careful kids, don’t get ideas. It’s problematic to like people who’ve done problematic things.

So I guess nobody can like anything or anyone now. Sorry guys. Liking things is evil, what if the thing you liked had, OR USED TO HAVE, *gasp* flaws, can’t take that risk, ohmygah.

[darkredehmption]

Class Is In

#SL #ClassIsIn

Written by @DamagedBrother and @OfFeatherNFang 

****

Mal: 

I shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t even the first time, but thank fuck, none of my new ‘students’ seemed to notice. As each of the Brothers filed in, taking various seats at the front of the room, I resisted the urge to up and fucking leave. Instead I clenched the black dry erase marker, my eyes straying to Zsadist, who watched me with a small, reassuring smile. My free hand absently brushed over the new scar beneath my shirt, reminding me of what I was doing, and why. 

My most recent hospital stay had ended only a few days earlier, and while I’d been approved to teach a classroom full of muscle clad, would-kick-the-shit-out-of-satan killers, I was still black listed from actually leaving the manse to go on rotation. So I had to take what I could get I guess.

As silence crept in with everyone settling the fuck down, I felt the even more uncomfortable weight of eyes on me, waiting for how I was going to wow them. I mean, this wasn’t a class on explosives, firearms, or the 52 ways you could kill a guy with your thumb. This was on the supernatural. Or, I guess, everything ELSE that was supernatural other than… well, us.

“Right, shit, well… here we go. Never been a public speaker, so bear the fuck with me while I figure this shit out,” I mutter, tapping the marker against my free hand. Rhage, helpfully, grinned and said ‘here, here’. 

“Well, let’s start by cutting straight to the why’s of being here,” I say firmly, looking to Zsadist and giving a small nod. “Z had a demon hitch a ride. He was possessed,” I say flatly. “And demons gossip around the lava water cooler worse than chicks in a high school. If we don’t start taking precautions now, we could be seeing more of them. Or more of what happened…”

I managed to keep myself from brushing the scar this time, but nothing could quell the furious fire burning in me to ensure Zsadist would never, ever have to go through that shit again. 

Zsadist:

I couldn’t help but keep my eyes locked onto my male. I mean let’s face it, I always wanted my eyes on him. But even more lately with what had gone down recently. I could have lost him. Lost the most important person in life at the hands of myself. Well technically not myself, but still, this meeting was important. It was important for the Brotherhood to learn some knowledge on a new threat we had.

Demons.

Shaking the thought from my head as I give my male an encouraging smile. He looked nervous as hell to be in front of the Brotherhood right now, about to teach them a thing or two of his enemies. Though I wanted to believe that my Brothers would behave and give them his full attention. 

I couldn’t help but notice Mal’s hand as it crept closer to the new scar that I helped make on his body. Yes, this wasn’t my doing completely, but my hand was the one wielding the dagger. I had to stop letting myself believe this was all my fault, because it wasn’t. 

The demons were another enemy that we needed to take down. So I made sure everyone was paying attention before my eyes landed on Mal once again. 

Mal:

“I can honestly say I’ve never dealt with a demon possessing a vampire before, but then again, I don’t think the regular vampires they’re used to quite cut it…”

I frowned at that thought, but shrugged and kept going. 

“Anyway, we’ll deal with the other breeds of vampires in another lesson,” I say absently, shaking my head. “And ghouls… werewolves… wendigos… poltergeists… well, you get the idea.” I waved my hand as if it would dismiss all the other breeds of supernatural beasties I’d just thrown out there. “Demons are our most pressing issue. How to identify one…”

Turning to the white board, I popped the top on my marker and started to write as I spoke. 

“Flickering lights. While also a sign of a malevolent spirit, it can be an indicator that a strong demon is nearby. In their raw form, they look like dark black smoke. That smoke will seek access to your body through your nose and mouth,” I instruct, turning to look back at the Brothers. 

All of whom were staring at me, wide eyed and… damn, I wasn’t sure. Angry? Disbelieving? Incredulous? I couldn’t pin it. But this shit was definitely not what they were used to dealing with, and I was going to need to give them a minute to absorb.

“Uh… ask questions, if you want. If it… makes it easier.”

Zsadist:

Whoa okay. That was a lot of knowledge my male just spilled. I was just accepting the fact that demons had entered our world, but all those other things? Hell no. 

As I looked around the room I couldn’t help but notice my Brothers with the same blank look on their faces. Vishous was the first one to recover. I watched carefully as he lit a blunt then leaned across his desk. 

“Well shit. Always figured there was more to life than just us and the humans.” Vishous said with a shrug. 

Rhage’s brows drew in as he raised his hand. I couldn’t help but laugh as he played the role as a student. Once called on, by the very sexy teacher, he drops his hand and unwraps a lollipop.

“So...like all those things you are saying is bad? But how can that be true? I mean...Hadrian is a shifter and he isn’t bad. Used for bad things, sure, but that isn’t his fault. I guess what I’m saying is, what is trying to come for us currently? Do the demons work with the other parties that were mentioned?”

Ah yes, Hadrian.

Even though we were connected, I had a weird feeling that Rhage was tight with the male as well. Rhage once told me that he can relate to Hadrian in some way and hopes that they would get the chance to spend more time together. 

Speaking of, I needed to check in with the shifter and make sure he was doing alright. We did manage to be on rotation together every now and then, but rarely did we have the time to chit chat. Maybe next time Mal was out fighting and I was at home I could see if Hadrian wanted to grab a beer. Couldn’t hurt.

Mal:

“Not all shifters are bad the way not all vampires are bad,” I conceded, nodding my head. “Hadrian is a special example too. Even in his world, being able to shift into more than one creature is rare. Most shifters, like werewolves, are bound to one animal.”

Pausing, I took in a breath, trying not to let myself be distracted by thoughts of Hadrian. The shifter being metaphysically bound to my mate was still a raw point for me, but I was working through it. Y’know. Slowly.

“But back to demons…” Lifting a hand to my shirt, I tugged down the collar just enough to reveal the pentacle tattoo across my chest. I also tried to ignore the quick way Z’s golden eyes narrowed at my potentially showing skin to his Brothers, but in this instance he was definitely going to have to breathe. “There are ways of ensuring a demon can’t possess you,” I explain. “This symbol is a protective one that repels demons. They can’t possess me. You can also wear the symbol, or other various amulets and protective talismans, to prevent it.”

Letting go of the shirt, I start a list.

“So, symbols. Talismans. Holy water,” I add, my tone rueful as I figured some of them were, undoubtedly, rolling their eyes. After all, holy water was also a mythical vampire repellent. “If a demon has already possessed a body, you can sometimes provoke them into revealing themselves by saying the name of God in latin.” I glance back at all of them. “Their eyes will turn a complete and glossy black with no iris at all. If they turn any other colour… well. Run like hell while screaming my name,” I say dryly. 

Zsadist:

My eyes narrowed dangerously low when I watched Mal reveal his chest to my Brothers. Sure, they’ve seen his bare torso, but that doesn’t mean I wanted them sneaking a peek. 

Quickly my head snaps in Vishous’s direction when he starts sketching in the notebook he brought to Mal’s class. Leaning over my desk to look over his shoulder only to reveal a drawing of the tattoo my male wore on his chest. Vishous continued to underline the shape as I leaned back into my seat. He probably had a plan of making some amulets for us to wear while out on rotation.

Everything Mal described sounded...insane. But I knew first hand that this was serious, and everything that he was saying was true.

“I can’t believe we are going to turn into demon hunters!”  Rhage chimes in with a goofy smile.

I hold back a snort, turning my attention towards Tohrment as he clears his throat. All heads turn towards his direction.

“So...do these demons have a main purpose? Or do they just run around trying to find people to possess. Like we know what the lessers want...I was just wondering if these demons had an end goal.” Tohr murmurs as he crosses his arms. 

Mal:

“Woah, hold your horses dragon boy,” I snort, shaking my head. “I don’t want to turn the Brotherhood into hunters. Believe it or not, there are hunters out there ready to track down demons and the like when they pop up and send them back to Hell. The ‘only’ reason I am teaching ‘anything’ right now is because… well, me being here could bring more of the nasties into our radar, and I want everyone at least prepared to handle it.”

Yeah. Fuck. I ‘so’ did not need to lead these leather clad killers into metaphysical battles. They were all about the bang bang motherfuckers, and you couldn’t waste a ghost or half the things I’d fought with just lead and blades alone.

“Case in point,” I continue, arching a brow. “Half the shit I deal with can’t be snuffed out with a few bullets or a well placed knife to the heart cavity, yeah? Banishing demons requires the seal of solomon and exorcism chants and a whole whack of shit. In the case of possession? Prevention is so much better than cure, so I just want everyone able to avoid it. Depending on who excels at these classes, I may go further to teach exorcisms.”

My eyes flicked to Zsadist, then to Vishous, the two I’d already pegged as most likely to be taught an exorcism. If Vishous didn’t go ahead and research the latin for it without me I’d be shocked.

“As far as a demon’s purpose…” I trailed off, sighed then shrugged. “Really, they want mayhem. They want souls. They don’t want to be in hell. So, all of the above and then some. The better their vessel, the more situated they are to get other demons up and included. So, a breed of rich, powerful vampires with all manner of weapons at their disposal would be ‘very’ appealing,” I add dryly. “So, to reiterate… demons flinch at the latin name of God, burn at the touch of holy water, have dark eyes and look like dark clouds of smoke when they come at you in raw form. Any questions?”

Zsadist:

 Everyone kinda stayed quiet, some shook their heads as Mal asked if anyone had questions. Which honestly I was a little relieved at. That means that my Brothers were taking this seriously. Then again after they discovered Hadrian, and learned about shifters, they must believe that anything is possible at this point. 

“Think this is a good starting point. We need to continue on and train to be able to handle the demons. Mal is right in a sense where we don’t need to go out and look for demons to destroy, but more so be equipped to handle them if they get in the way from our main goal.” 

I couldn’t help but chuckle slightly as Rhage’s face fell. Maybe one day Rhage could go on a mission if any of Mal’s hunter friends ever needs a hand. Then again Hollywood actually might cause more damage.

Snorting at the thought as I look up to watch them file out slowly. Vishous stops in front of my mate to show him some things he wrote down then bumps his shoulder before following out after Butch. Figures V would be all about this. I’m sure he would be up all night doing research. 

I lean back in my desk, keeping my eyes on my mate as a private smile slowly forms on my face. Something that my Brothers wouldn’t get to see. Slowly I move to get up, the wooden chair creaking beneath me as I shift my weight off of it. 

“Well, that went...well.” I rumbled as I made my way over to the very handsome teacher. “What do you think?” My arms cross over my broad chest. 

Mal:

With everyone getting the basics down and with no further questions, class seemed to be dismissed. As Vishous stopped to show me his mockup of the tattoo on my chest, I nodded, agreeing with his ideas of necklaces and arm bands bearing the symbol to protect the Brothers. They needed things that were easy to put on or keep close that wouldn’t get in the way of the fight. 

Waiting for Z to come up, I felt myself relaxing the closer he got, until he was right there and I was leaning over to steal a kiss.

“You think it went well?” I murmur, grateful to hear it. “Could you tell I was nervous? Teaching classes is not really my schtick, but everyone seemed to… take it well.”

Sighing, I leant against the desk at the front and gestured backward at the board and the notes I’d made. 

“I know this is new to everyone, but… I appreciate the enthusiasm.” Pausing, I looked my male over and felt a familiar and welcome rush of affection. “You okay?”

Zsadist:

The kiss was soft and I welcomed it by sliding my arms around Mal’s waist. Holding my mate against me as my hand lifted to graze his cheek.

“Yeah, now that everything's okay and you are healed.” I murmur as I avoid his gaze for a moment. Trying not to picture the moment I stabbed my own mate in the chest. 

Clears my throat. “This is good. We needed this done in case we came in contact with another demon. It seems like everyone took it serious for the most part.” I snort thinking of Rhage then shrugs. “Do you feel good about continuing the lessons? I want to make sure every Brother is well equipped to take care of a demon if we come across one. Scribe, don’t need anyone else getting possessed and stabbing people in the manse.”

Mal could have died. So we needed to take this seriously and make sure everyone in the mansion was safe at all times. To think that we let a threat in, that I let a threat in, was unsettling.

Mal:

Nodding, I rubbed a hand down my mate’s arm reassuringly, looking at the empty classroom. I’d already started to take precautions of my own. The second I’d been released from the med wing I’d sought out, of all people, Fritz, asking for a layout of the grounds and every entrance. From there, I’d gone to each one and set up holy seals - wards to keep out demons and trap any that tried to enter. 

“I’ve spoken with Vishous,” I murmur, still thinking about the wards. “I let him know about the wards I put near the entrances - asked him to figure out more permanent solutions to my chalk and salt displays. I think Fritz almost had a coronary when I drew on everything, threw salt everywhere, and told him he couldn’t clean it,” I add ruefully, flashing Z a smile. “But at least that’s a start. I should’ve thought of that when I moved in…”

The admission tasted sour on my tongue, and I looked away from the intensity of that golden gaze to better process my guilt. If I’d had devil’s traps set when I moved in, Zsadist and the demon hitching a ride wouldn’t have got past the door. He’d have been trapped, but performing an exorcism at that point would’ve been a lot fucking easier. But instead I’d been naive, thinking the demons and all the beasties I’d hunted would never find me in Caldwell. And Z had almost paid the price.

“I’m good with continuing lessons, not just on demons,” I said finally, letting out a breath. “And while I was honest when I said I don’t want the Brothers going hunting if I can help it, there is a perk to knowing I have back up if something goes down in our backyard.”

Zsadist:

“Don’t beat yourself up about that. Hell, I’m surprised this is the first time we have come in contact with them. With all the shit we dabble in you would have thought we would have seen them before” I shrug before reaching for my male. My hand cups his nape, forcing his gaze back to mine. 

“Hey. You can’t beat yourself up over this, just like you told me that I can’t even though I do.” I snorted. “It’s done and you are safe in my arms.” My voice cracks slightly at that, holding him a little tighter in my arms. 

“Everything is going well, and I’m grateful to have you teach us how to handle these demons.” I nod before slowly pulling away. 

“Now...come on, let’s head back upstairs…” 

My scarred lips turn up into a playful smirk as I start down the hallway. I couldn’t wait to have my male in our bed and to know that he was safe with me. 

#EndSL #ClassIsIn

[samthemarvelfan]

I Won’t Say: Chapter Nine

-Last Words-

Summary: Ellaria Stark is the daughter of a king. When she is unwittingly betrothed to the King of a neighboring city, she isn’t sure how to feel. More importantly, she isn’t sure how the King will feel if he finds out the truth about her.

Pairing: James Barnes x OFC, Ellaria Stark. (Stark!Reader.)

Warnings: Royal!AU, ANGST, violence, mentions of death and murder, revenge, blood, description of crimes.

A/N: I am SO sorry this took so long! I needed to feel right, and then I had life get in the way and nothing was sparking. BUT ITS HERE AND ITS A ROLLERCOASTER GUYS, GET READY.

Hours.

You had been kidnapped, exploited, and locked in a dark cell for hours. You’d stopped crying now, simply because your tears had run dry.

This is how your story was going to end; locked in a dungeon in a place you didn’t even know existed. All because of your blasted heart and your inability to ever say ‘no.’

You’d never see your parents, Morgan, Wanda, Natasha, or Steve...

or James again.

