#its a lot nicer than my current one

[karda]

ordered a new drawing tablet >_<!!!!! im so excited...

[itsclydebitches]

Hazbin Hotel: Let's Talk About Cursing!

Trigger warning for lots of cursing in this post (obviously) and discussion of canon abuse scenes

As I delve further into the Hazbin Hotel fandom, I’ve inevitably come across a variety of people who dislike the show for an equal variety of reasons. One criticism I’ve seen with some consistency is in regards to the cursing and yeah, I get it. That’s not going to be everyone’s cup of tea. However, the repeated claim that the cursing is only there as a—failed—attempt at bad, lazy humor got me thinking about why I personally liked the cursing, and why I think it serves a greater purpose in the show.

Now yes, some of the cursing does function as an arguably simplistic joke. The most common setup I’ve noticed is one that leans into a contrast in tone/personalities. We see this a lot with the polite, comparatively timid Charlie as she navigates her distinctly vulgar domain.

Charlie: “Hi, mister!” Demon: “Go fuck yourself!”

The entirety of “Happy Day in Hell” plays with this contrast, setting up Charlie’s slightly skewed, but significantly optimistic perspective of Hell. We are shown again and again how her lyrics are contradicted or twisted into something less innocent through the visuals: a “revealing” street where it’s “hard not to stare” has BDSM going on in a nearby window, Charlie will “open the door” for her people and then literally does so... for a guy who’s already dead. (Or, you know, temporarily out of commission until he heals, or whatever demons do when they’re ‘killed’ by things other than angelic steel.) The entire point here is to contrast the happy, skipping girl claiming that there’s a “warm, fuzzy feeling” in the air with the actual environment of unchecked fires and decaying limbs. And yes, that can be amusing. Not necessarily for everyone as humor is highly subjective and dependent on context, but distilling this contrast down to the shock of a polite greeting getting a “Go fuck yourself!” in response is a kind of entertainment. Especially when Charlie’s reaction adds another layer: for me that’s a very funny—and currently relatable—expression.

We can potentially make the case that this humor format overstays its welcome, but I personally think the show does a good job of keeping Charlie’s cursing both simple and comparatively rare, so that when she is put into these contrast situations the humor lands better. The best example I can think of in the latter half of the show is Susan. There we get the whiplash of polite, trying-to-get-these-people-to-like-her Charlie reaching a breaking point to become “FUCK YOU, YOU OLD BITCH” Charlie. It’s a moment that builds off of the earlier surprise of the courteous Alastor calling someone an “Ornery old bitch”—while Rosie is trying (and failing) to find a nicer way to phrase this.

However, as stated above I think the cursing serves more of a purpose than to just be funny for (some) viewers. Beyond those who simply find cursing distasteful, I’ve seen a fair bit of, “This is so stupid. No one even talks like that!” going around.

Except... I do? I talk like that.

See, I like cursing. I was born to former hippie parents and grew up playing MMOs, so cursing was something I became pretty acclimated to. Personally, I’m glad I was because I’m fascinated by language and cursing—for better or worse—is an integral way that many people communicate. I was taught to see cursing not as the Bad Forbidden Thing You Must Never Ever Do, but rather as just another form of expression, something to be used in moderation and under specific circumstances. Once I became an adult I already understood how I wanted to curse and when it was appropriate to do so. People at work are often shocked when I tell them I curse a lot because no, of course I’m not doing that at my job. That isn't considered professional in this space. Among my friends though?

We can sound a lot like the Hazbin crew.

Undoubtedly the most common curse in the show is “fuck” and its variations, which very much tracks with my personal experience among other people who curse. In fact, it’s so ubiquitous that it barely counts as a curse at all in some groups. It’s more of an easy, accepted way to add emphasis. Vaggie’s “What the fuck was that?” about Alastor’s commercial is a perfect example. She’s pissed and simply saying “What was that?” doesn’t carry the same weight, no matter how angry she may sound when she says it. Vox’s long “Fuuuuuuuck” at the end of “Stayed Gone” conveys an emotion you just can’t capture any other way. No dialogue at all would create a fundamentally different experience of Vox’s feelings and another non-cursing response is just gonna hit different. Not necessarily bad, just different.

“I don’t want to go to the party!” “I don’t want to go to the freaking party!” “I don’t want to go to the fucking party!”

The above represents three distinct characters to me and I think Hazbin Hotel gets that. Cursing isn’t thrown around randomly because something something cursing supposedly sells; it’s all linguistically logical. Characters curse when something surprising or bad happens, or when something unexpectedly good happens, when they’re angry, trying to be sexy, or they want to add that emphasis. That’s a lot of different situations where cursing can be useful and when you use “fuck” in your daily life a lot you become pretty desensitized to it. As said, for many it’s barely a curse at all. Which means that when you really want to curse you’ve got to up the ante. It doesn’t surprise me one bit that the two uses of “cunt” I can recall—a word that is generally considered far worse than “fuck” and makes a lot of people understandably uncomfortable—is used by two of the worst characters in moments that are meant to horrify the viewer:

Adam: “Can’t wait a whole year to slaughter those little cunts / I know it’s just been a week, but we’ll be back in six months!” Valentino: “When I say you’d better get that fucking cunt out of my studio, you say...?”

This horror is especially emphasized in Valentino’s scene. The creators know this word is coming up and deliberately build towards it. Angel is currently being abused and has been reminded that Valentino “owns” him. The above question is a part of a trio that Valentino asks (a standard structure in writing), wherein the third option is the outlier/most shocking of the three. The animation leans into that shock, with the music building and Valentino grabbing Angel to pull him close right on the word “cunt.” Perez even puts emphasis there because he knows that this is a significant word that will change our understanding of Valentino.

Despite having hit Angel multiple times and taunting him with the contract, this is the moment Valentino stops playing the ‘nice’ employer. This is the real him. No more fake compliments and endearments aimed at Charlie, no more fake comfort/intimacy aimed at Angel. That “cunt” conveys a hell of a lot about how Valentino really sees them and when you have a cast of characters who are already cursing on the regular, it takes a word on that level to do that kind of work. If Valentino had said, “get that fucking bitch out of my studio” it wouldn’t have had nearly the same impact because he’s the kind of guy who uses "bitch" even when playing ‘nice.’

Adam’s line from “Hell is Forever” does very similar work. The scene needs a word to align with the horrific reveal that another extermination is just six months away, that conveys Adam’s deep disgust for Charlie’s people, and that still catches the viewer’s attention even though he’s the character (I believe) who curses the most. Here the music drops and Adam is a little closer to speaking than singing; there's this shift because, like with Valentino, our perception of him is shifting. This isn’t just some egotistical idiot who wants to be called “Dick Master,” he’s the leader of an army coming to gleefully kill them. Framing a whole world of people—people Charlie loves—as “cunts” while treating their murder as a holiday that can’t come soon enough creates an, 'Oh shit. This guy is actually a threat' understanding that you can’t quite get with anything else.

On a smaller scale, cursing does other character work throughout the whole show. I watched a number of cursing compilation vids for this meta (that was a trip lol) and again, cursing is not thrown in randomly. Each character has a unique way of cursing that aligns with their personality and motivations:

As said, Adam curses the most in the show which helps sell his truly over-the-top, irreverent personality. Linguistically, the amount he curses also allows for some fun grammatical play. Lines like, “Fucking love putting my name on shit, shit’s the best!” help convey the versatility of cursing.

Also as said, Charlie curses a fair bit but she’s comparatively polite and her cursing tends to be a result of genuinely big emotions—like saying “Crap” when she’s shocked and falls, or “Shit!” when Adam locks her out of the room—rather than sprinkled into her conversations as a modifier. That leaves space to create those moments of amused surprise when Charlie really let’s loose.

Sr Pentious curses even less than Charlie which fits his secretly gooey center. He talks a big game at the start of the show, but he’s actually quite bad at being, well, bad (especially the Amazon version compared to pilot!Pentious). His idea of getting one over on Alastor is ripping a bit of his coat. He loves his Egg Bois and “doesn’t want to live” without them. He has no desire to go into battle without minions/a big machine to hide behind and, of course, he’s the first to be redeemed. He's too much of a secret sweetheart to curse a lot.

Interestingly, Niffty doesn’t seem to curse at all. At least, not enough for me to think of examples off the top of my head. Right now I’m inclined to read that as an extension of her lived experiences/design—the cute 1950’s housewife archetype who is obsessed with keeping things clean doesn’t [gasp!] curse—as well as a way to maintain her legitimate creep factor. As said, cursing is common among the hotel residents and is a way for them to linguistically fit in. Niffty, however, is positioned more as an outsider (despite how much they all obviously love her): she’s actually scary in a way most demons aren’t and despite how weird this whole world is, she stands out as someone no one else can make sense of (even Alastor). If cursing is normal, Niffty is a character who is decidedly positioned as not normal.