What a bitter tale this would be. To have been so close to the thing you desired most, only to have it all ripped from you in moments. James Barnes had your heart in his hands, and destroyed it in front of you.

Yet, you know in the deepest depths of your soul, your heart belongs to him still. God, you hope to make it out of here alive. You want to tell him he was wrong, and you were set up. That you could never do what he accused you of.

A silent wish crossed your lips, praying he already knew.

Your melancholy was interrupted by another bang, only this time it came from outside your window.

The glass was filthy and covered in soot, but you saw the troops loading trailers with supplies. Hundreds of men, all under Rumlow’s control. Surely they were under some kind of sp—

The thought hit you like runaway carriage.

A spell. Magic. Wanda’s Magic...

Wanda had once told you she could feel you. You knew she could read your thoughts, but she also knew when you were feeling sad or happy—or scared.

You climbed down from your perch near the window and center yourself in the room.

With closed eyes, you willed your mind to find hers. Searching within your soul to connect with Wanda and only Wanda.

My sweet friend, I need you. If you can hear me, the people of Buchanan need help, they are not safe. Rumlow will take the city when the King is gone. Wanda, you’re my only hope.  Please, keep Morgan safe, but help the people if you can. My hope is lost.

“Stay on high alert, men!” Samuel shouted.

James kept lead of the soldiers, Samuel and Steve respectively to his left and right.

“We’ll find her, Buck.” Steve said lowly.

James only nodded. Fearful that if he spoke, nothing could stop the worry leaching into his words.

Your life was at stake, and it was all because of him. He’d been so blinded by grief and deceit, and now everything is crumbling around him.

“Shieldian is a fortress, your Highness. Are you certain we should have left half of our men behind?” Sam asked.

James nodded. “If Rumlow is planning what I think he’s planning, he will try to take the city in my leave. We need troops there on the ground in case of an attack, he probably has men awaiting word outside of our walls.”

“And Stark?”

Bucky chuckled slightly, “Tony may be decades my senior, but he’s always loved a good fight.”

Steve spoke next. “This is a long way to go for revenge. This was so thought out—meticulous. How long had Rumlow been planning this?”

James’ horse settled into a steady trot. “My Father killed his years ago, before I was even born. I imagine he’s heard the tales his whole life. Revenge could be second nature for someone like that.”

“Someone like that?” Steve questioned.

James nodded. “Hydralia was a cruel and unforgiving kingdom. That’s what Rumlow was raised on—hatred. His Father, their last king, was a rapist, a murderer, a thief. My father sought to put an end to it, but rather than surrender his crown, King Rumlow subjected his people to the horror and desolation of war.”

The King took a sip of his canteen and continued, “That’s why he wants me dead. An eye for an eye, he wants to erase Buchanan the way—“

In a moment of realization, he paused. “...the way we erased Hydralia...”

“Buck? What—“ Steve started.

“She’s not in Shieldian, she’s in Hydralia.” James says frantically. “He’s holding her where this all started. Ellaria is with him, she has to be, he knows she’s the only person I’d leave the city for.” James was certain.

A crinkle of parchment unfurling grabbed his attention. Sam rode closer to James an shared his map.

“Hydralia was said to be just around the Brucklin Pass,” He pointed to the small notch. “It’s not on any of our current maps because, well...we didn’t think it existed.” Samual remarked.

“You’re right, Sam. My Father kept all the maps for the last 300 years of the realm’s existence, I’ve seen it on nearly all of them. That’s where it is, that’s where we’ll find him.”

Bucky reigned his horse towards his troops, and they halted.

“Men!” He shouted, reaching the very back of the Caravan.

“What I ask of you this evening is no easy task. There will be violence and murder and bloodshed, but I will be there, along side you. Fighting for peace and for Buchanan’s future!”

The men cheered for their King.

“Rumlow, however, is mine. He’s taken something—someone which my soul cannot bear to lose. If you see the Princess, save her by any means necessary, and bring the coward to me.”

Ropes and metal dug into your wrists.

“Now, now, Princess. Don’t fight it, it will only make things worse.”

Rumlow had two men drag you from your cell, and chain you to a wooden slab. Your wrist and ankles were bound by thick rope.

“You’re wasting your time! He won’t come for me!” You shout, fighting back tears.

Rumlow chuckles darkly, before grabbing a candle from the sconce on the wall. “I sure hope he does,”

You watch as he walks around you, to a make-shift stone pyre. Without hesitation, he tosses the flame into the dark abyss and it ignites; fire raging from the pit. “Or you’re going to be very sorry.”

A sob escaped you as you watch the flames grow. The heat radiating from it is already far too warm for your liking. “Please. I am of no value to you! My death will bring you nothing.”

He charged you, pulling your hair back and stretching you further, the chains digging into your skin. “Your death will being me Barnes!” He screams.

“I will slay that bastard where he stands and avenge my Father! You think I was satisfied gutting his like a pig? Slitting his mother throat until she ran dry? No. I want every scrap of hope and happiness he has. I want him begging for death, craving it.”

Tears are burning your skin, this is the evil you’d been sheltered from you whole life. You’d known bad people existed, but never had you imagined they’d be this depraved.

“Barnes will fall on my sword willingly once he see’s what I’ve done to you.”

The sounding of a horn draws his attention. Clanking metal can be heard outside the broken glass windows in the room.

“Buchanan troops spotted at the Brucklin Pass! Men take your posts!” Someone in command shouts. You heard the panic and hurried stampede of soldiers rushing to defend themselves.

Rumlow lets out a growl as he brings his lips to your ear, whispering wickedly. “He better be here, Princess. Or your death will come much quicker than intended.”

With a quivering lip, you stay silent. Praying James is anywhere but Hydralia.

“Lead them directly through the city, no hiding, no stopping. I want every weakness of Rumlow’s exposed.” James whispered to his friend.

Steve nodded. “Are you sure about this Buck? If something happens to you, Rumlow won’t hesitate to take Buchanan. You shouldn’t be going alone.”

James secures his sword to his side, as well as his dagger for good measure. “If Rumlow sees me, Ellaria’s life is in greater danger. He’ll have no more use for her, Steve. I can’t let that happen.”

He nods, “As you wish. Stay hidden, your highness. Find Ellaria and bring her home.”

With that, they part. James seeking out the darkest alleys and river ways that weave throughout the streets.

Where would he take her? Think James, think!

The city is dark, barely any fires to be found. James thought that odd considering the time of year.

The sound of marching-in-time draws his attention around a corner. He spots what can only be described as makeshift soldiers marching towards the front of the gate.

They’ve been spotted. He thinks to himself.

“Buchanan troops have entered the city!” He hears someone shout.

More running, only this time it’s too close for the King’s comfort. James peeks down the alley and finds a dozen men heading his way.

Using the cover of darkness, he runs and rolls himself down onto the bed of the river, and hides amongst the logs and weeds.

“Where is Lord Rumlow?” One of them asks.

“With the girl. You think he’d actually come fight with us? Side by side?” Another sneered.

Disloyalty breeds disloyalty.

When the coast clears and James is sure the troops have gone, he searches, focusing on each rundown or ruined building he can see. Then, as if by fate itself, he see one in the distance, smoke rising from the roof. The only one with a fire burning as far as the eye can see...

“He’s not with them, Sir.” A soldier nervously tells Rumlow.

He reached for the boy, and shakes him by his armor. “What do you mean he’s not fucking with them?!” Rumlow shouts in his face.

The boy stutters, “H-He must have s-stayed behind, my Lord! The only ones fighting alongside the troops are Rogers and Wilson!”

He knows everything. Even the names of his most trusted friends.

The timid guard was thrown from Rumlow’s hands, “Have our troops reached Buchanan?” He asked.

“Yes, sir. They’re awaiting your orders. We have a hawk at the ready to carry your command.”

Rumlow paused for a moment, before looking you in the eyes. “Send word. Burn it to the ground. No survivors.”

“No!” You shout.

Even the young soldier seems hesitant to obey. His eyes flitting between you and the mad man standing above you.

“Go boy! Now!” Rumlow shouted. The soldier turns, scrambling out of the room.

“I warned you, Princess.” You watch as Rumlow reaches into his belt, pulling out a dagger. “You’ve proven yourself to be just what you say—useless.”

He walks to you, cutting the ropes at your ankles and wrists, undoing the chains as well. For a moment, you have hope. Maybe he’d let you go, since you’ve shown what you’re worth.

In a flash, you’re thrown to the cold stone floor, hitting it with a slap. Rumlow brandishes his knife, as he circles you like prey.

“Do you think Barnes found out the truth? The jewel of the Iron Kingdom is really the daughter of a servant, too weak and careless to even survive giving birth to you. Is that why he won’t come? Doesn’t want to get his hand any dirtier than he already has?”

You scoot back against the wall, the cold of it contrasting with the blazing fire before you. “Maybe killing you won’t do me any good. I’d probably be doing him a favor.”

The explosion of wood splintering throughout the room makes you screech.

Rumlow turns on his heel, and you shield your eyes. Unsure if what or who is here now will be friend or foe.

“Barnes.” Rumlow seethes.

In an instant, your hands fall from your eyes.

James is there, filth covered and in his battle clothes.

“Enough, Rumlow. End this now.”

He laughs, “Why? We’re just getting started. I have you whore, doesn’t she look well?”

James looks at you, a softness in his eyes you’d nearly forgotten about. “I’m sorry.” He whispers.

“Look to me, Barnes. I’m in control here, you’re in my kingdom.”

“Is that what this is about? You want power? Glory? This is no way to get it!” James shouts.

Rumlow bent down, grabbing your arm with great force, and pulling you to your feet roughly. “Power?” He shook you, causing James to step forward. “This is power, Barnes!”

James stepped again, and Rumlow pointed his blade at him. “What I want is revenge.”

He pulls his blade back, holding the razor sharp edge of the dagger at your throat. “I want you to lose everything.”

“Don’t!” James shouts.

Rumlow’s putrid breath is in your ear as he begins to move the blade, stroking it over the soft skin below your jaw.

“Does it scare you, Barnes?” He seethed. You wimpier under his touch, far too frightened to actually move or speak.

He plants a disgusting kiss on your cheek, and you see James begin to tremble; not with fear, but rage.

“To be so helpless...weak. To have what you love most in front of you, and not get to choose if they live or die?”

“Leave her be, she’s nothing to do with this.” James croaked.

“No, she doesn’t. After all, what good is the daughter of a servant?”

You feel your heart plummet to the depths of your gut. This is it, surely not even James would want you now.

“Did you hear what I said Barnes? Your whore is the daughter of someone who cleaned up shit for a living. How does that feel? Knowing what she’s worth?”

Rumlow’s grasp on your hair grew tighter, keeping your neck exposed.

“I know her worth, Rumlow...” James spoke, reaching slowly for the hilt of his sword.

“She’s priceless.”

Before Rumlow could respond, James twisted his sword upward, slicing through the meat of his hand. He screamed, dropping both you and the dagger.

You scrambled to your knees as you watched the two men brawl. Rumlow wasn’t nearly as skilled as James was with a blade, in fact when he drew his, he nearly dropped it.

“Ellaria, run!” James shouts as their swords clash.

Your instincts tell you to listen, to get away, far away. Yet you don’t move, you’re frozen in place.

I can’t leave you. Not again.

Rumlow uses the distraction to his advantage, causing the King’s sword to fall. He kicks James’ chest in, and his knees buckle from the blow.

“You can fight, I’ll give you that.” Rumlow coughs, wiping blood from his lip.

He grabs James’ collar, and brings him toward the still roaring fire. “You’ll burn, just like Buchanan.”

The King is fighting, with everything he has, but Rumlow is stronger. He drags James’ body to the pit, holding his face above the flames. “Any last words?”

A brief pause, and he looks to you. “I love you.”

Then, using Rumlow’s momentum against him, James kicks off the stone side of the pyre, flipping himself behind his assailant.

He slams his boot behind Rumlow’s knee, and he collapses. In seconds, James has two hands near his neck. He jerks them suddenly, and Rumlow falls to the floor with a low crack.

You’re not sure what happens next, but the last thing are his cerulean eyes fading into blackness.

Taglist: @iheartsebastianstan @jjlizz @stuckysbabe @sk493494 @lefoutoir @nickangel13 @marvelismysafezone @lilulo-12 @warmvanillafeels @star-spangled-beard-burn @ravenesque @pinknerdpanda @wintersoldierissucharide @snapcapquartet @ellen-reincarnated1967 @unlistedpond @my-drowning-in-time @supernaturalwintersoldier @kimvmarvel @roseboho @winterboobear11 @choicesloversstuff @disaffectedbarnes @igothroughphasesalot (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry!)

[buccigang-headcanons]

La Squadra Backstories!!!! Stream of consciousnesss style!

So literally I just sat down and wrote down exactly what I thought. I have not edited these at all lmaooo. But I made long drawn out backstories for our underrated assassins so enjoy!!

T/W + C/W - idk I talk about people dying in a lot of ways. Child abuse, drugs, severe illness, dead cats. This stuff is a mess I really didn’t censor it. But nothing is described in detail cuz I’m too lazy for that.

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Prosciutto cuz he’s at the top of my mind. Mmkay he and Pesci are brothers but not by blood. Pro was an orphan, I still wanna make him Russian, and pesci’s extremely kind and gentle family adopted him when he was like 7. They were like literally a garden catalogue family. Perfection. The parents died when pro was like 15, Pesci was 13?? Idk the age difference I’m just making shit up now. And Pesci had no fucking idea what to do, they didn’t have any other family, and pro was like “I’m still basically a hardened criminal from living on the streets of russia most of my childhood, so joining the local mafia should be a piece of cake”. It was.

Risotto..... fuck it. Polpo is risottos dad. I’ve seen that so much and fuck it I’m here for it now. Idk how I feel about the whole Mariah from part 3 being his mom that seems too coincidental. But either way, he is half Spanish. I don’t think he’s ever been in touch with his Spanish roots at all, but that’s what he is. Polpo had too much fun on vacay in Spain. But it was a once night stand and polpo, a skinny king back in the mid 70s, fucked off to do mafia stuff and didn’t know about this kid. Risotto never knew his father. Time goes by, about the time he’s 10, rizzo’s mom moves to Italy to find the man she once loved. Since the 70s, she has been married and divorced 4 times, disowned by her entire family, and she speaks only of Polpo, the man who swept her off her feet and then disappeared into the night. Leaving only this child with his matching eyes. So they live in Italy, risotto is about 13 now and his mom has been searching seriously for polpo for about 3 years. One day, she gets too close, mafia takes her out. Risotto is all alone in a country he has lived in for less than 3 years. So he decides to take revenge against the mafia. He goes to hunt them down. (I’m too lazy to write out how. Gets a gun. Basically the scene in part 5 where the kid is like “you killed my father and now I’m gonna kill you!!” But he chickens out???) yeah except rizzo didn’t chicken out, he stood firm and killed 2 of them. The other 2 surrendered, and immediately asked rizzo to take polpos test. He did. And he unknowingly met his father, the man his mother had died looking for. He stared into his fathers eyes, black sclera reflecting each other, and passed his test with ease.

Wowwwwwwwww alrighty then that was something. Let’s shake out those jitters because fuck that was intense and let’s move onto some happy shit.

Melone!! Always a bottle of joy. He was a phenomenal student, a perfect child. Perfect grades, perfect attitude, perfect looks. Onlyyyy tiny thing is he murdered cats and buried their heads in the back yard. But that was his only flaw. Aaaaaaaand mayyybe trying to use his extensive knowledge of molecular biology and genetics (even at as young as 11) to asexually breed said cats.