Angel curses a fair bit, though his irreverence is conveyed more through innuendos. Angel is great at verbally twisting others’ words (especially Husk’s) to give himself a conversational advantage:

Husk: “Go fuck yourself” Angel: “Only if you watch me~”

Husk: “You’ve come—” Angel: [very loud orgasm noise] Husk: “...to the right place.”

Meanwhile, Husk uses “fuck” plenty, but he’s also one of the few characters who use “bullshit" too. I wouldn’t say there’s anything particularly revealing about that choice, but just giving him a go-to curse that’s otherwise used infrequently helps make his character distinct in a cast of other cursing characters.

Vaggie occasionally curses in Spanish, showing us her heritage if she used to be human, or a distinct knowledge/verbal preference if she’s always been an angel.

Heaven, as the ‘good’ side, doesn’t curse as a general rule, which leaves room for cursing to do more of that silent character work. We’re reminded of the stuffy, overly critical beings she’s dealing with when Charlie receives the combined judgement of the court for saying, “Fuck yeah!” In contrast, we understand just how shocked St. Peter is to see a Morningstar when he lets out an unintentional “Fuck!” The angry vindication of Charlie’s “That’s what the fuck I’ve been saying!” lands harder after multiple scenes of very little cursing, and Lute’s “Some crack-whore who fucked up already? / He blew his shot like the cocks in his mouth—” helps set her apart as an exorcist + Adam's second in command: her shocking violence comes through in her word choice too; words that supposedly don't belong in Heaven.

In what’s arguably the funniest line in the whole show, Lucifer undermines his dramatic standoff with Adam by going, “You mess with my daughter and now I’m going to fuck you.” Beyond just cutting the tension, that fits his bumbling, oblivious personality perfectly. Lucifer is crazy powerful and can absolutely wreck Adam. He also has none of the classy intimidation that, say, Alastor displays when he tries to convey that. This is a depressed himbo who makes ducks in his free time and settles on, “Hey, bitch!” when greeting his estranged daughter. Of course he’s going to accidentally turn a threat into a promise of sex.

Which finally brings me to Alastor, someone whose cursing is already understood well by the fandom. He’s characterized as manipulatively courteous, using manners to both hide his true nature and draw attention to his power—’You’re so beneath me I’ll just calmly sip my coffee and politely ask who you are, despite the fact that we've fought multiple times.’ This is a guy who calls people “My dear” and unironically insults them with the phrase “wacky nonsense.” So when he curses you can BET it’s gonna have an impact. It sure did for me. I had to pause the episode after Alastor’s first “Fuck you” because it was so shocking to hear that language from him. And that’s the point! The scene wants that reaction from the audience. The "Fuck you"s visceral anger contrasting the fake laughs he and Lucifer have been giving, the quick-fire exchange that’s suddenly cut short by Alastor’s choice of a direct insult, the fact that he’s officially dropping the polite veneer they’ve both been indulging in and raising the stakes before Charlie intervenes, the loss of the radio filter that otherwise demonstrates his control over a situation... all of it screams, ‘THIS IS AN IMPORTANT CHARACTER MOMENT.’

"Fuck you” reveals that, for the first time in the show, Alastor is legitimately threatened by someone. Which makes sense given that, you know, Lucifer is the King of Hell. Cursing for Alastor isn’t normal, so when he does curse it’s going to reveal something about a guy who otherwise is obsessed with being unknowable. Having the King of Hell dismiss him is actually infuriating in a way Sir Pentious’ threats could never be and the exchange kicks off a rivalry that rattles Alastor in ways Vox’s never has. (Side note: is it any wonder people ship them? Character A making control freak Character B feel vulnerable is classic!) It’s no surprise to me than that the one other true curse we get from Alastor is, “I’m about to end your fucking life,” delivered to Adam who, like Lucifer, poses a legitimate threat and does end up beating him. I say “true” curse because calling Susan a “bitch” does similar work for him, but the takeaway is humorous rather than dramatic. It’s funny that the only people who can piss Alastor off enough to curse are the First Man/a powerful exorcist angel threatening his life, the literal King of Hell... and Susan.

So there’s a lot going on here, more than what many viewers might assume if they approach the show as just “stupid,” needlessly vulgar entertainment. As shown above, I don’t think the cursing is needless, especially given that, well... they’re in Hell. They’re sinners, supposedly the worst that humanity has to offer, so of course they're going to curse a lot. Does cursing mean you’re a bad person? No. Can you craft a hellish world that doesn't rely on cursing to convey a group's immoral nature? Sure.

Does it make sense that a writer would equate a sinful, irreverent cast with linguistic rebellion and would want to convey a certain vibe that, frankly, you just can’t get without dropping an F bomb?

Yeah, I think so. No one has to like that kind of creative decision, but it’s worth acknowledging it as a deliberate choice.

That’s all! Thanks for reading this fucking long post ✌️

[terribleinfluence-tour]

I will phrase this nicer than i did in my own blog, but please if some of you could be a little more patient with us around finding preshows and the quality of them.

The preshow i reblogged early was the first one i found when i woke up this morning and i didn’t listen to it i just posted it. I’m very sorry that the audio quality wasn’t up to standard HOWEVER this blog is an archive of all things tit related, that means we are archiving everything including ‘bad audios’ because it serves as part of the tours legacy.

I am forever grateful to anyone who has recorded any audio of the show and preshow and any videos of the preshow, and i think some of you should be grateful too because the people doing this don’t have to but they do!

I just want to give you guys an idea of my day during tour so you can understand why I can’t always post the best audio or a film video first thing in the day.

I work 40 hours a week, I am not currently in the right timezone, most of the things happening with tit right now are while i’m sleeping.

I currently wake up at 8am, i have a quick look through tumblr and twitter and i post whatever i find, i have 30 minutes to get ready for work in the morning and i genuinely spend 15 of that on this blog. I then go to work. sometimes throughout the day I will check to see if anything new has appeared (there’s normally about 2 audios and a video by then) I take a quick break from my job to post those and then i go back to work. When i finish work i check twitter and tumblr again and then I go through m&gs and i screenshot them all and post them, this takes a few hours. (sometimes peyton will do this and that’s very helpful) I then go to sleep and the cycle starts again.

Running this blog is literally a second job. It’s hard work and it takes up a lot of my time, the blog is nowhere near even at its potential yet, i have so many pages etc planned that i barely have time for.

I am trying my best, i love updating this blog and I am so committed to it. All i ask in return is a little patience and a little less condescension from some people.

I love you all!

Bethanie

[doodledrawsthings]

Hello, I'm currently in an art class and I'm taking storyboarding. I noticed that people draw their storyboards in VASTLY different ways. Some people draw it super rough and minimalistic while I've seen others with super fleshed out and cleaned panels that boggle my MIND. I remembered that you're an actual storyboarder in the industry so I wanted to ask which style tends to work better or is more is more popular among studios? Sorry if this question came out of nowhere :/

(Also I've recently been admiring how you do line art in your art in particular its very thin and clean :]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]] )

It really depends on the project you’re working on. The boards I did at CN were allowed to be a lot more loose than the boards I did at Rough Draft.

In my opinion, boards should lean more on the loose side so as not to stress out the artist, but due to industry trends it seems like cleaner ones are becoming more and more common. Although I do think a lot of the time, the super clean boards you’ll stumble upon on Twitter would probably/ hopefully have gone through layout and revisions to make them look as clean as they do.

Based on what I learned, though, what I think matters most about boarding is clarity. Are the boards legible and is it easy to tell what’s going on, which characters are on screen, who’s talking, where they are, etc? Are things consistent or are you breaking 180 rule too much or trying to do too many complicated things where something simpler would be more efficient or effective? At CNS Academy I was told that I should judge how much time I put into drawings based on how important they are to the scene. (i.e. this close up or establishing shot is important to the tone of the scene and lasts a couple seconds longer than the very quick shot of the character speaking coming up next, so I will put more effort into making the former shot look nicer, because it’s more specific.)

Important to keep in mind no matter how loose or clean your boards are.

[sserpente]

A/N: Billy Hargrove and a mistletoe. There was no way I wasn’t going to write this.

Words: 1014 Warnings: mentions of bullying

The way to the kitchen was blocked. Well, not really. But there was someone leaning against the threshold that you, under all possible circumstances, whatsoever, were keen to avoid.

All you wanted was some more mulled wine. You’d need an awful lot more in order to get drunk on the hot beverage but you were determined and you were thirsty.