But, apart from that, absolutely perfect specimen of a young boy. And he kept that up until college. Until the rape accusation. Melone had no interest in having sex with her, he swore under oath in open court, he only wanted to “extract her essence” in the hopes of making her amazing genetics stay pure for centuries.

Due to his previously amazing school record, he was allowed to plead not guilty by reason of insanity (because the justice system is bullshit) and was released to his parents. During this whole process, Melone’s mother had begun to grow suspicious of her son, wondering if there was something wrong with him. This led her to explore the crawl space under the garage, more commonly known as “Melone’s childhood laboratory”. The cat skulls alone were enough to set her off. They allowed him into their home long enough to fool the court, but parole officers don’t pay attention, and they kicked him to the curb a month later. Broke, alone, and with no real skills other than his genius mind and gorgeous body, he became a prostitute. It was only a few months before he wandered up to a gigantic white haired man with angry eyes and asked if he wanted a date. Instead of declining, our good ol rizzo just knocked him out cold and brought him home. The rest is history. Literally because I can’t think of what would happen between that and Melone joining the mafia. I assume he was just their house pet for a little while before he decided he wanted a stand too.

Oh good lord these are getting insane. Better keep going. Okay I have no idea what’s about to come out of my head for ghia but oh Lordy. Might as well start. Ghiaccio wasn’t always quite as angry, but it’s actually gonna be a sweet story. Kinda. He used to act perfect, even tho he always felt the anger inside. He was forced to bottle it up and put on a happy exterior always. His mother was Belgian. (From experience, Belgian mothers (Flemish in particular) will beat you until your ass is raw if you talk back). Italian father, they lived in italy. He had 4 sisters, he was the middle child of 5. Around high school, he started acting out. Of course this was due to all of his bottled up anger from the past 15 years. 4 shattered sinks, 16 holes in the drywall, and one classroom fire later, Ghiaccio was expelled from school. His parents were too busy brimming with joy about the success of all his sisters that they didn’t take much notice to him. “If you’re going to behave in such a manner you might as well leave” his mother said. She was past the point of caring enough to beat him. So he left. 16 and with no where to go, he wandered the streets. After a year or so, Ghia had gotten used to that life, and was angry at everyone, sometimes when he wasn’t even angry. Anger had become his coping mechanism. Screaming was easier than talking. Until one day, he screamed at a blonde man in an intersection. Prosciutto was driving back to the squads hang out, boxes of takeout in the back seat of the car. He had chosen to not stop at the red light, just for fun, and nearly ran into our blue haired teenager. Ghia proceeded to cuss him out for a good 4 minutes in the middle of this intersection before pro cut him off. “Get in the back. “ he said, with his own special brand of brotherly love. “I know how you can put that anger to good use”. Ghiaccio, having no real reason to object, got in the back seat. Prosciutto was silent the rest of the drive and Ghiaccio yelled about all the take out food, now splattered on the backs of the seats due to the sudden slam on the brakes.

Y’all I don’t even remember the other la squadra members. Let’s do sorbet/gelato because they have zero backstory or personality so I can just ramble. *Clears throat* let’s begin. These fuckers. Friends since birth. Grew up together, always really close. They were both dirt poor, but because the only school nearby was a decent public school, when were able to slightly experience middle class living. They liked it. They wanted to see upper class, and once they did, they wanted to be there. These two were money grubbing bffs, I’m talking josuke and okuyasu, but like waaaaay more intense and also violent. They both left home around 14, together of course. Gelatos father had left them a few years prior, and his family were on the brink of starvation. Figuring they didn’t need another mouth to feed (and completely abandoning his post as family patriarch lol) he left with sorbet, who’s family had all died in various ways over the years. Most recently, his older sister being taken by some illness that was probably easily treatable, but with no means for a doctor, she died in days. The boys left home and school, and made a living by pickpocketing tourists and occasionally launching into larger heists. They made a decent living for themselves, but eventually started spending their money on drugs. It’s was sorbet first, heroin was really good to him for awhile. Gelato was against it, knowing it was the reason sorbets family had been so poor to begin with. His father was an addict, and despite holding down a job fairly well, spent all his earnings on drugs. Eventually he became too dependent, lost his job, and OD’d. But around this same time, when the boys were 16/17, they were starting to realize their feelings for each other. Confused teenaged minds full of budding love led to Gelato giving in, and soon their days were filled with heroin fueled ecstatic sex. They lived like this for awhile, existing in half reality, until one day they chose to set their pickpocketing targets on a short man with close cropped gray hair. The plan was perfect, sorbet bumped into the man and gelato passed by to grab his wallet, and suddenly they were the size of mere ants. In an instant, they were returned to size, left to wonder if it was real or just a hallucination from long term drug use. But they didn’t run. Formaggio introduced himself, with a loose handshake and a pause to spit out some tobacco, and promptly invited them to a “party”. Although, Formaggio was honest in his promise, this party did have drugs.

Cheese boys turn!! Seriously who am I forgetting??? Illuso my mirror man! Am I forgetting someone else too?? Idk. But shut up Kel it’s cheese boys turn.

So. Formaggio. Probably the most chill childhood. Lower middle class, pretty average, but he was quite gifted with sports. Soccer was his main, and also a fantastic competitive swimmer. (Okay I have a separate hc that Bruno is really good at soccer so hol horse up a moment so I can imagine those 2 playing soccer together in friendly competition. In my lil au where Bruno is in la squadra because I say BruPro exes rights please and thanks.) but anyway, he got really good at soccer and was offered a scholarship to play at a fancy pants private high school when he was 14. Of course his parents made him go, this has been the family’s dream for years, and formaggio’s as well. So high school is amazing, he’s starting to attract attention from universities even tho he’s barely in grade 11 by this point. And it’s all really amazing until he realizes. This isn’t what he wants. And it’s just that. He doesn’t want to play soccer anymore, he doesn’t want to potentially be famous. He just wants to be a kid. So he leaves school, he leaves home, he wants to start over. And he wanders into a diner and sees this small group of weirdly dressed men. At this point, it’s rizzo, pro, Pesci, and ghia. And he’s staring at them because they’re dressed like circus clowns but their aura is so murderous. And then the one who looks like a giant pineapple starts staring back. Pesci gets up and walks over to Formaggio. “I know you! You’re that amazing kid soccer player!!” And he just goes on and on about shit he read in the news (70% of it was false) until pro comes over and yanks his idiot brother away. Pro starts asking Formaggio questions, thinking he could be a good target. Stupid little rich kid. But to prosciuttos surpise, Formaggio is just a down to earth kid with no more money to his name than he needs to pay for this meal. Prosciutto takes him home after that. He doesn’t really offer any explanation.

(The rambling at the beginning of this paragraph actually happened lol so I paused for like 4 hrs oops)

Alright we are back. Had to leave to go to therapy and then scream at my mother and cry to my boyfriend but we are ready to go! Illuso and I really hope he’s the last one and I’m not forgetting one. Illuso was raised in an orphanage from infancy. No idea who his parents could even be. Fun fact: one of the nuns at the orphanage (cuz it’s an orphanage in Italy in 1980, they’re catholic.) nicknamed him Illuso because he was always pointing at things that weren’t there. As a tiny baby and a child, he would always be looking at things no one else can see (yes illuso is a natural stand user fight me). The nuns called him illuso as an insult, hoping to shame him into stopping. He never did. When he outgrew the orphanage, he decided to join the priesthood. He was 19, a priest in training, when the mafia came to the orphanage. They were collecting, and illuso knew they didn’t have the money this month. He tried to talk the mobsters down, but that went about as well as planned. 4 bullets to the chest, 3 open heart surgeries, and half a dozen resuscitations later, Illuso was released from the hospital. The orphanage had been shut down, and no one knew what had happened to the children or the nuns. With no where to go, illuso knew of one place that could use talents like his. The talents of steadily stealing money from the starving children of the church for a decade. It was during polpos test that illuso’s stand manifested. Not due to the arrow, but to protect its user from the other stand. Illuso was able to avoid Black Sabbath by hiding in his newfound mirror world until it was time to return the lighter to polpo (kinda cowardly but whatever.) he was assigned to risottos group by chance and was the last to join excluding Melone. But they loved him as if they had found him themselves.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #435

from yesterday, don’t feel like updating the answers. :^)

When you get married what do you think you’ll put most of your focus and money into? Uhhh. I really don't know... I mean maybe doing all I can do avoid debt? That's what my parents mostly argued about, and I know financial strain can really affect a couple. I never want that burden. Who in your life causes you the most stress or negative feelings? My damn self. Have you ever had a teacher that also taught your parents? No; my parents didn't grow up here. Wait! I THINK Mom had one of my college professors? I don't recall for sure, and I definitely don't remember who it was. Are you the type of person who seeks out revenge? Nah. Are there any songs that inspire you? Certainly, such as "Life Won't Wait" by Ozzy Osbourne, "Get Up" by Shinedown, and more. How do you feel about celebrities getting involved in politics? Do you think that the celebrity world and the political world should be kept apart? Not at all; everyone has the right to share their opinion and should not feel like it's necessary to censor it. Let them be people with morals and beliefs, too. I'm totally fine with them CHOOSING to be quiet about controversial subjects, but they're more than welcome to share their thoughts on any topic. What is one pro of living where you do, and what is one con? What is a pro and a con of living where you wished you lived? I guess the only real pro (and this is horrible to be the first thought) is that we're under the radar; like, not really a target for terrorism or anything, lol. I'd get kinda nervous if I lived in, like, Washington D.C. or something. We have A LOT of cons: there is NOTHING to do, we're essentially a hub for crime, the scenery is boring and bland as fuck... I could go on for a long time. I'd love to live in many areas in North America, but I'll go with Alaska, since that would absolute RULE. A strong pro would definitely be the cold climate and the sights, but it would definitely be a con to me when that relentless dark era lasts for months on end. I need the sun (from inside anyway, ha ha) sometimes, because it being dark for what, half a year?, would really damage my happiness. What is your favorite episode of your favorite TV show? Referring to Meerkat Manor, it's actually the one where Mozart dies, I think, even though it destroyed my heart. I just think the writer portrayed it as so beautifully tragic, and the clips shown were so pretty. Does having others watch you do things make you uncomfortable? What sorts of things make you extremely uncomfortable if you are watched while doing them? Are there any things that give you confidence to do if you have an audience? ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY. Do NOT watch me on the computer (especially when writing), I literally will not draw if someone's watching (inevitably besides in Art classes, I think Sara is legit the only person who's watched me draw a bit), I really don't like people watching me edit photography, I'm nooot a fan of others seeing me exercise (though I kinda have to suck that up with having a personal trainer), etc. etc. Just don't watch me do anything, lol. I don't know what actually boosts my confidence if I'm being observed. Does someone in your house speak a different language on a regular basis? No. Do you follow or care about any big sports events? Not at all. Are there any activities people normally do together that you prefer doing alone? Hm. I dunno. If you are going somewhere where you’ll have to wait for a while (i.e. a doctor’s office), do you bring something to occupy yourself? My phone, yeah. How long is your favorite song? I checked, and it's almost six minutes. Do you think you’d ever want to be “internet famous”? I'll admit I've somewhat thought about it, only because my career choices are running so dry, and I'd be able to do it alone. However, I've got noooo idea what I'd actually do, and I also don't think I could handle ridicule or anything like that for any reason. Having a spotlight on me would stress me out. Who was the main cook of your Thanksgiving meal last year? My older sister. What moment in your life have you been most scared? Probably this one occasion where Dad had to pick my sister and me up from school one day and make the 30-minute drive home. Well. He was clearly in a hellish mood because he was flying. He ran stop signs and red lights, passed people illegally... I was in the passenger's seat and absolutely convinced we were going to crash. I can barely believe we didn't. Who was the last person you slow danced with? -_- Do you prefer headphones or earbuds? Earbuds. I like how they block out external sound better, and they don't hurt my ears like headphones do. What person/people do you trust the most? My mom. Who in your life do you care about more than yourself? My parents, sisters, my nieces and nephew, Sara... A lot of people, if I'm being honest. I don't value my life as much as I should. Which wild animal would you most like to have as a pet? I am DESPERATE to rescue an opossum one day. :''''( What teacher did all the high school boys/girls have a crush on? I have no idea. Have you ever felt seriously violated? No. Do you watch American Horror Story? I adore(d) the first season; it was mine and Jason's "show." We watched most of season two as well, but I lost interest in the later half of it. I haven't really watched it since, save for the pilot episode of some season I forgot. Does your hometown have any urban legends/scary stories? Not to my knowledge. What’s the scariest nightmare you remember having? Something involving my dad that I won't speak about. Pancakes or French toast? Oh my god, French toast. That sounds delicious rn. Are there any apps you’re addicted to? Not addicted, nah. Did you have a favorite stuffed animal as a child? Yes; it was a bunny holding a multicolor polka-dotted blanket. Do you still collect stuffed animals? Hell yeah. Have you ever had eggs cooked over a campfire? No. What colors of mascara have you worn on your lashes? Just black. What font do you usually use? I mean, it depends on what I'm doing. Is it supposed to appear professional? Aesthetically pleasing? It varies too much to answer this with one font. What about font colors? Usually just black, but again, it depends on what I'm writing. Are you good at making graphics or designing layouts? Ha, no. Do you put gel or mousse in your hair? No. Sleep with just one pillow? No, I use two. I am VERY uncomfortable with just one. Ever woke up crying? Yeah, from nightmares. Do you like big dogs or small dogs better? It depends on the breed and their energy level. I don't really prefer one over the other as a general judgment. Are you going to graduate high school on time? I did. Been to the zoo lately? No, but I'd love to go. :/ Now that I'd consider myself at least a pretty decent photographer, I'd love to see what shots I could take. I LOVE photographing animals with how unpredictable they are. It's like playing the lottery; you really don't know what you're going to get, but you have the chance for seriously priceless moments. Even if we could afford the trip, though, I know I wouldn't last long whatsoever with my legs being as weak as gelatine. I know especially that there's a notable incline in the path, and I'd never make it up it. I really, really look forward to the day where I can really start feeling a difference in my body thanks to the gym. Have you ever been to Mississippi? No. What did you do for your last birthday? We went to The Cheesecake Factory. Do you like to cook? No. What is the worst thing that has happened to you in your entire life? If I'm looking at the big picture and what truly damaged my pleasure in life the most, it'd be developing depression and such intense anxiety. I've given up so much and changed so negatively because of it. Do you know when your next family reunion will be? We've never had one. My family is too spread out. What is your favorite thing to do with your significant other? I'm single, but even in a relationship, I love playing video games together. I've got multiple memories of just having a great time doing that. Where is “home” for you? Wherever Mom is. Is there an animal that creeps you out? Whale sharks, maggots and other bug larvae, centipedes, many beetles, and some other bugs. What is the name of the last band you discovered? Uhhh.. good question. I admittedly don't listen to new music a lot. I tend to stick to the stuff I know. Do you prefer group projects, or would you prefer to work alone? I would rather kick my ankle against a Razer scooter than do a group project. Have you ever been to Hooters? No. Do you have a brother? What’s his name? Yeah, Robert, but everyone calls him "Bobby." Have you ever thought that your life was so bad you wanted to give up? About a billion times. I still do sometimes. Do you have a ceiling fan located in your bedroom? Yes. Have you ever been in a lighthouse? No, but I was supposed to visit one in the fourth grade. The water was way too aggressive that day, though, so we had a change of plans and went to a closer island. Hell, it might have been the better option, because it had horses. I remember collecting seashells, too, and just watching the power of the ocean hammer at the shores. It was really pretty. Have you ever been bitten by an animal? Only playfully, like by a cat. Well wait, I think my old baby iguana may have bitten me once (he sure tried to, ha ha), but I don't remember for sure. Did it rain today? Yes. It rains pretty much every afternoon here in the late summer. What was the name of the last dog you pet? Zeke, my sister's German shepherd. He's adorable. Has your luggage ever been lost at the airport? Did you get it back? No. Do you have certain friends that you hug every time you see them? I pretty much always hug my friends when I see them. I'm a big hugger. Have you ever witnessed a tornado? No, thank the fucking Lord. Who is your favorite person to talk to when you’re down? Sara. What are you listening to right now? "Blood For Blood" by Powerwolf. Can you get over people easy? Hell no. I do NOT handle loss well AT ALL. And not just romantically. What was the last thing you carried to your room? A drink. Do you drink water that comes from your sink? Only once it's been filtered. Have you ever prank called the police? That is fucking awful. No. What’s your LEAST favorite smiley? XD looks so stupid to me I'm sorry lmao xD reigns supreme. Do you like Italian food? Yeah, more than I used to. Have you ever put red lipstick on just to make lip marks on something? No. Do you watch Shane Dawson on YouTube? Isn't his career pretty much toast now? I DID used to love his videos, though. I still occasionally watch his fiance, though, and he pops up sometimes. Regardless of everything, I still think he's funny as fuck. Would you ever spend a day to see what it’s like to be homeless? NOOOOOOO NO NO NO NO. I am TERRIFIED of living on the streets someday. I want NO idea what it's like. Is the house you’re currently living in over 50 years old? I highly doubt that. Have you ever had a yard sale? Many. What is your favorite color? Baby pink. Did you have a good day or a bad day? Today was extreeeemely dull and felt like it lasted eons. Do you know anyone that has/had cancer? I sadly know maaaaany. Have you ever read somebody else’s diary? No, that is incredibly rude. Do you enjoy going to school? I hated it from start to end. Like I have good memories, but overall, I hated school. Were you a big jump roper back in the day? OHHHH YES. I almost learned how to double-dutch, even. I could jump with two ropes, but not jump in with two. Are you a local celebrity? Definitely not. Do you eat candy daily? No. I'm already fat dude, I don't need candy. I avoid candy as best as I can. Do you get nervous with public speaking? Like you would not believe. How old were you when you got your driver's license (if you have it)? I'm 25 and still don't have it. Has someone of the opposite sex ever told you they loved you? Yes. What memory are you most afraid of losing? Meh, I don't know. A lot of what I consider my "favorite" memories I'd honestly be better off losing, probably. Who accompanied you to your first concert? My mom, younger sister, and Jason. Would you rather have tickets to see your favorite band in concert, or $100 to go shopping? TAKE ME TO THE OZZY CONCERT. What do you usually eat for breakfast? It really varies. I'd say cereal most often, probably? Do you wish you were more outgoing? Yeah. Do you know anyone who wears a hearing aid? I don't think so?