So get it together. High school is over! Mentally slapping yourself, you shook your head and fought yourself a way through the partying crowd in the hallway. Push past, don’t look him in the eye, ignore him, pretend you didn’t see him… it should have been easy. With your heart in your mouth, you turned sideways to fit through the door—a significantly hard task when two people were casually conversing right in its middle—until you were stopped by a strong arm stopping you from entering the kitchen like a bloody human barrier.

“Whoops.”

The nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach only intensified when he spoke up. He was taller than you, of course, looking down at you with an amused expression on his face. His outfit… not only was it unsuitable for the current weather conditions but also direly inappropriate for a Christmas party. And who wore a leather jacket without a shirt on anyway? And why did he have to be so shredded? You knew he worked out but Jesus H. Christ… up close, that six-pack looked even more defined. Why was it always the arseholes who were this attractive? Why couldn’t it be the nice guy next door, the one who took your mail in when you weren’t home?

No, it had to be Billy fucking Hargrove, your own personal high school bully who’d tried to make your life a living hell. Well… more or less. In fact, you were pretty certain he was the very reason you were still single. If Billy Hargrove told you not to date a girl… you didn’t. That’s just how Hawkins worked since the fucker moved here from sunny California.

“Let me through, Billy.”

“You didn’t follow the rules.”

You rolled your eyes. You had no idea what he was on about but you were already getting annoyed. Should have climbed through the bloody window instead.

“Seriously, all I want is some mulled wine. I won’t let my festive mood be spoiled today, least of all by my school bully.”

“Are you kidding me?” He added your name at the end, making you swallow. He never used your name. It’d only ever been nicknames—teasing nicknames that’d had you seethe. “I wasn’t bullying you.”

“Of course not. What else would you call it then, huh?”

“What, are you that daft? I wanted to get with you so bad the whole fucking school knew.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Oh yeah. You embarrassed me quite a bit, doll. You were the only girl at school who resisted my charms.”

“Charms is a strong word.” You didn’t believe him. Not a word. Or did you? You bit your lower lip. You’d seen him bully others. He’d gotten into physical fights more often than you could count. He’d never… insulted you either, just… teased you relentlessly? The closest you’d come to a physical attack had been when he’d knocked your books from your hands on Halloween. Come to think of it, he’d said the exact same word he’d said to you just now back then when—

“Whoops.” Billy’s shit-eating grin grew wider when you tried to slip past him again. Without any effort whatsoever, his arm came up to block your way yet again no matter how hard you pushed against him.

“Whatever. Should have treated me nicer then… if that was true.” But part of you couldn’t help but wonder… if it was. You thrust forward yet again, eager to escape the situation.

“A-ah. I’m afraid you’re still gonna have to follow the rules, doll.”

“What rules?” you spat, refraining from rolling your eyes at him. Billy smirked with his mouth slightly open, his gaze travelling up above your head. A fucking mistletoe. Of course.

“After all, it’s Christmas.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?” He grinned. “Are you afraid it could be…”—he leaned in closer, lowering his voice—“…good?”

“I have absolutely no desire—and I mean no desire—to kiss you.” And that was a fucking lie. You’d wondered often enough if he really was as good as the girls whispering about his many talents in the bedroom said he was.

He didn’t listen to you anyway because before you could turn away and flee, his lips were on yours. It wasn’t just a quick peck. Hell, you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to. Billy wrapped his arms around you in an instant, his palms resting on your hips dangerously close to your bum, keeping you close. Much to your dismay… your eyes fell shut. The sucker knew what he was doing—and he made it so easy for you to kiss him back.

It was a combination of the cheering that got loud around you with a start and his tongue that teasingly slid against your bottom lip that made you break the kiss before it could escalate.

“Looks like she wasn’t immune to your charms, after all, Hargrove!”

You raised an eyebrow, bending back to create some distance between you. “You’re gonna have to do an awful lot more than kiss me underneath the mistletoe if you want to convince me.”

Billy grinned. “Shall we say eight, then? Tomorrow? There’s a nice restaurant just outside of Hawkins I’m sure you’ll love.”

You considered it for a moment. What could possibly go wrong? A, this could be a terrible prank. B, he could kidnap you and chop you to pieces in the woods, or C… he meant it. You sighed.

“Fine. Don’t make me regret this.”

“That’s what I’m talking about, baby. Wear something pretty. I’ll come pick you up.”

“Uh-huh.” You pushed past him again and this time, he let you through. Yeah. You definitely needed more mulled wine after this.

[joshenstein]

Can you tell us more about Penelope?? She’s soooo pretty I love her, what is she like personality wise?

SHES PRETTY BUT SHES MEEEAAAN !! SHES SOOOO MEAN …. SHE ONLY LIKES PEOPLE THAT FIT HER STANDARD OF “ ATTRACTIVE “ AND WILL BE SO CRUEL TO OTHERS THAT DONT . SHE KNOWS SHES CUTE AND THAT SHES ABLE TO GET AWAY WITH A LOT OF STUFF BECAUSE OF IT ( SHES ALSO GOOD AT MANIPULATING PEOPLE WITH PRETENDING SHES NICER THAN SHE ACTUALLY IS )

SHE LOVES CANDY ESPECIALLY GUMMY WORMS AND LOVES TO USE HER FUNNY FLIP PHONE

SHES A VERY GENERIC MEAN GIRL AT HER CORE . SHE THINKS SHES OWED EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING IF SHE WANTS IT , SHE BELIEVES EVERYONE EITHER IS IN LOVE WITH HER OR IF THEU DONT LIKE HER ITS CAUSE THEYRE JEALOUS , SHE USES PEOPLE AND WILL DROP THEM IF THEYRE NO LONGER USEFUL OR IF SHE FINDS SOMEONE “ BETTER “ , SHE WILL THREATEN TO KILL HERSELF AND OTHERS IF HER CURRENT BOYFRIEND TALKS TO OTHER GIRLS OR ANYTHING OF THE SORT . SHES ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHO WILL LOSE THEIR SHIT IF THEIR PARTNER LOOKS AT THEM WRONG OR IF THEIR TONE SHIFTS , AND IF THEY EVEN DARE EVEN THINK OF BREAKING UP WITH THEM ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE !!! ( ONE OF MY FRIENDS OCS IS ONE OF HER EXES AND HE HAD TO FLEE FROM WHERE HE LIVED )

[alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody]

kinktober #21

Chained Up ⛓️ / Silky Soft 💕

One day, in another world not far off, unburdened by such things as “lease agreements” and “student loans,” Marcille and Falin will live closer together. They’ll have a dreamy little two-bed full of plants and terrariums and soft colors, and they’ll take turns cooking dinner and Marcille will volunteer far more often than it’s her turn because cooking is her favorite form of magic and she likes knowing that Falin is well-fed.  

But until then, she’s stuck rollerblading across town with a dozen eggs in her backpack, precariously padded by a t-shirt, boxers, sleep socks, and tomorrow’s clothes. The grocery store near Falin’s place isn’t as nice as the one near Marcille’s, and the eggs there are always either sold out or smashed in their cardboard nests, so she’s resorted to bringing her own if she really needs them. Falin won’t eat them on her own, but Marcille can hard-boil the rest while she bakes tonight and keep them in the work fridge for her lunch all week. Her job at the university library — well, that and Falin’s graduate courses — are what brought them together in the first place; Falin is in one of those fancy master’s programs where they pay you to study, which is great because studying is objectively what Falin’s best at. Marcille is a good librarian but a better researcher, but research doesn't pay the bills.

Falin's got an evening class tonight, so Marcille lets herself in with the spare key under the large ceramic frog on the front porch. When they’d found it at a yard sale, its paint was grayish-brown and flaking off, and Falin took it upon herself to repaint it with a startling degree of accuracy as a North American leopard frog. 

She throws the eggs in the fridge, peels off her pads, leggings, and hoodie, and takes a quick, brutal shower — Falin has the nicer apartment but the worse hot water system — before changing into her comfy clothes and hanging her skate clothes on the couple feet of clothesline she and Falin rigged on the tiny back porch to air out in the crisp October breeze. Then she ties up her wet hair and sets up shop in Falin’s galley kitchen, separating her eggs, zesting a lemon, and lining up the other ingredients with their corresponding measuring cups and spoons. 

She’s made plenty of chiffon cakes by now, and she falls into the rhythm of it as she bops along to the K-pop playing from her phone. While the cake bakes and the rest of her eggs boil, she starts on a whipped cream frosting and adds a packet of the instant vanilla pudding mix Falin keeps around for emergencies to stabilize it.

By the time Falin comes home, the cake is done and frosted and the boiled eggs are safely ensconced in an airtight container, and fortunately the kitchen smells a lot more like the former than the latter. “Surprise!” exclaims Marcille as Falin steps toward the kitchen, and Falin’s face lights with a grin. 