[dontmesswithnoheroin]

i hope that everyone is aware that all the yelling on tumblr, all the long posts about how problematic people are, etc, etc, are in the end a result and reflection of our own life frustrations

there’s a lot of people on here that are very sensitive to the world and use this site to express these things. it all becomes a big mess when shit gets taken personally, but ultimately all we say is a reflection of our own internal world.

i don’t normally send hate to people, but yesterday i mocked some larries (such a fucking low hanging fruit tbh, a bit pathetic from my side) and it reminded me of the whole kevin spacey scandal and how there were still fans on this site that supported him after all this shit about him came out. and i would go on these blogs and wait for them to turn against him like my life depended on it. and there’s still a post somewhere out there of me being like, i cant believe these fucking morons are still fans of him, or w/e.

but of course parasocial relationships are a very real thing that honestly should be talked about more. people needed some time to get over that their best friend was actually a horrible person. it’s not their fault that their idol, someone they maybe relied on to get by on their darkest days, turned out to have done some despicable things. and likewise, all of the other thousands of idols out there, might turn out to be the same (like we’ve been experiencing during the #metoo era). and larries have this very strong parasocial relationship with louis and harry, and their relationship, to the point they will drone on and on about this kid and this family that really doesn’t have anything to do with them. 

people on tumblr are another breed and you can’t tell me otherwise. there’s a reason each one of us is still on this site, sis. fandoms, stanning, calling out, discussing morality, idpol, all of this. people on this site get so fixated on things, myself included. it’s one of the most anonymous social media sites out there, and people use this anonymity to get on high horses and feel morally superior to others. but this shit doesn’t come from a happy place though. happy people don’t go on the internet pointing out each and every small problematic thing about a celebrity, or go rallying against ideologies in long posts that make no sense (lol). it’s a big world out there, and scary world at times. an infuriating amount of injustice and evil is going on, and i think that most of us feel helpless in the face of all this.

anyways, i just wanna say that i dont hate nobody for liking sia, or kevin spacey, or anybody for that matter. i talk a lot of shit on here and it’s a way of dealing  with my own life. i try to never address anyone directly, although i’ve been doing more of that recently, and that’s probably wrong. so if anyone ever feels called out my posts, you’re not. that’s not my intention. my intention is to point out what frustrates me about humanity, certain traits, certain behaviors, but not entire people. i will never know sia or kevin spacey personally, nor be them, and i will never understand their choices on that level. i can look at them and judge them, and condemn them, but it’s just a perspective. in the words of a modern philosopher tia kofi, im looking from the outside in. and for those that feel like im problematic, i am sis. i am. deeply, and will be so for the rest of my life. working on it tho.

have a good day everyone <3

[wistfulwisteriawitch]

Arthur Morgan x Lilith Vallent OC: Vas Ura (My One)/ Vas Soluna (My Bonded) Part 01 Chapter 03: Colter

Part 01 Chapter 03: Colter

I managed to get myself set up, knowing we’d actually be going after John since he was still missing. Attaching the leather over bust corset riddled with knives as well as the leather leg guards I exhaled, it would be interesting to see what they thought of our way of doing things but they seemed rather accepting thus far.

And as we moved to go out, Abigale grabbed my sleeve. “Miss Vallent?”

“Yes Abigale?”

“John…”

“Oh the gentleman that you said was your sons father?”

“Yes…”

Arthur had walked into the room and was warming himself by the fire. “Where’s little John gotten off to?”

“Arthur he hasn’t been seen in a couple days, I fear the worst.”

“John is fine, he gets himself out of scrapes all the time.” Arthur huffed. "Granted he could throw himself on the ground and miss so that's a feat in and of itself."

I cocked a brow, “I’ll go find him.” I pat her arm, “I can track him.”

Arthur groaned, “I’ll go with ya.”

“How kind.” I grinned as I walked by, Hosea nudged me as I sidled by with a smirk and a whispered thank you.

“I’ll come too!” Javier noted. “John would do the same for me and Arthur.”

“Sure, might be good considering the wolves.”

“Wolves?” Javier asked as we mounted up.

I nodded, after ensuring I had everything needed including shotgun with slugs. “Yes, alright you two, flank me, head forward in a V position, and try to keep it unless we head up the mountain, in that case line up.” With that I spurred Luna into a gallop. “Let’s go! Belladonna shadow!”

“Aye Milady!” And with that her horse charged off into the wilderness.

“Shadow?” Arthur inquired as we moved at a quick pace.

“She’ll scout ahead, and send Aristotle if she finds something.”

“And that is—“ A screech above as a Ferrugius Hawk soared past.

“She is skilled in Falconry, her family learned for many years in her home country. Normally their line uses Peregrine, but him...he's been with Belladonna alone, and each member has their own Falcon breed. Birds like that are the largest of hawks to be used for Falconry. And he is quite protective. She found him in Mexico.”

“Ha!” Javier seemed a bit stunned, “you all keep surprising us.”

“We are a surprising people. Javi.” I managed to find John’s trail and exhaled, “fuck he went up the mountain.” Just like the game.

Arthur rolled his eyes, “just like him to have someone dig his ass out of snow.”

I sighed, “Arthur take the middle, Javier take the front, I’ll watch the back.” And with a chiding look as he glanced over his shoulder. “This is what family does.” I noted as we lined up and began to trek up the mountainside, myself taking the end. “Javier do you see where the trail picks up?”

“Yes, he headed up this way.”

“We’ll have to leave the horses.” Arthur noted and I agreed, we got off and began to make our way further along a cliffside. “John!” Javi shouted.

“HELP! DOWN HERE!”

With that I took off, making sure to keep my movements swinging forward to help me trudge through the snow faster. “Mister Marston?” I called finding him on the ledge. “Awe poor puppy.”

“Puppy?! Who in the fuck are you?”

“A friend. Hold the fuck still. We don’t need you bleeding and bringing a bear. Wolves are a pain in the ass enough.” I gathered what I needed from my satchel and made him down a few tonics and salved him up with an antiseptic solution of old mans beard and golden thread. “That will have to do for now, I’ll need to draw any infection out at the cabin. Alright, come on.” I gripped under his arm and hauled him up. “Arthur!”

They were there reaching for him, Arthur laughing, “well now Marston, looks like ya got yer head ate by wolves. How much’a yer brains did they get?”

“Shut up Morgan.”

“You gonna have to come up with a better story for those scars.”

“Getting half eaten by wolves ain’t enough?”

“We got company gentlemen!” I shouted, ”Javier, Arthur— get him to the horses!”

“I got you.” Arthur had one shot down in seconds as the others charged down the slope.”

“BELLA!” A shrill whistle as a large hawk circled over head and dove into the eyes of one of the wolves screeching.

A black streak of horse and woman charged forward from behind us as she leapt off it's back, her body clad in leather padding as she took the tackle of a she-wolf head on while I dodged and sliced a death blow to a jugular. “Come on ya wee bitch!” Bella roared plunging a blade into it’s throat.

Aristotle soared high, blood splattering from his talons and across his feathers as Bella let out a snarl of glee when the final wolf was downed by a blade thunked into it’s throat.

Arthur shot down the final one, sighing and glancing at the two of us. “Remind me never to make her angry.” He mused as Bella ruffled Aristotle’s feathers and set him loose again, “that is a big bird.”

“He’s a beauty inn’e?” Bella asked fluffing her hair out and wiping blood off her face. “We ready?”

“Yes, John how you holding up?” I asked.

“Feel drunk.”

“Good that means it’s working.”

“Oh joy.” Was the sarcastic reply.

We managed to make it down the mountain, Belladonna staying to get the meat and pelts from the wolves.

“She gonna be alright?” Javier asked.

“Worry about the woodland creatures who piss her off.” I laughed.

“Bella?” Belial asked as we rode in, “ah…hunting.” He chuckled and walked off back towards the kitchen area.

Arthur sighed and leaned over to speak to me, “watch the golden boy not get a scolding despite holding up a job.”

Dutch of course was ecstatic John was back and Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Siblings?” I asked smiling.

“We both was raised by Dutch and Hosea. They taught us to read.”

“Awe, I can see that.” I smiled wide at him, and he returned with a shy smile back. He gets a bit of a playful look, “you know for someone so small you sure as hell take up a lot of space.” He sniffs and cocks a brow.

“You know for someone so big you can curl up on the edge of a bed real easy. Next time just huggle-up and I won’t have to latch on like a damn possum.”

It was the first time he genuinely laughed. “I’ll remember that little wolf.” He was glancing over my gear and had a look of confusion.

“Leather, protects quite well.”

“What ya goin to war?” He poked my arm guards and outer leg guards as well as the leather corset flicking a knife handle.

“Life is war.” I tilted my head.

“Hmph, ain’t that just bout right.”

As I was about to ask what he meant Belladonna zoomed into camp with furs and blood all over her. “I’m back!” She said prancing off her stallion Bairn.

I chuckled, “welcome back sister.”

“Didja see the pelt on that she-wolf?” She crowed tugging it off her horse, “it’s like ya hair milady, I should make a new cloak and we can trade.”

“I would like that thank you Bella.” She grinned and whistled for Aristotle who landed on her thickly gloved forearm. “There’s a good boy.”

Everyone in camp balked.

“Wah ya never seen’a damn bird afore?” She scoffed. “Come on pretty boy.” She was feeding him strips of wolf, “lessee what ya da is up ta.”

I rolled my eyes. “You get used to her.”

“Body can get used to anything…”

“Even hanging.” I finished and we laughed walking over to Hosea and Dutch.

“Got anymore maidens that need saving?” Arthur asked.

“No,” Hosea chuckled. “Thanks you three.”

“Javier tipped his hat and walked off as Arthur joined me in the cabin where Abigale tended to Marston.

“Alright, lemme work.” I shooed most people away, and grinned. “Marston this is gonna hurt like a bitch.”

“Ya aint gotta look like ya gonna enjoy it!”

Arthur chuckled, “I will.”

“Of course you would.” John muttered.

I forced willow bark tea down his throat, irrigated the wound with stinging solutions of horsetail and once it was cleaned I made a salve and packed it with bandages. “Don’t touch it. You’ll have a mark but congratulations you were chosen to bear them by a powerful creature. In our ways it means you are protected.”

“Sure felt like that when they bit me.”

“They could have killed you.” I said softly. “But they did not. They left. Think upon that. I do not play with coincidence or dice to tell me my fate rather that things happen for a reason.”

John pondered and cracked a slight grin. “Guess so.”

“Either way, get rest, I shall have Bel bring food, you need to gather your strength to heal.”

“Thank you.” Abigale clutched my hand tight and I nodded, “let Jack see his Pa.” I leveled a gaze at John, “I am sure he was quite worried for his father.”

John seemed to squirm under my direct gaze and I softened it before leaving.

“What was that?”

“It seemed there was some tension in regards to little Jack.” I said.

“That obvious?” Arthur huffed an annoyed sound.

“Yes, but Marston is young, he can learn.”

Arthur glanced me up and down, “hm.” Was all he said.

I really wished I could get into his head sometimes.

— - - - - - - - - - - -

Arthur grumbled, “some people learn too late.” And he walked away, his chest heavy with memories long past. “Other’s should be so lucky.”

She caught his hand, “Arthur, despite that lessons can be passed down to prevent more pain.” Her voice is soft, and that damned look she gives him— it’s not pity, he couldn’t stand it if it was but this is somehow worse— she has an air of understanding, an acceptance about her with him as if whatever he lays at her feet is perfectly fine.

“Maybe so.”

That hand retreats, she seems to be thinking as she chews her bottom lip looking at her feet for a moment.

“S-sorry I know I probably—“

“S’fine.” He assured her rubbing the back of his neck. “Just a hang up he and I have had.”

Lilith nodded, “my brother and I had something similar happen.”

“Oh?”

“Yes…but we managed to talk it out.” Arthur lets out a bark of harsh laughter.

“Me and him? Talk? Shoot, ya ain’t known us long but ya gonna see that’s a bit hard for us Van der Linde boys.”

“Oh that’s plain as day Mister Morgan. But as I said, everyone can learn.” A wink as she sauntered off.

“Damn woman.” He grumbles to himself striking a match on his boot to light up a smoke. He couldn’t make heads or tails of her as she checked in with Dutch and asked him several questions, Dutch did seem to be in a better mood, and she was always checking in with him— she said the word was deference. She acknowledged he was leader. But she herself led the two people she had.