“I didn’t know you were coming so early! What’s the cake for? It looks amazing.”

“Special occasion,” beams Marcille. “Guess.”

“It’s not our anniversary,” says Falin, puzzled. “That’s not for another couple of weeks. What’s today?”

Marcille takes her in her arms and pulls her in close. Falin’s current favorite soap is somewhere between basil and mint, green and leafy, and Marcille thinks she always smells like a bright summer day. “A year ago today,” she says, the tip of her nose just brushing Falin’s, “we held hands for the first time.”

“Oh, my gosh,” says Falin, laughing. “On the boardwalk? When I kept falling over on my skates?”

“Yes,” says Marcille, twirling her around. “We did technically hold hands, because I had to keep you upright somehow. And we decided it was technically our first date later! So it counts!”

“It counts, it counts,” Falin agrees. “I just can’t believe you remembered what day that was.” She drops her backpack by the door and kicks off her brown loafers. Her navy slacks hug her plump legs, and her cream-colored sweater has caramel-colored suede patches sewn over the elbows. A slim headband holds her hair back from her face, and she looks so cute and textbook-scholarly that she’s hard to look at dead-on. “Let me change and then we can have cake?”

Marcille nods. “Did you have dinner?” she calls after Falin as she starts down the hall.

“Cake is dinner!” Falin yells back, and Marcille rolls her eyes affectionately. Not that she can really fault her. Falin’s learned by now that Marcille is clinically incapable of serving her just a single slice of cake, and Marcille has learned, to her profound dismay, that Falin is deep in the habit of forgetting about food when she could be doing school instead. Hence the emergency pudding packets, emergency instant mac and cheese cups, and emergency Pop-Tarts in the cabinet. Marcille has made it her mission to create a life for Falin where she doesn’t have to think about what she’s going to eat because Marcille has already thought about it for her and made it appear in front of her, but it would be a lot easier to do from the same apartment.

While Falin changes, she rinses some blackberries from the farmer’s market in the park nearby and sets them out in a dish, then gets out the sparkling wine she specifically planted in the back of Falin’s musty liquor-and-specimen-but-mostly-specimen cabinet a few weeks ago. Tonight has been in the works for months, not because Marcille feels especially strongly about celebrating minor dates, fun as that is, but because that day on the boardwalk, the two of them dissolving into giggles as Falin lost her balance over and over again, was the day she knew that what she felt for Falin was unlike what she’d felt for anyone else. She wanted to go over every bump in the road just like this for the rest of their lives, hand in hand and laughing. 

Falin appears in the doorway just as Marcille is pouring wine into plastic champagne flutes she’s had squirreled away behind the baking dishes for at least a month and a half. She looks resplendent in a white tank top that shows off her pillowy upper arms and incredible boobs and barely covers her wide, plush belly. Her lavender sleep shorts are patterned with little dragonflies and only fall to the tops of her plump, dimpled thighs, and Marcille can see every pink stretch mark, every delicate fold on her soft, creamy skin. 

“The wine!” says Falin, pointing, and Marcille yelps as she realizes she’s pouring sparkling rosé all over the table.

“Shit! Ah!” She sets down the wine and dives for paper towels, and Falin grabs the dishtowel from the hook by the sink. 

“Well, at least it was cheap wine,” says Marcille, mopping up the spill and tossing the sopping paper towels into the trash. “Sorry, I was momentarily blinded by your beauty.”

Falin beams and does a little curtsy thing with the edges of her shorts. None of these clothes are new, they’re things Marcille has seen her wear a thousand times, but they still take her breath away. The way the shorts tug around the abundant curves of her hips and backside, the little hint of stretch-marked cleavage she can see above the dip of her tank top’s neckline, the way the fabric clings just enough for her to see each roll of Falin’s ample belly when she sits —

“Sit, sit!” says Marcille, scooting the less-full glass in front of Falin and heading back to the kitchen for the cake. “And you’d better eat some blackberries, too, so we can agree that this is a multi-food group meal.”

“Already on it!”

“Good.” Feeling grand despite her new-hire orientation university t-shirt, boxers from the men’s section, and slouchy socks, she carries out the cake and sets it triumphantly in the center of their little folding table. “Voilà!” she proclaims, and Falin gives her a smattering of light applause.

“Thank you, thank you,” she says, taking a bow before ducking back to the kitchen for the cake knife. “All right, say when.”

She makes the first cut into the cake, then moves her knife to signify a larger and larger hypothetical slice.

“Yes,” says Falin blithely when the knife has moved to about a quarter of the way around the cake. Marcille almost drops the knife.

“Really?”

“Sure,” says Falin with an angelic smile. “I didn’t eat dinner. I had a Pop-Tart for lunch. Why not?”

“I packed you lunch!”

Falin shrugs. “I ate it when I got up this morning. I didn’t feel like making something else.”

“I swear to god,” says Marcille, pointing a fork at her playfully. “One of these days I am going to get you eating three meals a day.”

Falin flutters her eyelashes — clumsily, which is all the more endearing. “Please! I would love three meals a day. I just don’t want to make them.”

Marcille grumbles good-naturedly and heaves Falin’s quarter of the cake onto her plate. “Thank you!” Falin chirps, sprinkling blackberries over it. 

She cuts herself a slice and waits for Falin to take a bite, and she isn’t disappointed when she does. Falin’s eyes flutter closed, and she makes a soft, tender sound that kick Marcille’s feet out from under her, even sitting down. 

“Oh, Marcille,” Falin breathes. “This is so, so good.”

Marcille beams. “Good! The way you looked when you tasted it is the way you make me feel.”

“How did I look?”

Marcille makes what must be a poor approximation of Falin’s pleasure, because Falin bursts out laughing. “Is that how I make you feel?”

“Listen!” yelps Marcille, but she can’t help laughing too. “Just take my word for it, okay? You made a really cute face!”

“Well, you made a really good cake,” Falin returns, taking a tiny sip of sparkling wine. “Oh, that’s nice! Fruity.”

“You’re nice and fruity.”

Falin wrinkles her nose in a laugh, but the gesture is interrupted by a hiccup. “So are you, but you’re easier to swallow.”

Clearly Falin did skip some meals today, because she finishes her chunk of cake in record time and pushes her empty plate back to Marcille. “A little more, please?” she says sweetly, and obviously Marcille says yes.

“Another quarter, or a … half of a quarter?”

“That’s an eighth,” Falin corrects. “But maybe another quarter. I kind of like the idea of eating half a cake. It sounds like it should be hyperbole.”

Marcille, unable to help herself, says, “You sound like you should be hyperbole.”

“Yes,” says Falin, palming her belly where it bumps the edge of the table, “I am subject to amplification, it’s true.”

She grins while Marcille makes disgruntled noises and plates her second piece of cake. Falin takes more blackberries, and she hiccups again when she takes another sip of wine. She tells Marcille how her classes went today, and Marcille tells her about the silent drama two students have been waging by taking out and returning the same novel with notes in it over and over again. 

Finally, Falin sets her fork on her empty plate and leans back in her seat, eyes closing happily. “That was so good, Marcille. Thank you.”

“Any time,” says Marcille, coming around to take her plate and drop a surprise kiss on her cheek. “Always. Did you have enough?”

Falin nods, resting her hands on the crest of her belly. “Mmm-hmmm.”

“I’ll wrap up the rest of the cake,” says Marcille, stroking through Falin’s hair. “You go get comfy in bed and we can cuddle for a bit?”

“I’d love that,” says Falin, stretching her arms over her head. One hand on the cake plate, Marcille reaches down with the other to jiggle the soft, perfect roll of belly that falls out from beneath her shirt.

“Sorry, couldn’t help it!” she says, dancing away as Falin laughs and grabs for her hand. “Go to bed! I’ll be right there!”

She wraps the cake at the speed of light and swallows the last of her wine, then practically sprints across the small apartment to Falin’s bedroom. Falin’s propped up on a couple of pillows, which is probably prudent given the amount of cake she just ate, and she looks so lovely, like it’s unfathomable that someone could have even invented the word lovely without first seeing her. 

Marcille dives into bed next to her, jostling the mattress enough to make Falin’s body jiggle. “Hi,” she says, brushing her flyaways out of her face. Falin laughs and cups Marcille’s face in one soft, warm hand.

“Hi,” she says. “Come here.”

Marcille cuddles up next to her and leans her head on Falin’s shoulder, one hand creeping under her white tank top. Her belly is so perfectly doughy, soft and springy like the beginnings of bread or buns, and Marcille wobbles gently as she lies against her, breathing in her fresh, green smell and scalp prickling as Falin strokes her hair.