Arthur had to admit the way she did things did scream leadership. It was rare to see such things. There wasn’t anything she herself wouldn’t do that she’d ask of others. Mucking a stall, hunting, ensuring people were clothed, mending, healing…Dutch hadn’t done that for a long time but he did get his hands dirty when needed.

It further solidified Arthur’s ideology that if women ran shit it might be a mite better, he glanced at Susan who was chatting with Hosea before she went off to screech at someone for not working hard enough.

Belladonna walked up to him and grinned, offering her hawk, “wanna pet’im, seems ta like ya.”

Arthur was never one to pass up petting an animal.

Shit he’d pet a bear if it wouldn’t rip his damn arm off.

“Sure, Aristotle was it?”

“Mmhm. He had many ideas of the stars that man. Mi’lady said it suited because this hawk could damn near fly to them with these wings.” She kissed the hawk who let out a little chirping sound as Arthur placed a warm finger against it’s chest feathers. The big raptor fluffed his feathers and crooned, leaning forward and nudging Arthur’s hand.

“Here, he likes meat.”

“Here boy.” Aristotle took the piece and gulped it down and flapped his wings before Bella let him go. “He just nests somewhere?”

“Oh aye, he has a mate somewhere, but I canna catch her, she is too fierce. But she hunts with him and has never left his side. They keep the same mates their whole life.” She smiled up at the sky and sure enough, a smaller hawk circled with him swooping and gliding. “Quite a sight.”

“Sure is.” Arthur grinned. “You all keep any other animals?”

“Oh aye, you should see the family wolves.”

Arthur paused as he walked by, “beg pardon?” He furrowed his brow.

“Milady found a pack of wolves who’s cubs were abandoned. She took them all in, they are the sweetest, deadly, but they are the comfiest things to snuggle with. Sometimes all four of them are with her.”

“And these are….ah…”

“No here. They in the wilds probably hunting, somewhere up north west in the Grizzlies. They look different, no from here. Timber wolves from the west. Darker coats. Then the wolf dogs…all except for Talla—they look like they wolf kin. She is almost a strawberry color but she’s half wolf and half some big dog from Alaska.”

“Been round a lot.”

“Aye, we been all over. The wolves are bout five or so now. Talla and her siblings are with her brothers, she breeds them.”

“Breeds wolves.”

“Just for the family.”

“Ah.” This family got weirder and weirder, “they guard? The wolves not the half breed ones.”

“No no, wolves are quite timid despite people thinking they fierce, unless the family is attacked, they no just go about attacking randomly, Talla and her siblings though, they were bred with a type’a dog that will protect their master anywhere, any time. Talla especially, her mate is a full wolf, but she is far fiercer than he.”

Arthur laughed, “you talk like they people.”

“You talk to yer horse like it’s people.”

She had him there. He kicked at the snow. “Never knew an animal to dislike it.”

Belladonna grinned, “you ken for a scary bastard, ye pretty nice.”

“Don’t know nuthin bout that.” Arthur snorted as he walked off.

Dinner was a lighter affair now that John was back, everyone celebrated with some whiskey and a meal of wolf steaks and deer meat. Arthur watched as everyone milled around, chatted, and tried to liven their spirits, the deaths of ones close still loomed— as did the damn frost.

Some spring this turned out to be.

He glanced at the three strangers who had dropped into their lives as he scribbled.

It is rather strange to be in the company of wolves.

I find that they are a gentle people unless provoked, despite their appearances, the females are far more aggressive then their male counterparts, as Belial seems to have a very playful nature, they all do in fact. Shoving at one another as they walk in the snow to push the other into a drift. Or leaping onto one another’s backs as they run off.

I have only seen wolves play once, when I came across a den by accident when the welping season came. Indulgent and confident in my spot I had used binoculars to watch a game of tag played by the pack. It is of similar air.

Hosea is doing alright, but I know the dark haired woman named Lilith is concerned, he is coughing a lot, and his breathing is labored, he stays indoors mostly under her direction, and she’s been shoving tonics into his mouth whenever he allows it. Seeming hell bent on keeping him alive.

John is alright, a pain in my backside still, but he’s lucky to be alive. … We all are.

Not sure what in hell happened on that boat, but whatever it was it weren’t good. Charles heard that a girl died. Dutch outright shot her…saying it needed to be done….

That ain’t like him…

The red head reminds me of Sean, I wonder where that Irish bastard got off to. Knowing him he’s probably found trouble. Davey…Jenny….Both gone in a matter of weeks….We lost folks before but not like this— so needlessly. They are calling it the Blackwater Massacre.

This family is strange, stranger still is the kindness they show everyone. It is gentle, despite their steel hard spines and unwavering eyes…unnerving eyes.

Eyes that gleam when they look at ya, like a beast’s catching firelight in the dark.

She looked at Micah as if he were nothing but an ant to be pitied for facing a mountain.

Wonder what that’s like….ain’t never said I was confident, I can fight with the best of em…

But I have a feeling this woman could give me a run for my money…

Half inclined to piss her off and find out…

[cbk1000]

Re: the dog. He is an as-yet unnamed Very Good Boi; we just got him last night, so we’re still working on a name. I’m arguing for Vlad the Impaler, naturally.

He is half Great Pyrenees, half Anatolian Shepherd. Male Great Pyrs average around 27 to 32 inches for a male, and around 100 to 160 lbs. according to one site, and 110-130 according to another (the Great Pyr we had when I was a kid was around 130 lbs, and he seemed to be a pretty average size for a male Pyr). Anatolian Shepherds can grow to between 27 to 29 inches and weight up to 150 lbs. So while he may look like a dog now, he is actually a small horse. I am guessing he’ll probably be close to the size of my parents’ St. Bernard/Newfoundland (we couldn’t let them show us up, obviously). 

Obligatory PSA for anyone who looked at the pic, rightfully screamed over its cuteness, and decided they want one: we had a Great Pyr for a few years while I still lived at home (don’t worry; he lived longer than that, I just moved out of the house when he was around 4 or 5), and I loved that dog; I was high key devastated when he died. However, as you can see from the above description, they are massive dogs, and not everyone can handle that. Also, they are livestock dogs (mostly they are family pets now, but their instincts are to herd things and guard the flock, and our guy actually was in charge of our alpacas, so he was sort of half house pet, half working dog), and they are very, very protective. He will need good socialization, because these breeds are quite wary of strangers. They’re not attack dogs; they protect more through BEING FUCKING HUGE and barking to let things that go bump in the night know they’re watching them, but they ARE very powerful dogs: Great Pyrs have fought off bears trying to attack their herds. Our Pyr was super protective of us; we always knew that if a burglar ever broke in, good luck to them, because they’d most definitely be eaten. My sister and I used to play fight sometimes by slapping at each other, and for some reason this riled up our lab; he’d start barking and running around us; he never tried to attack us, and he was not being aggressive, just an idiot, but the Great Pyr ALWAYS came barreling in, planted himself between us and the lab, and growled at him. Then he would spin around on his butt while the lab ran back and forth, so he could keep an eye on him while still keeping himself between us. Any time we brought new people over, the Pyr had to inspect them, and we had to make a show of them being welcome in the house so he knew they were supposed to be there. The first time Mr. Jenn came over to meet my parents, this dog jumped up, slapped his big meaty paws down on Mr. Jenn’s shoulders, looked him eye to eye (btw, Mr. Jenn is 6′ 1″), and barked right in his face. He didn’t try to attack him or bite him, he never even growled--but he was most definitely letting him know that this was his house, and Mr. Jenn better be on his best behaviour. (But after that it was like the mob; once you’re in, you’re in, and he and Mr. Jenn were basically besties after that.) They are also stubborn, intelligent dogs; they are bred to be self-reliant, because they need to be able to make their own decisions while out guarding. Consequently, while obedience training is always a good idea, if you want a super complacent, obedient dog, this is not the dog you’re looking for. Pyrs (and it sounds like Anatolian Shepherds are similar) can be trained; however, there are times they will straight up ignore your commands and do their own thing. They will also look you right in the eye so that you know they know exactly what they’re supposed to do, they’re just choosing not to do it. End PSA.

He’s a bit scared still, which is fair, because two strange, naked dogs just took him from his brothers and sisters, put him in a weird rumbly box on a road with other weird, rumbly boxes, and brought him to a large, stationary box he’s never seen before. We’re crate training him because it helps with house breaking (they usually won’t soil where they’re sleeping, so you put them in the crate when it’s time to sleep, then just take them outside right away so they start learning where it’s appropriate to go to the bathroom), and he seems to like his crate a lot. We put a blanket in so he has something warm and cozy to help comfort him, and I’ve got one of those wind-up clocks sitting right outside it. It can help comfort puppies because the steady noise reminds them of the heartbeats of their littermates. My in-laws used it with most of their puppies and recommended it. When he’s out of the crate, he likes to squish himself into a corner, so I think the enclosure of the crate helps him feel safe. I’m just sitting here chilling with him (it makes him nervous to be picked up, so we’re just petting him and talking to him and letting him kind of go at his own pace in terms of interaction) with the door open, and he’s awake but still content to lay in the crate, so I’ll let him alone till he wants to come out.

He is warming up a bit already; chest scratches are Very Good, and we put him in the kitchen this morning to eat and boxed off the opening, and he explored a little more. Also, earlier I scratched his chest, and he laid his head down on my hand and dozed off, so now if anyone even looks at him cross-eyed, I will kill them with my bare hands. Also also, I just stuck my hand into the crate for him to sniff it, and he licked it and wagged his tail, so x2 on the killing anyone who looks at him cross-eyed. 

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [817]

"I do not want to be you.” Krem pauses. “You already knew that and I like to remind you of that basically all the time. But I wanted to say it again. You know. Just to make sure it’s been said recently. I know your old man memory can get a little foggy, what with the numerous head injuries and you being old in general. That way you can’t say shit later.”

“One, I’m not old you, you mouthy shit,” Bull replies, “Two, never said you wanted to be me.”

“Spoken like a truly old person,” Krem smirks. “And no, you’ve never said. But I know what you’re training me for — I’m Iron Bull two once you retire due to your advanced years. And I don’t mind taking over really. But I definitely am not going to be you.”

“That’s fine. I don’t expect you to be.”

“Right. That’s neither here nor there, though. The reason why I don’t want to be you in this very specific circumstance is because when Wolf comes back and sees what the fuck you’ve gone and done now, she’s going to sharpen her claws on something and it’s probably going to be you event though you’re going to end up enjoying much more than anyone else is comfortable with.” Krem shakes his head ruefully. “Have you two considered flirting by giving each other…flowers? Shitty poetry? Nice walks out on the — wherever we are? Woods? We’re around the woods a lot, I feel, you could take her out for some walks in the woods.”

“This isn’t flirting, Aclassi. This is why you’ve never been able to maintain a steady relationship. You can’t even recognize flirting.”

“Chief. I love you. You’re someone I respect. You’ve saved my life more times than I can figure. If you think you aren’t flirting with each other then you’re dumber than the dirt we shit on.”

“Colorful language there, Aclassi. Taking a cue from Grim?”

“Fuck on off, would you?”

“No, I won’t.” Bull smirks. “This isn’t flirting. Wolf and I aren’t flirting.”

“Are you in denial?”

“We’re past the flirting stage.”

“You are? What was the flirting stage if not this? Maker’s hairy balls, did we miss the flirting stage?”

“This is the brinksmanship stage.”

“The what now?” Krem stares at Bull. “You’re making this up. There is no — whatever you just said.”

“Oh there definitely is, and I am winning.”

“Dear lord.” Krem blinks. “You’ve made it a competition. You’ve made a relationship into a competition.” Krem covers his eyes with a hand, roughly pushing his hand up and into his hair, giving it a good ruffle. “If it was anyone else, Chief. Anyone who isn’t you and her, I would say it isn’t healthy and strongly encourage the two of you to break it off before it gets messy and makes work difficult. But it is the two of you and this can only end in tears. Your relationship is a metaphorical dick measuring contest. That you somehow think you’re winning.”

Bull narrows his eye. “What do you mean think I’m winning? I am winning.”

“It’s Wolf,” Krem stresses, “That’s what she wants you to think. You aren’t winning, you’re falling into her trap. I don’t know what the trap is, but you definitely are.”

“Do you think she’s smarter than me?”

“I think she’s more vindictive and infinitely more versed in pouncing on people she’s led to thinking they have a false sense of security,” Krem answers immediately. “Don’t get me wrong, Chief, you’re real good at the whole getting people to lower their guards ‘cos you make them think you’re dumb and here to fuck around, but Wolf? Sorry, Chief. She’s got you outclassed. I’d rather cross you than run contrary to her and day.”

“I’m both of your bosses, Aclassi. Technically, you’re her boss.”

“And when I’m made your successor I’m making her my successor,” Krem says. “Such is the natural flow of things. I’m your right hand, she’s my right hand.”

“I thought Dalish was your right hand.”

“Dalish would sooner cut off my real right hand than act in any high profile leadership role,” Krem rolls his eyes. “You think she’d be willing to be my legitimate right hand guy? That’s the day she quits the chargers. She left her clan to avoid being possible Keeper, Boss. She wasn’t even second in line for that.”

“She did mention a high turnover rate for Firsts and Seconds.”

“And she wasn’t going to risk going from Fourth to Second. You think she’s gonna put up with it just because we’re the Chargers and she’s been with us for years like a second family? Fuck no. She’s cold. She’d cut us off no warning. Back to the topic on hand. You’ve gone and bought a new litter of dogs. I’m not going to question that part. I know I should. I know that I really ought to be questioning that part. What I’m going to question, instead, is why the fuck they’re huddled in with your things and Wolf’s instead of. You know. Our actual dog trainers?”

“Because they’re not just any dogs,” Bull replies. “They’re wolf dog hybrids.”

“Fuck me running, you horse’s ass. She’s going to kill you dead and then your dick comparing contest is going to be over because you’ll be dead and I’ll be the new one in charge with Ellana shadow-behind-the-throne Lavellan.”

“What throne? Don’t go glorifying the job like that Aclassi. Fuck. I’d like a throne.”

“Just tell me if we’re actually going to raise and keep these and use them,” Krem says.

“Of course we’re going to fucking use them,” Bull scowls. “I don’t just do things to annoy Lavellan. We’re going to train them up. Besides, we’ve got a lot of dogs entering retirement this year, and we need the new blood to keep the breeding pool fresh. I did think this one through. I’m just thinking along parallel lines — best way to keep our canine crew fresh, best way to piss off Lavellan. Two birds one stone.”

[galadrieljones]

The Lily Farm (A Funeral) - Chapter 22

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2 | Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth | Rating: Mature

Content: Existential Angst, Friendship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nature, Touch-Starved, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Marriage, Epiphanies, Backstory, Banter, Deep Emotions, Sharing a Bed, Swimming, Arthur to the Rescue, Forests, Abduction, Angst, Heavy Angst, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Sexual Content, Sexual Themes, Adult Content, Canon Divergence, Found Families, Brotherhood, Fatherhood, pregnancy, Drug Use, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Protective Arthur, Minor John Marston/Abigail Roberts

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and in their desperate search for meaning together, they endure a number of trials, some small, some big, all of which bring them closer to one another, as well as to their future. But they’ve fallen in love during hard times. With the gang tipping dangerously close to a breaking point in a changing world, Arthur must make a difficult choice. Can he escape the past, as well as the outlaw life and start over, building a family of his own? With Mary Beth by his side, one thing is certain: redemption and second chances finally seem within his grasp.