She slips her hand just below the line of Falin’s sensible cotton underwear, where there’s the silkiest slip of skin Marcille has ever had the mind-melting pleasure of running her fingertips over. She sighs gently, and Falin’s body moves with a laugh.

“Did you find the spot?”

“Yeah,” says Marcille dreamily. She runs her hand down Falin’s thigh, carefully squishing the thick, dimpled fat at their backs, then walking her hand back up so she can start again. “Your body’s so good. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” says Falin, pulling one of Marcille’s hands up to kiss the back. “I love that you remembered which day we first held hands. That was a really nice day.”

“Yeah, it was.” Marcille idly plays with the soft flab of Falin’s upper arms. “I could have sat at that little ice cream shack with you forever.”

Falin nods. “I barely even noticed how cold it was because I was having so much fun with you.”

Marcille nuzzles her face into Falin’s arm. “You were the one who suggested ice cream!”

“It’s never too cold for ice cream!”

“Okay, okay, fair.” Marcille rubs her socked feet against each other, trying to warm them up a little. “Hey, I know there’s still a while before your lease renews, but —”

“But you want to move in?” asks Falin, eyes bright, and Marcille nods.

“I know we sort of talked about it a few times, but I didn’t want to —”

“Yes!” says Falin, sitting up a little straighter. “Yes, yes. Even if I have to pack everything up and find somewhere new, I want you to be with me.”

Marcille feels like that bottle of sparkling wine, thrilling and fizzing with pleasure. “Perfect,” she says, snuggling close to Falin. “I can’t wait.”

[jujumin-translates]

★ Main Story | Act 13 - Budding Spring | Chapter 10 - Forced to the Starting Gate

Itaru: (I think it’s about time to head out… ah, right.)

Itaru: (Now that I’ve got a rough idea of our performance schedule, I’d better apply for paid leave before I forget.)

Boss: Chigasaki-kun, may I borrow you for fifteen minutes?

Itaru: --Of course.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Boss: It appears you’re all here.

Itaru: (Looks like there’s a few of my colleagues… and a handful of younger guys too.)

Boss: I called you all here to ask if you’d be interested in participating in an urban development project that our company is currently working on.

Boss: The project itself is already in its final stages, so what we’d like from you is to provide support in the form of an induction course.

Itaru: (So this is that large-scale overseas urban development project. The one about creating a theater establishment and developing the surrounding area to be a center of arts and culture…)

Itaru: (I checked out the outline since it was related to theater and sounded interesting.)

Boss: It’s not mandatory, of course. It would just be something to do alongside your current jobs.

Boss: That said… there is a reason you all were chosen specifically.

Boss: As individuals who are important to the company’s future, I truly hope you consider becoming core members of this next project.

Itaru: (Eight racehorses competing in the promotion race line up at the gate. Favored to win is Communication Skills Demon, but My Parents Are Absolutely Loaded is also attracting quite a lot of attention.)

Coworker A: I’ll do my best to meet your expectations.

Coworker B: I’ve been interested in this project for quite some time now, so I’m honored to be part of it!

Itaru: (The gate has opened and both of the favored horses have taken off running.)

Coworker C: Considering the state of my current workload, I should be able to participate in the induction course.

Itaru: I… sorry, can I have a little more time to think about it?

Itaru: (If it weren’t for the timing, I probably would’ve been all in, but…)

Itaru: (Honestly, I’m so busy with the troupe and the Fleur Award right now that I just don’t have time to think about anything else.)

Boss: …Ah, because you have your own theater company to worry about, right, Chigasaki-kun? Please do consider it based on your schedule with that in mind.

Boss: However, the theme of this urban development project is the arts, which is why the other team members were really hoping to work with you, Chigasaki-kun.

Coworker A: …

Itaru: I thank them for considering me.

Boss: I’ll set up another opportunity at a later date to explain more on what the induction course entails and to introduce the project’s team members. I hope to see you there.

Itaru: I will seriously consider it.

*Door closes*

Itaru: …

Coworker B: He seriously can’t just say he’ll consider it and then refuse.

Coworker C: Must be nice being in a position where you can just quit the company if worse comes to worst.

Coworker A: Well, it is a popular theater company, and the fact that it’s generally well-known definitely doesn’t make it any easier for the company to deal with him.

Itaru: …

Itaru: (If you’re gonna say it, at least do it behind my back.)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Chikage: I’m so sorry, but my hands are full at the moment.

Company Employee A: I see. I apologize for dropping it on you so suddenly.

Chikage: Let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with.

Itaru: …

Itaru: Wanna head somewhere a little nicer, Senpai?

Chikage: …I don’t even want to try and guess where that might be, but go on.

Itaru: The hell is that supposed to mean?

Chikage: Haah, I suppose I can’t say no. I’ll go with you.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*Punching SFX*

Itaru: Start by cheesing it and then follow that up with a double finishing move and K.O.! Man, is there any greater high than this?

Chikage: If you’re going to try and hide the way you actually feel, do it a little better.

Itaru: …Ughh, this is so stupid. Why can’t it just be the people who actually wanna be part of the promotion race at the starting gate?

Itaru: I mean, they should dip if they don’t wanna do it. Directing hate at me isn’t gonna go anything.

Itaru: There’s supposed to be a fine line between noobs like them and a mid-tierer like me. Why is it that the more of a mid-ranker you are, the less human rights you get?

Chikage: There aren’t really that many mid-level people to begin with.

Itaru: The company knows what to expect from the “Elite Chigasaki-san”. That’s why they’re hiring guys fresh out of college to steadily raise them into the perfect corporate slaves.

Itaru: I get why my colleagues are so desperate to advance their careers by using their outer appearances and mild manners to do so.

Itaru: From their point of view, it’s gotta be infuriating to see a guy who acts so carelessly while chasing after both theater and a career.

Itaru: And hit ‘em with a triple combo finisher-- But I’m just trying to figure out where I stand, so just eff off.

Itaru: Must be nice for you, Senpai. You go overseas a lot and get to level up your career stats in the least complicated way possible.

Itaru: And the things people say about you aren’t nearly as harsh, either.

Itaru: Me, on the other hand, I’m just stuck being the “can-do guy” who does a little better than decent work around the office.

Itaru: At the end of the day, I’m just a mediocre handyman at best.

Itaru: Even if I’m not being treated like the favorite, I still don’t slack off with my work. I may not be the most motivated, but I’d like to think I’m still doing everything I’m supposed to.

Chikage: You sure move your mouth and your hands a lot.

Itaru: What am I even trying to do in the first place?

Itaru: Should I sell my soul and become a corporate slave like you, and aim so high that no one can ever possibly complain about me not being good enough, or should I try and attain a rank that’s purely “Itaru Chigasaki”?

Chikage: Dad jokes and pro-level dodging techniques, huh? (1)

Chikage: Anyway, shouldn’t your first step be thinking about what you want for yourself?

Itaru: What I want… Well, I guess just to maintain the status quo so I don’t have to deal with everyone’s complaints about me… No, actually, maybe I want to speedrun my way to early retirement with passive income…?

Chikage: Then stop spending money on pulls and start investing.

Itaru: Absolutely not.

Itaru: …I originally chose this job based on the benefits and was lucky enough just to get in, so it’s not like I have any real desire to climb the corporate ladder.

Itaru: Most of the troupe have more than one thing on their hand, but they all have dreams and love what they do.

Itaru: And then there’s me who’s job is just a source of income. I feel like I really don’t have a whole lot to bring back to the troupe.

Itaru: It’s an important time for Spring Troupe to compete, and here I am getting caught up in a promotion race while all my coworkers talk behind my back.

Chikage: So you’re in a position where your hobby is more useful to the troupe.

Itaru: Exactly. To be honest, I wonder if there’s even any point in me continuing to be an office worker, but I don’t have the backbone or the self-confidence to just quit and do theater as my full-time job.

Itaru: Basically, I just wanna have something to fall back on.

Itaru: Ugh~, who would’ve thought I’d still be having these kinds of student problems even now… You ever think about this kinda stuff, Senpai?

Chikage: Well… there’s a variety of upsides to my job.

Itaru: A variety?

Chikage: A variety.

Itaru: Oh, okay. By all means, don’t elaborate or anything.

Chikage: No matter where you are, there are always two sides to things. There’s the side where you’re appreciated and the side where you’re disrespected. It’s not just you.

Chikage: The same goes for me, just with a different set of people. I guess I’m just glad to even be able to do theater activities in the first place.

Itaru: But if we’re actually nominated for the Fleur Award this time around, I doubt the company’s gonna be too eager to accommodate for that.

Chikage: Well, the company does have a performance-based evaluation system. If you can’t contribute to improving the company’s image, you’ll be told you need to be giving your work your undivided attention.

Chikage: At any rate, that doesn’t change the fact that we need the results of our next performance to be good too.