***For the rest of this story, you can visit the masterpost or AO3, both linked in the replies to this post and also at my blog.***

Chapter 22: The Gilded Cage, Pt. 2

Two days earlier, John and Abigail sat drinking big glasses of water out on the balcony of Shady Belle. It was the morning after the storm. The yard in front of Shady Belle was all full of puddles, some of them two inches deep. Jack was out there in his bare feet, splashing and running around with Cain the dog. They had a view of him from where they sat. At one point, Micah walked by and barked something incoherent at the boy. John flinched, but Arthur was standing nearby the commotion and casually grabbed Micah by the collar, yanking him hard and tossing him to the earth with an unforeseen force of derision. Micah laughed while Arthur walked away, but he didn’t fuck with the boy again. John sighed and took a drink of his water and then he looked at Abigail who seemed lost in a dream.

“Babe?” said John, trying to get her attention. “Hey, babe.”

She blinked a bunch of times, looked at him. “What is it?”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, smiling, smoothing her hands over her dress. “Why?”

“You just looked a little dreamy.”

“Oh, please,” she said, blushing. “I don’t get dreamy, John Marston. Now tell me about your fishing trip with Arthur.”

John sighed, looked down at his glass of water. It was rainwater and therefore very cool and delicious. Pearson was enterprising and had put out buckets the night before. “A lot happened, actually.”

“Nothing bad I hope. The two of you need to come to your senses already. You’re like brothers for Christ’s sake.”

“I know,” said John. “I know, Abigail. And we are, I think. It was good actually. We talked about…a lot of stuff.”

“Good,” she said, patting him on the knee. Then she looked back out over the balcony, watching Jack with the dog.

“You know, we discussed one thing in particular that I wanted to…talk to you about.”

“Yeah?” said Abigail. She smiled now in his direction. She was so pretty, in this very pure, natural way. She was like that glass of rainwater.

He took a drink. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s about him and Mary Beth.”

“The two of them fill my heart,” she said. She looked down at her clean, clear water. “It’s about time they found each other, if you ask me.”

“Sure,” said John. “It’s great. I couldn’t agree more.”

“And?”

“And,” he said, straightening up a little in his seat. He kind of leaned toward her. “And they’re leaving.”

She looked up, concerned. “Leaving?” she said. “Leaving where?”

“Leaving the gang.”

“What?”

“Leaving the gang, Abigail.”

“I heard you,” she said. She started to resituate her skirt. It was a long blue and white plaid, an elegant number she’d sewn herself. She was pioneering, Abigail. She knew how to rise perfectly even from one occasion to the next. “Why didn’t Mary Beth mention anything.”

“Well it ain’t in stone,” said John. “No definite plans as of yet. But they’re leaving.”

“Where they gonna go?”

“Up north,” said John. “Wisconsin.”

“Wisconsin?” said Abigail. “What’s up there? Cows?”

“I got no idea,” said John. “But, probably.”

Abigail’s face fell a little bit, but he could tell she was trying to be happy. “Well, that is a surprise.”

“Why you look so glum?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, John. You telling me two of our closest friends are about to up and leave. It kind of kills the conversation.”

“I wasn’t done yet,” said John.

She gave him a look. “Well then, finish,” she said.

He sighed, looking right at her. “Arthur said we should come with them.”

Abigail had been sipping her water. When he said this, she stopped abruptly, swallowed, and then set her water down on the floor. “Go with em? To Wisconsin?”

He nodded. “You, me, and Jack. I guess the dog, too. Though we didn’t discuss the dog.”

“John,” said Abigail. “Are you shitting me?”

“No,” he said. “Why?”

“You wanna go?”

“Maybe,” said John, taking on a defensive posture. They were still at odds in immediate ways. They still did not trust each other the way they should have. “Why not?”

“I ain’t got no reason why not,” said Abigail. “I just—have you thought it through?”

“Thought what through?”

She rolled her eyes. “What are you gonna do, John Marston? You and Arthur gonna rob trains up in Wisconsin?”

“Shit no,” said John. “This ain’t about robbing trains. Hell, I don’t even know if they got trains up in Wisconsin.”

“Of course they do,” said Abigail. “They got trains everywhere.”

“Whatever,” said John. “It ain’t about that. It’s about starting fresh. Who knows what we’ll do. But Arthur seems—he seems confident.”

“He does?”

“Yeah. He thinks we can do anything we want up there. We got a little money, between us. We could put it down on a piece of land, some livestock. Breed horses, herd sheep. You and Mary Beth is friends. It sounds—it sounds like it could work.”

“You’re serious,” said Abigail. A piece of hair had fallen from its rightful place atop her head. He leaned forward to tuck it away for her.

“I am,” he said. “For once, Abigail. I swear.”

She looked away, like she did not believe him.

“Look at me,” he said.

It took her a moment.

“Abbie. Look at me.”

So she did. He didn’t call her Abbie all that much. But when he did, she always seemed to respond. Her eyes were very crisp and very clear that day, like windows. “What?” she said.

“I know I done you wrong,” he said, earnest. “You and Jack. I know.”

“And?”

“And I thought I made it clear, after all that business with Bronte, I’m trying to change.”

“Can you?” she said.

He sighed. He still had his fingers lingering at her ear. She wasn’t pulling away. “Like I said. I’m trying,” he said.

She seemed to soften a little now, in her way. Somewhere, down below in the yard, Cain was barking, and Miss Grimshaw was telling him to shut the fuck up. “So you wanna leave the gang with Arthur and Mary Beth?”

“Maybe,” he said. “That depends on what you wanna do. Do you wanna stay? Keep believin in Dutch? Or do you wanna go? Make our own luck somewhere else? I’m listening, Abigail. Just tell me what you want.”

He could see her chest rising and falling, as she was breathing in a way that suggested she might burst into tears. She did not, however her eyes did glisten some. “I want…I want to get the fuck out of here. You know I do.”

“We could be a family,” said John. “No more of this weird fuckin bullshit, living in a broken down mansion in the middle of the fuck forsaken swamps, bunking with fifteen other people, half of whom are drunk for a living. It ain’t normal, Abbie. It ain’t good. Not for you, not for Jack.”

“What about Dutch?” she said. “What’s he gonna say? You think he’s gonna just let you boys traipse out of here like nothing at all? He’s got a hold on you, both of you.”

“I don’t know,” said John. “Truth be told, I don’t much care at this point. Dutch has gone batty. He’s starting to scare me.”

“But Arthur must care,” she said. “Nothing matters more to Arthur than loyalty.”

“We’re being loyal to what matters,” said John. “That’s just the better choice. Don’t you think?”

She was staring at him, searching, trying to find the lie, the thing that made him weak. She didn’t find it. “I do,” she said.

“Good,” said John. He was feeling assertive. He was feeling fine. He finished off his water and he looked out over the edge of the balcony into the eye of the swamps. “Arthur says they got lily farms up there.”

“Lily farms?” said Abigail, real starry. “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

“Me neither,” said John.

It was like a dream.

Now.

Arthur and Mary Beth arrived fashionably late to the party at Mayor Lamieux’s house, just as Dutch had planned. In the coach on the way over, Mary Beth had had a shot of rye whiskey and Arthur had two. They were welcomed to the house and ushered through by a short sycophant with a thick French accent, and they arrived at their destination just in time to hear Dutch himself beginning his hand at small talk with skinny-legs Angelo Bronte. Bronte was outfitted in what looked like high society pajamas, and though he was very shiny and very fashionable, his distinctly Roman sense of style clashed considerably with the French bigness of the house in which he stood. Mary Beth could not help but notice all of the expensive artwork on the walls. The portraits were stark and seemed to judge her. The decorating in this house was not to her taste, a little too full of trends and arts décoratifs and seeming to scream with ostentation. Mary Beth liked simple objects in simple spaces that made her feel simple. She liked romantic details like patchwork quilts in primary colors and wooden animal menageries and heavy furniture that was judiciously worn. She liked big white bedspreads and pale blue curtains. She liked circle rugs with yellow fringe. She did not like fashion. She did not like pomp.

Even still, the house glittered furiously, she thought, though you couldn’t see where the glitter was coming from. It sort of just hung around suspiciously at the edges of your vision, making you woozy and unclear and full of a bad feeling like you had no business in this chilly palace of foreign dreams. She felt uncomfortable for many reasons. She trusted no one in her immediate view, not even the servants.

Together, they stood at the double doors leading out to the balcony, their feet on the very hard marble. She could smell cigar smoke. They listened to the conversation outside, just a little bit, as Bronte leaned over the railing with Dutch, passing judgment over each and every high status guest of the party at the mayor’s house. There was the mayor himself, there was a dictator, a newspaper man. All of them sounded like awful people, but none of them as awful as Bronte, who seemed to think he was above them all. There was contention between Bronte and Dutch, Mary Beth discerned. Bronte was insulting to the Native contingent, and to the construct of America on the whole, and she knew that this would bring Dutch to a higher temperature. She could see the annoyance grating at Dutch’s insides, fraying him around his fragile edges. She’d known him long enough, and she could see it in his eyes—the veiled but throat-slitting severity of his wrath. It was a sinister flash and very deep, but it was there.

She yanked on Arthur then, pulling him down to her level, wondering if perhaps she was drunk by mistake. “Maybe that shot of rye wasn’t such a good idea,” she said.

Arthur was cool as a cucumber. “You’ll be fine, Mrs. Kilgore.”

“I’m sweating like a goddam pig, and I don’t like it here.”

“Ain’t you got a fan hidden in your bustle or something?”

“Yes,” she said, “but it ain’t my plan to use it right up until the very end of the interaction. I can’t take it out now.”

“What happens at the end of the interaction?”

“Drama,” she said.

Amused, Arthur nodded. He said, “Well, I suppose we should go out.”

“I suppose,” said Mary Beth, studying Dutch still and all that worrisome circumstance happening out on the balcony. “This is a bad scene, Arthur.”

“Which part?”

“Bronte. I robbed fifty assholes like him in Kansas City.”

“I don’t know about that, Mary Beth.”

“What don’t you know?”

Arthur sighed. He looked at her.

“What is it, Arthur.”

“Just don’t underestimate him,” he said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Okay?”

“I ain’t.” She fawned a little, at his touch. He cleaned up real nice. He smelled good, and he had gone to the barber and got his hair combed, pomaded, trimmed. He still had some scruff on his cheeks. The tux pulled him together in golden ways. She’d never seen a man looking so good in her whole life. He made her feel better, just him being there. “Don’t worry.”

When they got outside, they could finally hear the verve and excitement brewing at the party below. Dutch wasted no time. His anger broke. He became gregarious again, and Mary Beth could see the shifting in his demeanor—could feel it. It was palpable.

“Tacitus!” he said, coming right up to them, shaking Arthur’s hand and then escorting him by the arm right out to Bronte. “It’s about time you got here, my boy.”

“This is who, now?” said Bronte.

Mary Beth hung back, a few steps behind, her head dipped, hiding beneath her avian hat. Dutch cleared his throat. “Signor Bronte, let me introduce you to my associate, Tacitus Kilgore. Whether that’s his real name or an alias, I’ll let you decide.” He laughed like a regular believable schmuck.

“Mr. Kilgore,” said Bronte. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“Oh you have no idea,” said Arthur, bowing, just a little. He could play a very good blowhard when the occasion called for it. “This is quite a…soiree going on here, if I do say so myself.”

“Yes well, the mayor, he is a glutton for popularity. What can I say.”

“Not much, I expect,” said Arthur.

“And who is this…?” said Bronte, eyeballing Mary Beth. “You brought a woman to our proceedings? Very brave indeed.”

She looked up from beneath the wide, blue brim of her hat. Bronte eyed her like a mystery.

Dutch interjected. “This is Mrs. Kilgore, Signor Bronte. Brand new wife of Tacitus here. She could not bear to be away from him. Not even for the night.”

This brought a great deal of joy and surprise to Bronte. “A wife?” said Bronte. “I was not aware that cowboys took wives.”

“They take a lot more than that,” said Mary Beth, batting her eyelashes. “If you catch my drift.”

“And we aren’t cowboys,” said Dutch, strained. “Though it’s a common misconception, we don’t actually herd cattle.”

Bronte was quiet for a moment, but then he exploded with laugher. Dutch did as well. Bronte found this to be hilarious. The whole exchange was like a circus sideshow, thought Mary Beth. Fuckin idiot men. Bronte looked around at his shifty-eyed entourage. “I like this man,” he said. “You like this man?”

They all nodded and laughed conspicuously.

A fastidious servant came around then, with three cigars laid in parallel on a silver platter. Arthur took one, as did Dutch, as did Bronte. Dutch proceeded with his introduction, waving his cigar about, as a prop. “Mrs. Kilgore here,” he said, “is an oil heiress from Galveston, Texas. Isn’t that right, my sweet?”

“Yes, sir,” said Mary Beth.

“Her daddy is an ex-outlaw turned oil tycoon. She is a relatively new addition to our family, joined us only two months ago.” Dutch held out his cigar for the servant, who lit it with prudence. He smoked, looking right at her. “A fine piece of work if you ask me.”

“An oil heiress?” said Bronte. “How…uniquely American.”

“Indeed,” said Arthur. He’d bit the cap straight off his cigar, spat it to the ground. Now the servant lit his, too. “Go on, Marie. Say hi to the nice man.”

Mary Beth smiled. She took a few steps forward, walking in a way that made her big skirt swing from side to side.

Bronte held out his hand. “Madame Kilgore,” he said, bringing her knuckles to his lips. “It is…a pleasure. You are married to the cowboy here?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, demurely.

“Tell me about the…eh…appeal in such dire atrocities.” He laughed.

Mary Beth just smiled. She did not laugh. Instead, she became big with her performance. She liked to use her hands a lot while talking, but this time, she was very composed. She approached him with confidence. She picked up one of his hands in her own. This took him by surprise, but he did not protest. “Well, Mr.—” She looked up at him, feigning confusion. “What was it again?”

Arthur almost choked on the smoke in his own lungs.

Bronte balked. “Eh, Bronte,” he said. “Angelo Bronte.”

“Right, right,” she said. “Mr. Bronte.” She really chewed the r. “You know, in my station,” she continued, focused, “it ain’t hard to come across carefully coiffed men with very soft, small, manicured…hands…and a big old barrel of money, ready to whisk me off my feet!” She studied his hands. “Of course, they’re all a bunch of sissies. When it comes down to it. You know what I mean. They’re afraid of getting dirty, of making a big noise. But a real woman knows that the only way to get her…skirts ruffled…if you will…is to find a man who ain’t afraid of using his hands. Who goes out into the physical world, roughs it up a little, and leaves it different than it was when he got there. Not a sissy, Mr. Bronte, and I’ll tell you money don’t make no man! I mean…a force. You ever seen a real man’s hands?”

Arthur was totally miffed. His cigar was burning but had not been smoked yet. He’d been watching her with relative awe.

“I—uh—” mumbled Bronte, “I suppose I have not.”

Mary Beth turned to Arthur. “Show em, Tacitus.”

He came to, surfacing, shook out his head, realized he was being called upon. He obliged. “My pleasure,” he said. He hitched the stogie to the corner of his mouth, took off one white glove. He held out his right hand. It was like a boulder in comparison to Bronte’s, truly it was. Bronte stood, looking, awkwardly. Then Arthur broke the moment by holding his bare hand out for a hearty shake. Bronte took it, firm at first, but hesitant.

Arthur smiled right at him, lowered his voice to improvise, took the cigar out of his mouth and ashed it directly onto the floor. “Forgive me, Signor Bronte,” he said. “My fair lady Marie is a bit of a firecracker. I can’t even predict her myself.”

Bronte laughed, finally, nervously. “Yes, I can see that, Mr. Kilgore,” he said. “Tell me, where did you say you found her again?”

“Galveston, Texas,” said Arthur, smirking. He withdrew his hand, replaced his glove. “I was robbing a bank. She was there. Came away with a lot more than stacks of cash that day, if you know what I mean.” He laughed. Dutch laughed.

Bronte became nervous, again, with the laughter.

Dutch slowly reentered the conversation then, asserting himself via the smoke from his cigar. Bronte said nothing more. “Well,” said Dutch, looking from Bronte to Arthur to Mary Beth, “now that you’ve made your…impression, Mrs. Kilgore—” He laughed. They all laughed. Except for Bronte, who seemed sweaty. “—Why don’t you and your rough-handed husband head down to the party, mingle a little. I’ll be down soon to…meet you for a drink.”

“Sounds good,” said Arthur, holding out his arm. His voice was warm and deep and it defused the moment all by itself.

Mary Beth took his arm, and then she flipped the fan from her skirts. Very dramatic. “Bye, Mr. Bronte,” she said, smiling. “Don’t forget what I said.”

Arthur patted Mary Beth’s arm and smiled. “Let’s go, darlin.”

“Mmm,” she said.

They left the balcony.

Bronte blinked, several times. He had not yet begun to smoke his cigar. “Who did you say she was again?” he said.

“Marie Kilgore,” said Dutch. “I would give you her maiden name, but in truth, I cannot recall what it was. They didn’t get married in no church, Signor Bronte.”

“I see,” said Bronte, halfway shaken. He leaned out over the balcony rail again, seeming to survey the scene. “An interesting woman.”

“That, she is,” said Dutch, smoking, eyeballing Arthur and Mary Beth who emerged from the long, twisting staircase, stepping into the garden of thieves below. “That, she is.”

When they got downstairs, slipping into the swaths of glamorous humans, Arthur was somewhat speechless. He crossed his arms over his chest. They stopped beneath the cover of a silvery tree.

Mary Beth noticed him staring. “What?” she said, putting away her fan. “Did I do okay?”

“That was very good, Miss Gaskill,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I can rightly say I didn’t know you had that in you.”

“Didn’t have what?” she said.

“Huge cowboy balls.”

She laughed. She laughed really hard.

“I’m serious,” he said, admiring. “You put that man off balance. I’m very impressed.”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Kilgore,” she said, curtsying. Then she reached into the pocket of her skirt. “I stole his pocket watch, too.”

Arthur’s eyes got big. He grabbed the watch from her hand and looked around, making sure no one saw. “Jesus,” he said.

“It was right there,” she said. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Mrs. Kilgore, what are we gonna do with you?” A servant walked by with a tray of champagne. When he was looking away, Arthur dropped the watch into the bottom of one of the bubbling flutes.

“Arthur!” she laughed.

“Come on,” he said, hurried, taking her hand. “We must find a way to moderate your addiction to subterfuge. At least for the time being. Champagne perhaps? Or you wanna jump straight to gin.”

“I wonder what the mayor has in his pockets,” said Mary Beth, surveying the party. “Ain’t that him over there? By the fountain.”

Arthur followed after her gaze, squinting against the low, gold light of the garden. The entire affair was full of tasteful ruckus and women wearing huge hats that all looked just like Mary Beth’s, just like birds. “I reckon that is him,” said Arthur.

“That man standing with him looks familiar.”

“Which man?” said Arthur.

“The one with the mutton chops,” she said. “Well, other man with the mutton chops.”

“Familiar how?” He took a drink of his champagne. It was smooth and good and bright.

She studied him for a long time. Arthur watched, could sort of see the gears going on beneath the surface, a slow light emerging. Another servant happened by with another tray of champagne. Arthur took two flutes, one for him and one for Mary Beth. Mary Beth took the flute but did not drink at first. And after a moment, something came together, and she perked up, with wonder.

“It’s Evelyn Miller,” she said, squinting. “That’s right.”

“Evelyn Miller?” said Arthur. “The writer?”

“Yes,” said Mary Beth. “That’s him.”

“No shit,” he said, almost starstruck for a moment. “How do you know what Evelyn Miller looks like?”

“Dutch has read to me from his book—The American Inferno—dozens of times. He’s leant it to me more times than that. It ain’t my cup of tea, but there’s a picture of Evelyn Miller on the last page. That’s him.”

“Damn,” said Arthur. Then he sort of wondered at something. “Mary Beth,” he went on, “is Dutch still sweet on you? I mean I know I seen him hanging around, back at Clemens Point.”

Mary Beth shrugged. “Maybe,” she said, disinterested. “He’s made passes, sure. But trust me, Arthur, it’s nothing unique.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Dutch’s attention with women is fleeting. Just because he’s got his sights on you one day, that don’t mean it’s gonna last. Just ask Molly.”

Arthur sighed. He knew exactly what she meant, and how it had been true. He had a bad feeling. Molly wasn’t doing so good. He wondered why she continued to stick around, if she could truly love him that much. He looked at Evelyn Miller then, who was in some sort of rueful, serious conversation with the Natives. Then he looked back up to the balcony. Dutch was there, still, alone. Watching. He was looking out over the proceedings from beneath the dark brim of his hat. He didn’t see Arthur looking at him. He was leaning on the rail and thinking deeply, tightly wound with a threatening posture. He seemed to suck all the energy out of the affair and right into himself, an endless magnetic pit. Arthur shook out his head, looked back at Mary Beth. She was warm and beautiful in comparison. She seemed to radiate heat, light, energy. She was the opposite of Dutch in every way.

Arthur was not always the quickest man to the uptake. He was smart, but he didn’t trust himself, and that tended to leave him behind. Still, he knew Dutch had been soft for Mary Beth. It was obvious. She was pretty and book-learned. He imagined that she, of all the women in the camp, would be more skilled at entertaining his philosophies than anyone. Molly, she was smart, too, and she could read and write, but she wasn’t as young and quick to the smile as Mary Beth, and now that Mary Beth was no longer nineteen, Dutch had started catching her scent. Arthur wasn’t sure how to deal with this. He wasn’t even sure if it was true, but he knew that Mary Beth, she was canny, but she didn’t always attribute suspicion where suspicion was due. She was not innocent, but even with her father and her mother and her brother dead, she had been protected from true darkness for a long time—whether it be by pure luck or the benevolence of good people, like the madame in Kansas City who taught her pickpocketing rather than whoring. And like Dutch. His head was spinning heavily now as he began to wonder on a whole new level of uncertainty, and all the different ways he couldn’t trust Dutch no more. It was infinite. And it wasn’t even about Mary Beth—it was about so much more. Arthur wasn’t no boy. He didn’t get jealous or threatened by other men. He just wasn’t sure what was going to happen, and this all made him think about the bigger picture. How Dutch was just…he was always hiding something. There was always something going on, something beneath the surface, and this was such a foreign idea to Arthur. Arthur never had any ulterior motivations or secrets. He was not a duplicitous man. He didn’t know how that worked, so it was hard for him to figure out, even if he knew it was there.

He took another drink of his champagne. He glanced casually back to the balcony, and he was startled to notice that Dutch had shifted his attention and was now looking right at him. Dutch smiled. He gave a salute. Arthur saluted him back, and then Dutch spun on his heels and disappeared inside the mansion. Arthur took a deep breath.

“You reckon you can charm the mayor, Mary Beth?” he said, growing weary of the party all of a sudden. “Insinuate us into his presence a little bit?”

Mary Beth smiled, shrugged. She took a long drink. “I know a lot about Miller,” she said. “It should be enough to get us into the conversation.”

“Good,” said Arthur. He took her hand, kissed it, though it was gloved. They began moving through the crowd together. The night was long, and it was only just beginning.

Meanwhile, back at camp, Abigail stood in the very dark night, by the edge of the swampy river. It glistened. It was like a nightmare. The moonlight was cool and white though the swamp was viscous and gray. She was holding a glass of whiskey, sipping it judiciously, all alone. Jack was asleep, and John was still in St. Denis. Way out in the water, she could see a shadow moving, sleepily. It was something huge—a bullgator, she thought, looking for a meal, or for a female to breed with. At first, she had been afraid, but now she was just mesmerized, wondering if it would swim any closer, if it could smell her or sense her, if it was afraid, angry, or simply curious. She heard footsteps behind her then, and when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw Micah. He was drunk. He didn’t address her. He stumbled to Strauss’s shack, took a piss on a tree stump and then tipped over into the weeds and passed out. Watching, she thought about how easy it would be. To roll him into the water, bait for the shadow in the river, gone for good. But then she looked away. It wasn’t worth it, she thought, drinking her whiskey. There was too much to lose now. And anyway, she wasn’t that kind of girl.

[tiger-in-the-flightdeck]

@lepetiterik asked: For the writer's game: 1, 6, 16, 19, 24, 34, 39, 44, and 47! Enjoy! 

And like an idiot, I answered it privately. Oops

1.     Do you listen to music when you write?

Absolutely. I have to. And I usually only listen to one song on repeat. If I’m writing something heavy, I listen to Disturbed’s cover of Sound Of Silence. If it’s fun and fast paced, or maybe even a bit silly, it’s Shut Up And Dance. I’m currently doing A Place On Earth for a fic I’m chipping away at.

6.     Single or multiple POV?

It depends on the fandom and the length, to be honest. If I’m writing Canon Holmes and Watson, it’s always single POV, and always first person. If it’s a longer fic for different fandoms, I’ll switch the point of view between characters once in a while, but generally stick with one for major events. If it’s a short one shot, it’s almost exclusively single point of view. But I almost never switch between more than two people.

16.  How many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied with a project?

Technically, one. But that’s a bit misleading. I edit as I write. So I’ve never just spewed a bunch of words onto a page until it’s done, then go back and edit that way. I write a few paragraphs, set it aside for an hour, reread, and change what doesn’t fit. I also have a few dear friends who read along as I write and give wonderful advice and suggestions. When the final piece is done, it’s usually polished to the point that it’s where I want it, and I just have to go through and look for missing commas and spelling errors.

19.  How do you keep yourself motivated?

Having people read AS I’m writing, in real time, is the best way. I am such a sucker for a live audience.

24.  Favourite genre to write and read

Urban fantasy, with humour. Not crack humour, but witty comedy. Think Shaun of the Dead, if it were about vampires instead of zombies. Or basically anything by Tanya Huff. If I could call Tanya Huff a genre, that would be it.

34.  What was the hardest scene you ever had to write?

There’s a tie here for me. It’s between Sherlock doing a factor reset of himself at the end of Software Malfunction, and a scene in an unpublished chapter of my modern take on Scandal in Bohemia involving Holmes experiencing serious gender dysphoria. Because of coming to a crashing halt in that scene, I haven’t opened that fic in a couple of years.

39.  Weirdest character concept you’ve ever had

Bahahaha, okay, so in high school, I was writing this vampire story. You know, like EVERY other goth kid in the history of the world. Now, I was writing this without realising that I was A- Projecting onto these characters, B- Had several different mental disorders, and C- REALLY FUCKING QUEER. Like, I had no idea that what I was feeling was actually me being non binary, and the acest ace that ever looked at a naked body and went ‘Ehh’ while shrugging like a Frenchman. So it isn’t weird to me now, but at the time? Boy howdy, did I think it was weird: Each of my vampires would switch between their gender representations whenever they felt like it. The werewolves could change their sexual characteristics when they shifted between forms. So if they’d been a wolf for a day, when they became human formed again, it could be with different genitals if they so wished.

This also explained my immediate, and intense love for Good Omens I developed when finding the book stuck down the back of a shelf in my drama class when I was sixteen and reading that bit about Aziraphale and Crowley being sexless unless they put in an effort. I was like “Damn, why do I identify with these characters???”

44.  How much research do you do?

Oh god, so much. Here is a list of tabs I currently have open: The Great Fire Of Rome, The Great Fire of London- 1666, Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, Chimera- Mythological Representations, Roman Cavalry Horse Breeds, Distance Measured Mayfair to Soho, Apple Tart Recipes, and Language of Flowers. All of those are for fics that I HAVEN’T EVEN STARTED YET. When I’m actively writing a fic, I will usually pause several times a scene to do a bit of research. Most of which will not get used....

47.  Best way to procrastinate

Research, honestly. I’ll start by saying “Oh, I need to find out exactly how long it would take these characters to walk from site A to site B, to see if they could reasonably have this conversation in that time.” which means I have to open up maps. Figure out which path they would take. And in the case of some of my ancient setting fics, find out what the road looked like 1800 years ago. Track down that one tiny line in the original source which tells me sort of vaguely where the setting MIGHT be, then try to narrow it down more specifically. “I know that Uncle Aquilla lived here, and it took this long to travel by cart, a horse drawn cart travels at about this average speed, which logically places their current position here. Now I need to find out what the terrain looks like here, so I can describe the surroundings. Have these flowers changed dramatically in their make up the way tomatoes and watermelon have? What was the climate in this region that long ago? Would it have influenced the migratory patterns of certain birds?” All of that to figure out whether or not I can describe a robin sitting on a heather stalk. Which will probably get scrubbed on my next read through.

I fucking love research.

[deadinsidedressage]

What are your thoughts on “non-traditional” dressage horses? Like Arabs, Morgans, QHs, Paints?

My first thought was “jesus christ why don’t I fucking tag shit on this blog because I have answered this so many damn times”. Whether it’s in dressage, show jumping, or eventing here’s the HOT TAKE on “non-traditional” breeds from someone who competed on “non-traditional” breeds for... shit like 17 years? Wow I am fucking old: Assuming the horse is built relatively decently for what they’re doing, they can be perfectly suitable as low-level mounts. Low level being 2nd Level, Novice/Training, and like 1.0m. Sure, there are some horses that make an exception (particularly if we’re talking about Arabs/Morgan in dressage since they’re pretty decently built for the discipline) and despite being “non-traditional” are successful at high levels. Those horses tend to be the exception though. Every Cob isn’t going to be North Forks Cardi and win the Open GP. Every Arab isn’t going to be KB Omega or Beymoon Zela (two nationally competitive GP horses in their time). Most of them are just going to be ammie friendly horses who can technically do up to 2nd level and do fairly decent with a good rider. Morgans and Arabs tend to do really well at very low levels because they have the benefit of conformation that easily enables them to track under, work over the back, and be on the bit with a low level of collection, but they tend to have a massive fall off in scores at higher levels. Though there have been numerous Grand Prix Arabs. QH/APHA are working against everything that’s bred into them conformationally.The most successful of those breeds in dressage (or the above mentioned sports) tend to be heavier in the TB blood and from “English bred lines” in which they’re actually trying to breed horses that would be decent in those areas (although what they’re breeding for is to win huntseat classes at breed shows which is a lot different than dressage, but still an “English type” AQHA/APHA horse is a lot more balanced than what both the breeds are currently emphasising). AQHA/APHA tend to have issues with hooves (shit quality plus too small for the weight they bear which can lead to lameness issues--- navicular, laminitis are two AQHA killers). AQHA/APHA are built downhill, which inhibits their ability to track under and makes it a lot harder to get them on the bit working over their back correctly--- you’re asking an AQHA/APHA to shit a much larger percent of load bearing to their hind than a WB/TB/Arab. They also have a whole swath of leg/shoulder conformation faults that lead to shorter, choppier strides on a whole and which lead to arthritis. Especially when we’re talking hocks, and already weak hocks on a horse that then has to work doubly hard to use their hind means you’re absolutely going to have a shorter competitive career and have a lot of joint management as the horse ages. On a whole, you’re just going to find a lot more glaring conformational faults which will lead to a less capable and less durable horse for English disciplines--- that doesn’t mean they’re no good horses for low level use (I’ve competed two APHA) but it’s just not their strong suit and if you want to be really competitive and want to go work at higher levels then just don’t get one. With AQHA/APHA you also have the issue of a horse that will never score as well as their WB counterparts ESPECIALLY at lower levels where on a nice WB you kind of just have to not fall of to be in the 60′s (whereas on a AQHA/APHA you need to be very technically proficient to score well). Also the score discrepancy between AQHA/APHA and WB is heightened by the fact that ammies are on AQHA/APHAs--- it takes a very, very skilled rider to score alongside the WB and even beat them. No, no matter how much you cling to your underdog story doesn’t mean you can beat the odds and score a 76% at second level because you worked really hard on your Quarter Horse, as an ammie you’ll be fucking floored with a 62% at second level on your QH because it’s exhausting to get them going correctly and you’re not a professional. Likes yes, one of our assistants at work scored a 71% at I2 on a “failed ranch horse” (who was likely an Appendix) but she’s also a professional and unless you’re also a professional you probably shouldn’t stake all your hopes and dreams on ever living up to her success. BASICALLY, they’re fine for lower levels. They’re fine for ammies. They can be a lot of fun and wonderful super loving horses but they are limited by their breed and don’t buy one if you have visions of grandeur of somehow being the best person ever at whatever level on your “Non-traditional” breed because it’s probably not going to happen. Ride the horse because you love it and focus on improving against yourself. 