Itaru: I guess you’re ri… Hell yeah, I win! Haaah, I feel better now.

Itaru: Oh, right, didn’t you get asked to do something annoying too, Senpai?

Chikage: Ah… I was asked to accompany a client on an overseas business trip as an interpreter, but I had to decline because I just don’t have the time for that right now.

Itaru: Guess even cheaters like you have it hard sometimes. But y’know, I’m sure there’s tons of people who would kill to have the opportunity to do some sightseeing while all you have to do is be an interpreter.

Chikage: Well, it’s not to a country that I particularly want to go to.

Itaru: But you know the language, don’t you?

Chikage: I guess.

Itaru: Yeah, okay, we get it, you’re cheater.

[ ⇠ Previous Part ] • [ Next Part ⇢ ]

• • •

T/N:

(1) Itaru says “役職 『茅ヶ崎至』 に至る” (yakushoku “chigasaki itaru” ni itaru), literally “Attain the position of “Itaru Chigasaki”. The joke is that the verb “to attain” (至る; itaru) and Itaru’s name are the same kanji and have the same pronunciation, hence why Chikage mentions dad jokes.

[beavauna]

Carmine Discussion

Okay, I’ve never done this before, but considering there are a lot of Carmine haters on here, I thought I’d give it a try.

I’m getting sick of going online and seeing Carmine portrayed negatively. There’s people calling her racist, sexist, xenophobic, and all around other horrifying things. It’s like I can’t go anywhere without seeing her drawn in a negative lot, and there’s even porn art where she’s portrayed like this, and I thought it’s time someone put a stop to it. (which I stumbled into on accident.)

Look, I get she’s supposed to be protective older sibling character, but people keep treating her like she’s not a character, like a puppet they can throw their problems on.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Bea.” But I do. There have only be three known sibling groups in Pokemon, Carmine and Kieran being one of them.

The best example I can give is Clemont and Bonnie. They’re brother and sister, and of course- they have their issues. Clemont is the older, protective sibling character, while Bonnie is the younger sibling who just wants to be trainer, but is often followed by her brother who wants to protect her and keep her safe.

I get Clemont’s nicer than Carmine is initially, but I’ve NEVER seen any hateful art drawn of him. It could be just because of how popular XYZ was, but like-

There should be people who portray him negatively, but I’ve never seen that.

The XYZ anime was great. Most people consider it the greatest Pokemon series of all time, with all its characters, story, Pokemon, (coughs. Amourshipping.) and much, much more.

If you ask someone, they’ll most likely tell you that their favorite anime is XYZ. And it’s the same with me.

(I’d like to mention I’ve never watched the anime where May and Max came from. I don’t even know the name- shsjsvsh. I’m not forgetting about them, I just have never watched it.)

But my point is; It’s like people automatically think that Carmine was supposed to be the Clemont character and Kieran was supposed to be the Bonnie character.

“Oh my god she’s so mean to Kieran. She doesn’t give a shit about him.”

Because older siblings are like that?? I’m an older sibling to a (currently) 7 year old brother, and our relationship is like this.

When people first saw Carmine, people were in absolute awe of her design. There was fanart galore, discussions, ext ext.

But when the game officially came out, here came the hate.

And to be honest? I hated her too, but after playing the Teal Mask for a while, I started to like her. She reminded me of myself in a way. (Despite me being transmasculine/nonbinary) And for the love of her design to immediately go to ‘hey let’s make awful art of her’ makes me sick.

She’s honestly my favorite comfort character. She makes me happy.

And I know there’s awful art of characters in every fandom, but my point is: Why hate on Carmine when she’s simply just the living example of an actual sister and brother relationship? People can change, you know. Like goddamn…

She can go through changes. Plot exists for a reason. Like- can people actually get their act together and realize things aren’t so fucking black and white??

That being said; If you’re a Carmine hater, block me and move on. If you’re a Carmine hater but understand what I’m getting at, feel free to stay around! I’m always happy to spread the word and remove one of my favorite video game characters from a negative light.

~ Bea

[mechanicalriddle]

My journals are liable to be a little barebones this year since I have been extremely busy for the past 2 months lmao.

To my dear and WONDERFUL Exalted Secret Santa....

Hirudana Siithavari- Current Gunstar Autochthonia PC, Worm of my heart (also brain)

If you're not in the know about the 2e Gunstar Autochthonia shard, everyone lives in Autochthonia and its a lot nicer than regular Autochthonia but also its in space and also the Yozis are chasing you 100% of the time. We've got it sort of star trek vibes but a little grungier and a tad diesel/rustpunk.

Siithi (32 y.o., she/her, 5'6") is a dipshit No Moon necromancer. She's a bit of a golden-hearted asshole, and while quite capable of taking things seriously, she also loves acting like a complete hooligan. Unfortunately lately she hasn't really been acting herself lately on account of she is maybe a little bit stressed out.

Her main character arc so far has been overcoming her own insecurities to come into her own as a powerful Chosen. Now she is finally getting the hang of it, but also currently dealing with like 4 different parties all vying for her allegiance (a number of whom are literally inside her head), trying to unlock the secrets of necromancy while being the Deliberative's first and only practicioner (with no formal training in anything involved), and slowly drifting away from her best friend, the dragon-king Meteor-Dream, who has formed a maligned pact with the Viator of Nullspace and lost most semblances of "humanity" that they had left. So shes basically pretty cranky, and not getting a lot of sleep. She finds working with her hands to be very therapeutic, so she's mostly trying to keep busy to forget about it.

This is working as well as one would expect.

She's blessed with the ugly bastard's confidence, and usually sporting either severe RBF, a wide & wry grin, or something smugly between. Sort of a slouching creeper. She emotes exaggeratedly and has a little bit of natural rubberhose stretchiness, plus a very minimal concept of personal space.

Motifs- The colors of chemicals, grime, and industrial decay (rust-red and algae green, ochre, dusty grays, various shades of black and brown) paired with the bright hues of warning. Rustpunk machinery chic, gears and bits and bobs. Black leather, vinyl, and latex, with silver studs and hardware. Machines that hiss and undulate. Mysterious stains, diaphonized specimens, sludge, slime, small skittering and squirming vermin.

Anima- Siithi's iconic anima is a moonlit mangrove swamp except the water is oil and the trees are made of steel and pulsating tubes and the moon is really really huge and reflective, also she is suspended over the surface of the water by a bunch of tubes connected to her back because thats fun. Her glowing/burning anima is pretty much like the regular Lunar anima except that its kind of gloopy and flows like wax in a lava lamp.

Her spirit shape is the Asian Buffalo Leech (Hirudinaria manillensis). Feel free to draw either her human or hybrid form.

Ideas (I like to put in a list of these in case you wanted to draw a little scene but arent sure what to do; feel free to ignore them completely)-

She's a bit of a gearhead, so you could draw her peeling an engine apart, covered in oil

Or disassembling a rotted corpse on a steel table with a bonesaw, covered in blood

Ruefully drinking coffee out of a go mug, or nursing a glass of dark-colored liquor on the rocks at a sci fi dive bar

Smoking weeeeeed

Notes- She is very much musclefat. Please don't omit details relating to this like her double chin, rolls, etc. She has a couple hairstyles listed in her references (take your pick), and sometimes has sparse facial hair which you can choose to include or not.

Cynis Niraj- Traitorous Twink of the Realm

(most of my art of this guy is either like 5 years out of date and/or trapped on my former PC, so hopefully these give you enough to work off of. he doesn't really have a signature outfit so you can have some fun with it!)

Niraj (21 y.o., he/him, 5'8") is a little water aspected bastard boy I held close to my chest for a very long time; he happens to be probably the most important Ledaal Tedeo backstory character (besties+magic college roommates, also Niraj has been dutifully covering Ted's tracks to try to prevent him from being detected by his Realm detractors).

He is sort of on track to be Cynis's next spymaster because while he may be a sorcerer he has all the sneaky bastard manipulator spells... infallible messenger control, corrupted words, silent dreams etc etc. More damningly he is the present wielder of Calumny (spoilers). A large proportion of his time at the Heptagram was spent cultivating his ability to lie and diplomacy his way out of anything, and the rest was of course spent doing... You know. Sorcery. Has the capacity to self reflect to some degree (e.g. why he didn't spurn his best friend completely right off the bat and has been reassessing his loyalties to the Realm as a result) but he's also a nervous animal who wants nothing more than to seek comfort in the familiar. Probably not the worst guy in the world but he is a rich kid, full stop.

Niraj carries a constant level of tension well beyond his years (it happens when you're lying thru your teeth on the daily to essence 5 shikari on behalf of your pet solar). Lately his anxiety has been much more difficult to hide. His outbursts are snide and a little temperamental but usually all hot air. The poor devil hasn't put on a genuine smile much in the past decade.