[der-ruf-der-leere]

World Building June Day 1

So folklore am I right?

I’ve touched on folklore a bit before in The Lion and the Mountain, which is probably by far my favorite piece of writing I’ve done so far, but folk lore in general has been on my mind as of late, particularly one for a dragon rider story (yes, I tick all the cliché boxes) that I’ve been attempting to work on, that like everything else, has been scrapped and rewritten going on 3 times now, and also needs a fucking name, so I’ll be calling it Dragon Rider for simplicity’s sake.

 For reference, dragons in this universe are roughly twice the size of a horse, so not particularly huge, wing spans tend to be rather large though for logistic reasons, but that’s for another day.

The Story:

 A white dragon, native to the northern most regions of Vanir. They’re known for being notoriously clever, and this one was even more so, but she was injured, and the hunters were getting close, and this dragon had a secret. Her nesting site had been disturbed, and in an effort to save her nest, she carried the egg with her, and it was hatching. She knew the new hatchling would slow her down, but she could not simply abandon them to the hunters to be killed just like she surly would be, so she thought to hide them, in a place no one would look so that they would be safe, and she could return for them later, but in this desolate land, there was little room to hide, until a small shack came into view.

 With the hunters not far behind, she peered inside the cabin, finding a pair of humans, and in another room, fast asleep, their small infant child. Finding herself with no other options, the white dragon turned to her new hatchling, using what little of her magic she had left to turn the dragon into the child before reaching through the window, snatching the now crying human, and placing her own child in its place before disappearing into the night.

 Not knowing any different, the parents raised the child as any would, and the child grew, like any would, seeming to have forgotten that they were indeed a dragon. The white dragon never returned for her hatchling, and as the dragon-human grew older, it became more clear that they were special. They could control the magic in the world like no other human before, and could speak with things and creatures as if they were one of them, but still they could not remember. They married, and bore children who were also strange, and they bore children, and they bore children, and while their spouse grew old, and their children grew old, they did not, not in the same way. They did not feel the weight of the world or the curse of a failing body, and with now only great great great grandchildren to remember their name, they ventured into the world to find answers, and there they were said to discover a dragon so old they remembered times before the sun moved across the sky and spoke of a world made only of fire and dragon scales. The golden dragon was said to know all things, and when they asked them why they were the way they were, they had no answer. Curious, the golden dragon offered the human their back to ride on, to search the world for an answer, and it is said they are still searching today, making them the first dragon rider, a dragon who forgot, forever trying to find themselves.

 There are many variants as to what happened to the human child that had been taken by the dragon. Some stories say they died due to the harsh world, or were simply killed by the dragon. Some say that the human was turned into a dragon, and because they were not magical, slowly lost their mind as the years waned, kept alive by their surrogate dragon mother who was mourning the loss of her own child. The dragon is said to have become the Beast of the North, the largest a fiercest dragon to date, so aggressive, most of the territory is uninhabitable.

 The Break down:

 So the story starts with a white dragon being hunted for several days through harsh mountains and difficult terrain.  Humans being endurance predators, even with the typical high fantasy weapons you find, yes they can even out wait a dragon, when even the smallest parts you fetch, like teeth and claws can earn you half your weight in gold, so the real nice stuff that you actually need to kill a dragon for; i.e heart, bones, wings, other organs can literally set up you and the next 5 generations up for life. There is a bit of a saying, you only hunt a dragon once, because it’s the second one that gets you. Its basically like winning the lottery (if the lottery could kill you), it doesn’t happen often, you often have to share, and winners often get into trouble and lose it all. Those that hunt dragons tend to be one of two types of people, the competent ones who are basically big game hunters, they’re doing it more for the game and the glory than the money, and everyone else is just desperate. The hunters generally have resources, big caravans, guides, all the fun shit, and often hire out some of the more desperate people for a small cut. Its definitely less dangerous in groups, but it’s not any less deadly. The really desperate ones often go out alone, or drag family into it. Usually, this is extreme cases, basically having no other options but to risk death and try and make a better life. The reason they say its the second one that kills you is because its just that dangerous. The lucky part was not dying, not getting a cut of the treasure. Its basically like playing Russian roulette with five bullets and firing twice. 

 The practice of hunting dragons has significantly decreased since their domestication drove the market price way down. Domestication allowed for more efficient breeding/hatching, which drove up the populations. Things that could be harvested without killing them were, and could be done fairly regularly without detriment, basically making the prices for such things hit the floor (comparatively, they’re still expensive, but significantly less so) and those that had to be harvested from the dead could be done so after one passed naturally. This didn’t get rid of poaching entirely, even though it was eventually made illegal, but for many the now much lower price for parts made the almost certain death much less worthwhile.

   With the creation of the dragon riders, they eventually brought out the industrial revolution, communication and trade became easier, and technology shifted form high fantasy to more of a fantasy steam punk sort of mix. While the fun story is the tale of the dragon who forgot they were a dragon, the official story is pretty much unknown.  A lot of people/families claim to have been the first dragon riders, though there is no official record of the first. It essentially started in a few regions were people were just doing it, and then it got sanctioned by the government, licenses were required, schools made, and here we are!

 See you tomorrow for whatever WBJ has in store!

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #373

“warm me up in a nova’s glow  /  and drop me down to the dream below”

Have you ever kissed someone that you thought you’d never kiss? Welp, never thought I'd kiss a girl for most of my life. When was the last time you ate take-out and what was it that you ate? Mom bought us breakfast at Bojangle's the morning after my sleep study. I got a sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit. Do you enjoy when guys hit on/flirt with you or does it normally make you uncomfortable or annoyed? When was the last time more than one guy was flirting with you at a time? It makes me uncomfortable, especially if it's very obvious and pushy. Like some respectful flirting is fine and can be flattering if I'm single, but you better respect my boundaries and not act like a dog. I don't think two guys have both been openly interested in me since Juan and Jason in high school. Can you name five things you enjoy looking at pictures of? Animals, flowers, waterfalls, expressions of love between people, and boudoir. Would you rather have an eternal winter or an eternal summer? Both sound pretty sucky, but an eternal summer sounds worse. Do you know much about the Greek gods? Not anymore. I did in high school, as mythology was an elective I took. Are there a lot of stray cats and dogs near where you live? Not in this neighborhood. How would you cope with living in isolation away from society? How long do you think you could cope before you went mad? Oh god, I couldn't cope. I'd lose my shit so fast. Have you ever found any hidden treasure? No. Would you ever want to hibernate through the winter? No, I enjoy winter. Which holiday do you prefer, Halloween or Christmas? I like the Halloween vibe more, but I enjoy Christmas more as a holiday. Do you prefer hot or cold drinks overall? Cold. What’s the smallest thing you’ve ended a relationship over? I don't believe I've broken up with anyone over something small. Have you or a member of your family been diagnosed with COVID yet? My older sister got it. It was hell. What’s the dominant color in the room you’re in at the moment? An off-white. Do you know who your mom’s favorite singer is? James Hetfield of Metallica. Easy. What room in your house is the messiest? The spare room. Have you ever used a “puppy face” to get your way? Ha, yeeeaaah... If you could change any law that exists in your current country, what would it be and why? Here comes free healthcare. For obvious reasons. What were the last toppings you had on a pizza? Pepperoni. Would you rather spend an hour walking a dog or riding a horse? Riding a horse. Do you freak out when you need to visit the doctor or the dentist? Nah. Do you prefer The Lord of the Rings or The Hobbit movies, if you like any of them? I haven't watched either. Which Harry Potter film was your favourite? What about your least favourite? I haven't watched those, either. What do you think about nose piercings? I like them. Nostril studs especially are really cute imo. How many floors does your house have? One. What’s your favorite flavor of Kool-Aid? I don't really like Kool-Aid anymore. Have you ever had anything removed from your body? Yeah, a cyst. Do you enjoy sappy love songs? Unabashedly. Do you wear a one-piece or a two-piece when you go swimming? One-piece. What would be your biggest pet peeve in a relationship? Not communicating your feelings straight-up. Be straightforward and honest with what you're going through with your partner, for the love of God. Have you ever had a teacher hit on you? Have you ever hit on a teacher? No to both. Do you tend to eat more on Halloween, Thanksgiving, or Christmas? Christmas, because of chocolate stocking stuffers and boxes from Dad, haha. Do you know what an "AMV" is? Yeah, I used to make them. Do you think you have a sad life? In some ways, yeah. What’s one award show you have to watch every year? None. Who do you like more: the Batman or the Joker? The Joker, particularly Heath Ledger's. Do you like Rammstein? Love 'em. What is your favorite small dog breed? Aesthetically, I think pugs, but I've said before and I'll say it a thousand more times: I don't support breeding them. What was the first comic book you ever had an obsession over? I've never been obsessed with a comic book. Do you like kids pop-up books? Those were my absolute favorite kind AS a kid. What is your mother's mother's maiden name? Ummm I'm pretty sure Collins. Have you ever pet a monkey? No. What’s your favorite Owl City song… besides "Fireflies?" I actually really like "Hot Air Balloon." What’s your fave Miley Cyrus song? I don't know many, but I do know "The Climb" is absolutely gorgeous. Fave Rascal Flatts song? Probably "My Wish." But I also really like "Why" and "What Hurts the Most." Fave Justin Bieber song? None. Miley Cyrus, Demi Lavato, or Selena Gomez? Jesus, you really like bands that I don't, haha. I don't know any Demi or Selena songs, so idk. Fave Eminem song? Oh man, I do like a lot of Eminem. I know it's so cliche, but I genuinely adore "Love The Way You Lie." It gives me goosebumps. Do you think you could survive a month of solitary confinement? NO. Absolutely not. I would lose my motherfucking mind. What is something that you find utterly boring? Sports, save for dance, are incredibly blah to me. What noise/sound can put you to sleep? Gentle, steady rain tapping on the window. When you are upset, do you tend to shut others out? YYYYYYYYYYYEP. When was the last time you felt abandoned by someone? bleh Does the sight of blood gross you out? No. Do you like red roses, or do you prefer another color? I love red ones, but I really, really like the ones with a pink-peach gradient. Have you ever gone through a red light? I think I MIGHT have accidentally because I was zoned out, but I don't THINK so. Do you fail to stop for stop signs, sometimes? I can't recall if I ever have. What is one of your major turn-offs? Misogyny. The moment you act like you exceed my worth just because you have a dick, byyyyyeeee~ During which year of your life were you the most unhappy? 2016 was hell on Earth for me. Have you ever seen a blue jay in person? I have. Do you like leaves better in the summer/spring, or in the fall? I'd like to meet someone that actually chooses anything besides fall, lol. Do you like the appearance of green eyes? YES! Do you typically like green-colored candies? Yessss. It's not rare for them to be my favorite flavor of whatever the thing is. Who is the most energetic and happy person you know of? My nephew, omg. Have you ever encountered a black widow? I actually have seen at least one to my memory. They're native here. Has an animal ever peed on you? Yes. Do you prefer green or purple/red grapes? I enjoy both, but I prefer green IF they're actually firm. What color is your birthstone? Purple. Why did you leave your house last? To go to the TMS office. I have to go there every day (but the weekends) for two months for treatment now. Is anything on your body sore? Well, inevitably my upper right arm, where my tattoo is. It looks so fucking beautiful redone though, it's all worth it. :') Have you ever eaten a cookie cake before? If so, was it good? Hell yeah man, cookie cakes are great. Do you lose interest in someone easily? I'm quite the opposite. Who was the last person you flirted with? Sara. Do you still talk to the person you fell the hardest for? No. Who’s the last person that slept over your house? My sister and her husband. Have you ever regretted kissing someone? Yes. Are you currently sad about anything? I mean, I always am about something. How would you feel if your last ex fell in love with someone else? I would be super happy for her. Who was the last person who left your life and hurt you? Colleen. Do you know anyone who died of breast cancer? I might know of somebody, but all I know personally are survivors. Do you miss any of your old friends? Well of course. Have you ever been used before? I don't know. Ever taken a picture kissing someone? Yes. What’s the last thing you and your sibling laughed about? I Don't know. I haven't seen either in some time. What’s the last thing you took a picture of? A meme to send Sara, haha. Do you listen to classical music? No. Do you tell your parents who you like? Why or why not? I mean, I don't just randomly bring it up because just being like "hey I like this person _____ now" seems weird. Now if I was asked or mentioning it is somehow relevant, then I will. Who’s the most annoying person in your neighborhood? The damn dog next door who never shuts up. Name one of your psycho exes? None. I was the "psycho ex," and it's embarrassing as shit. Do you make your own clothes and/or add designs to them on your own? No. Do you ever feel guilty eating meat? It's not something I always actively think about, but subconsciously, I absolutely always do. Especially knowing my family doesn't buy from "ethical" markets, but instead big ones. "Ethical" in quotations because there is no moral way to slaughter an animal for food, but at least there are smaller farmers who can give their livestock a better, cleaner, happier life. What are you listening to at the moment? I'm semi-watching Gab play Bioshock. I'd never seen the game before, so just kinda vicariously checking it out. Seems all right. Does anything hurt right now? My tattoo is definitely in the sore phase. It'll start scabbing soon. I literally can't stop looking at it, I love it so much. How many years have you lived at the house you’re living in right now? Around 1 1/2. Have you ever lived in a different country that the one you’re living in? No. Which of your parents will you see next? I live with my mom and rarely see my dad, so. Do you like Chinese food? Only pork fried rice and egg rolls, really. What sort of music were you brought up on? When all of us kids were very little, Mom would usually play her rock channels on the radio, sometimes a (clean) CD. She also would ensure to play kids' cassettes sometimes, too, like Raffy or whoever it was. Once Ashley reached a certain age, she would always ask for a pop channel to be put on, so most of my childhood was that and some country music, too.