Motifs- Eels and various other toothy fish. Thick smoke and clouds of incense. Orchid and lotus flowers, draping vines, tobacco & potpourri, and general floral motifs. Dark-stained wood and leather. The night, and deep water. Dark, rich, luxurious garbs and tapestries; comfort over looks over practicality. The colors of his house, and of affluence.

Anima- Dark underwater cavern with toothy formations; deeper in the cave you can see dark shapes swimming in hypnotic patterns. Also, he has a little red lantern hanging over his head like an anglerfish lure.

Ideas-

Miserable in the bath. SFW only as per the rules of the event. Maybe he's in a nice bubbly bath. Or maybe he's bathing fully clothed.

Or simply laying facedown in an estate fountain. Not really his best angle, though.

Sitting in a dark room, forging a correspondence by candlelight.

Looking contemplative and/or nervous on the prow of a boat.

Also smoking weeeeeed or hookah

Notes-

I would say make sure his skin tone is accurate and also hes got magic top scars (depicted) in case you do choose the bath option or have him with his shirt slightly open all sexy or something. IDK

Keeping most of my other OCs on reserve this year. Have fun with one of these little freaks.

[object-vault-9]

Question I have about the vault itself, do you have an idea of what it looks like? The whole interior layout and everything? I've been wondering for some time now...

Ohh I should really sit down in a map maker and put it together ! A lot of the inspiration for the layout comes from Vault 101 and Vault 76 in the fallout games, plus a huge agricultural inspiration is from Vault 33 This is gonna be long and have pictures from the games/show/my comic/etc so it'll be under a break, might include some rambling about the way the vault used to operate too ! Very rambly/unorganized for now

Vault 9 is built into a cliff face, and behind it is a mountain range.

The vault was built for much more people that currently live there, and large portions of it are ominously empty. You can genuinely get lost in there, even Timer/Shovel/Mousetrap can even get turned around in there and they were born and raised there. Had Car Key survived he was intended to be the one that knew the layout almost perfectly, being the head security officer (and lone survivor of the security teams prior to the opening of the vault). If I were to draw less visited parts of the vault, portions of it would be roped off. The largest open areas in the vault are the farm (above) and the cafeteria

Vault 9's structure and culture when established was less individual, there were not a lot of rec rooms, rooms were all bunks to hold multiple people, etc. A lot of stuff involves some degree of depersonalization, etc. So thats why despite there being so many empty rooms presumably, most characters are shown to share rooms when their rooms are shown. Lcukily, especially with a colorful cast of characters from different backgrounds and over a century past its establishment, people are more encouraged to be themselves here There's a few rooms set aside for professions, there's the clinic, plus a larger room beside it for long term patients, though with the small population Mousetrap keeps people close to better monitor them There are classrooms, pretty much always empty, Spade/Shovel/Timer/etc are among the last to "graduate", and school years were not hosted every year due to the diminishing amount of people being born. So while Timer is a little older than Spade and Shovel, and Push Pin was a little younger, they likely all attended the same "grades/classes" together. Usually the family will teach basics (basic math/reading/writing) before the official vault curriculum, with classes starting for older students (like 10+) instead of starting at kindergarten

The intention of Vault 9 was mostly on self sustaining populations, so most people were intended to be involved with the care of the farm over anything else. Other roles were security/education/medical/culinary/etc, as well as leadership roles like a peoples court and the overseer The armory is very small and depleted/half destroyed, and there is only one or two quarantine/prison rooms

The floor structure is built in a way that the further down you go, the less likely you need to be there, this is my vague idea of it but with floor plans some things might be rearranged The surface level is only the door, airlock and door controls. Some storage is kept up there too Second floor down/B2 is the largest area. Farm, cafeteria, public rooms, clinic, classrooms, etc. There's a small library Third floor/B3 down are the living quarters, as well as the overseers office, peoples court, and locker rooms for showering and stuff. The overseers office is the best furnished room in the vault, and it had personal living quarters for the overseers family that were nicer too Fourth floor/B4 are guard armory/small training room/most storage/certain aspects of vault maint, etc. Fifth/B5 is storage and machinery for the most part. The boiler/furnace/etc, there's also a work shop down there and where Hehe/Apricot/CoG hang out. There's also the columbarium and morgue down there

Lowest level, heavy clearance, is where the power is. It's still nuclear power, the intention is to keep it buried so a failure might destroy the vault but cause less damage on the surface

I'll revisit this soon and have drawings and floorplans hopefully

[thebiggerbear]

Only Ever Holding Onto You - One - Here We Go Again

A/N: This chapter is HUGE. The following chapters should not be nearly as long. I began writing this back in July and at that time, I hadn't watched the rest of the 3rd season of Big Sky so I did a lot of guesswork based on gifs, clips, and posts I had seen on here. So that's why some things might not line up to the show, sorry about that. Also, I completely made up the name of the pharmaceutical company.

This story actually was the gateway to Ghosts so there might be some similar threads you might notice. ;)

And a huge thank you to my beta @rieleatiel! You rock, girl!

Warnings: mentions of animal cruelty, mentions of animal injuries seen by Reader, mentions of kidnapping of minor

Word Count: 13k+

Series Masterlist

Series Taglist: @deans-spinster-witch; @rieleatiel

“I didn’t do anything wrong!”

You rolled your eyes and made a left onto Washington. “Yeah, yeah. That’s what everyone who breaks into a chem lab says.”

“It’s true,” the man currently sitting handcuffed in your backseat insisted. “It’s the corporation that’s doing something wrong. They’re benefitting from those animals’ pain.”

“Doesn’t give you the right to enter the premises illegally,” you pointed out.

“What they’re doing is illegal,” he scoffed.

You couldn’t exactly argue with that one. When the call came in for a 10-62 and it was advised that the prowler was armed and dangerous, you had immediately rushed to the scene, beaten there by two officers from Helena PD and one deputy from your department. The perp had already been secured and in handcuffs, proclaiming loudly over and over that he was innocent as were the animals he had been trying to set free. Deputy Davis informed you that the only weapon that had been found on the man was a pair of bolt cutters, which had barely made a dent in the cages’ padlocks, never mind were they ever a real threat to anyone on the premises.

After contacting the higher-ups of her employer, an onsite supervisor insisted the company wanted to press any and all charges, maintaining that the animals in their possession had been obtained legally and the accusations against them were baseless. One glance past the woman’s shoulder at the cages of rabbits and cats being wheeled into another area showed that perhaps the man’s claims weren’t as baseless as she said they were. You had to keep yourself from hauling her down to the station on some trumped up charge once you noticed one cat in particular that had half of its fur missing and its side was littered with obvious injection sites. One rabbit even had sutures where an eye should be. 

Unfortunately, you had a job to do and the law needed to be upheld. You insisted on taking the perp, one Martin Webb, into the station yourself. Since Davis had arrived on scene first, Helena PD couldn’t say a peep. That was one thing that hadn’t changed with your transfer here: the good ol’ jurisdiction issue between departments. Although, up in these parts, the Lewis and Clark County Sheriff’s Department and Helena PD did play nicer together than most other places you’d been. As Webb continued to ramble on in the back of your car, you were thankful for that little fact.

When he mentioned for the fifth time that he was doing the right thing, your phone began to ring. One quick glance at the screen showed that it was Deputy Poppernak. Without saying a word, you picked up the call. “What’s shaking, Pepper Snaps?” 

You smirked when you heard the slight huff he let out when you called him the cute little nickname you had come up for him. He knew you did it to tease him good-naturedly but it still exasperated him at times. Truth be told, you had a fondness for the guy even though he did prove to be a bit of a suck-up when you first stepped into the station about six months back. Still he had always been welcoming towards you, took your quirks in stride, and he was a decent cop. That put him under the good list in your book.

“Hey, Y/N. The boss asked for me to give you a call and see if you were on your way back to the station.”

Your eyes practically rolled out of your head. Apparently, the sheriff had forgotten how phones worked along with the knowledge that you were more than capable of doing your job. If Poppernak got exasperated with you at times, your patience could be worn thin by one Beau Arlen on a semi-often basis, and that hadn’t changed with both of you relocating to Big Sky Country.

“Pops, correct me if I’m wrong, but when I radioed in to Madge that I was transporting a suspect back to the station, did I say it in Portuguese? French maybe? Japanese? Or in Gaelic perhaps?” You quipped.

“Uh, no. No, of course not,” Poppernak let out in a nervous chuckle. “It’s just, uh…sorry, one second.” You could hear his muffled voice speaking to someone; it was obvious he had covered the mouthpiece with his hand. You nearly rolled your eyes again, knowing exactly who he was speaking to, and instead chose to glance in your rearview to check on the man in the back. He had still been talking when you picked up the call but he must have gotten the hint when the deputy’s voice filled the car. Now, he sat quietly, staring straight ahead. 

“Okay, sorry about that. Madge was asking me—”

You’d had enough, especially when you heard him using a quieter tone than before. “Cut the crap, I know very well who was asking you something. What does he want and why is he not calling me to ask me himself?”

He laughed nervously again. “Uh, well, he was just—I mean I was just wondering, do you mind stopping by The 1889 and grabbing the usual order on your way in?”

Your jaw tensed. You had a sneaking suspicion of the reason why your boss wasn’t calling you directly and instead was asking his employee to do his dirty work, and it infuriated you.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Poppernak added meekly.

You forced yourself to remember that he wasn’t the one who your ire should be aimed at. You’d get to that soon enough after you booked your suspect down at the station. You made another quick turn to head in the direction of the coffee shop. “Call the order in. I’ll be there in fifteen to pick it up and they better run it out to me or no dice. In case anyone at that station is too thick-headed to remember, I’m currently transporting a suspect.”

You heard a relieved breath come down the line. “Thanks, Y/N. You’re the—” 

You ended the call before the deputy could finish speaking. Pops knew you weren’t mad at him and knowing him, he’d get right on placing the order at the coffee house you all frequented so the order would be ready in the timeframe you’d given him. 

“Amazing. Animals are being cruelly treated in your own backyard and all you cops can worry about is your coffee order. ‘To protect and serve’...yeah right.”

You shot Webb a glare in your rearview mirror. “You have the right to remain silent, you know. Wouldn’t hurt to exercise it every now and then. Like right now.”

“How can I be silent? Do you have any idea what they’re doing to those animals? Do you have any idea how much pain they’re in? God, you people are heartless!”

“Uh huh.” You brought the car to a stop at a traffic light and took a deep breath. Losing your temper on Webb or Pops or anyone at the station would not help anything, but damn did Beau get on your nerves sometimes with his desire to placate and diffuse things. Most of the time, it was something you heavily respected about him; it was a great quality for a leader to have. At the same time, some people needed to be stood up to, put in their place, and knocked down a few pegs — and that is where you and Beau never saw eye-to-eye. It drove you crazy but you told yourself you would play the long game on this one. Beau knew how you felt. You two had argued about it enough times when it was just you two — but he refused to budge an inch. He believed time would resolve things. Six months was plenty of time in your mind but apparently, he didn’t share that sentiment. So, you did as you always had: you had his back and you followed his lead. It didn’t mean you had to like it sometimes, though. Especially not when—no, you would put it out of your mind for now.

“I’m serious, you saw the animals yourself. Do you really think they’re well cared for like they said? If you only knew the half of it!”

Webb’s rantings broke you out of your reverie. You thought over what he said, remembered the cat with the missing fur, the rabbit with the missing eye, and bit your lip in contemplation. When the light turned green, your mind was made up. “I’m just doing my job, Mr. Webb. And that job doesn’t include looking into the history of this company or what they do with their animals when it comes to testing.”

The man scoffed and you knew your words had been chosen well. “Of course not. Why would you care? I suppose you don’t care that the animals are kept in cages night and day. Not only do they pump chemicals into them consistently but they cause them pain purposely to see if their products work. I guess you also don’t care that this is a common practice for this company, or that they purposely pick up strays from surrounding neighborhoods and have even broken into people’s properties to steal their pets when the shelters and pet stores start to get suspicious! And you’re charging me with breaking and entering? What about them? And I bet you don’t care that they purposely starve these animals for certain experiments and that’s not even…”

You made your way to The 1889, keeping your gaze ahead of you as you maneuvered down the streets, all the while quietly listening and at certain points, trying to remember why you’d chosen to become a cop when it seemed like the odds always remained against you and innocents, humans and animals alike, continued to get hurt by every semblance of heartless assholes on a daily basis.

Deputy Davis, who had beaten you back to the station and waited for you to arrive, led Webb into the station as you followed behind with a tray of coffees and a paper bag full of food. 

Pops immediately hurried over to meet you, a huge grin on his face. “Thanks, Y/N. You really are the best.”

You handed him both the tray and bag, giving him a nod. 

Webb watched the exchange carefully before yelling out, “Yeah, so glad you can sit and enjoy your coffee and donuts while innocent animals are suffering!” The busy hum in the station dimmed slightly as everyone turned to look, but then it resumed when they saw the man responsible for the noisy interruption was in handcuffs.

“I’ll book him,” the deputy next to you insisted.

“Thanks, Davis.” You smiled slightly at the younger man. “I’ll get on the paperwork.”

“Let’s go.” Davis pushed Webb in front of him who kept yelling as he was being moved away.

 You and Pops watched them disappear around the corner and then turned back to one another. “So, where is he?”

Pops’ amiable smile dropped completely and he quickly glanced in the direction of the sheriff’s office. Bingo. “Uh, I think he’s interrogating a suspect right now…”

“Right.” You then moved past him and proceeded right to the location that Pops unintentionally gave away before outright lying to you. The door was shut but that didn’t deter you. Without knocking, you opened the door and barged right in.

Sure enough, there was Beau, sitting in his chair with the infamous Jenny Hoyt perched on the desk to his left, barely a foot of space between them. Of course. Was there ever a moment in the day the undersheriff wasn’t trying to get into the sheriff’s pants? 

The blonde glared at your intrusion and you folded your arms across your chest. You offered a meaningful look to Beau, who at least had the decency to look sheepish.

“Did you always storm into your boss’ office without knocking like this back in Houston or is it only something you do here?” Hoyt snapped.

“Hoyt,” Beau warned.

Ignoring her sniping and ignoring her presence altogether — you leveled your eyes on Beau alone. “We need to talk.”

Beau glanced between you and his undersheriff, looking uncertain, before he gave a simple nod. “Give us the room for a minute,” he directed to the woman next to him. The corner of your lips lifted in the beginning of a smirk; wise choice on his part.

Hoyt transferred her glare to him but got to her feet all the same. She nearly stomped her way out the door, scowling at you the entire time. You stared her down, all too happy to close the door once she vacated the threshold. You seriously could not wait for that woman to take some vacation time; it’d be like your own vacation kicking in at the same time.

You turned around to find Beau watching you, exhaustion showing in the lines of his face a little more prominently than they had a moment ago. “Y/N, I—”

Holding up a hand, you interrupted him before he could plead with you for peace or make excuses like he had so many times before. “Aside from me thinking that it’s downright pathetic that you can’t even make a simple phone call to ask me to pick you up one of your favorite sandwiches because she’s within hearing distance, I have a bigger issue to discuss.”

Beau sat back in his chair, considering you for a moment. “Alright. Let’s hear it.”

You moved closer and took a seat. “The man I just brought in, Martin Webb, the one who’s being booked on a B&E charge from Avuna Pharmaceuticals? Turns out he was not armed like had been initially reported to emergency dispatch. He had a pair of bolt cutters on him that didn’t even work and he was not posing a threat to anybody. But the Avuna reps are insisting he was.”

“Who was first on scene?”

“Davis.”

“Any footage or eyewitness accounts that prove this guy threatened anyone before Davis got there?”

“Eyewitness accounts from paid employees and when we asked for footage after noticing cameras placed all around the lab, we were told that their legal counsel advised that unless we had a warrant, we were wasting our time and suggested we should be focusing on the arrest of the assailant in our custody.”

Beau snorted. “Not suspicious at all and damn ballsy.”

You couldn’t help but shrug. “Big corporation, big money. They’ll do whatever it takes to protect it all.”

He nodded in agreement. “Good point. Alright, let’s let the DA take it from here. For now, just book him and we’ll let the courts battle it out on what charges actually stick.”

You tilted your head at him expectantly. 

“And,” he sighed. “I take it you already knew I’d say that and that’s not why you wanted to discuss it.”

“You know me so well,” you teased, giving him a smirk and sitting on the desk next to him on his right, keeping a polite distance between you. “Something doesn’t smell right with this case. If their response to our request to view their footage wasn’t enough of a red flag, then the fact that they’re looking to throw the book at this guy is. I ran him through the system. His record is relatively clean; he’s an activist, not an ecological terrorist.” You bit your lip. “I saw the animals while they were transporting them,” you said in a quieter tone. “I saw some things that... I think this guy, while a little misguided, is actually on the right track. Something’s off with this whole thing.”

Beau leaned over to place a hand over yours. “Darlin’, I know where you’re going with this and while it pains me to say it, I have to. It’s not our job. You said it yourself: big corporation, big money. This is for the courts. We can’t get involved.” You dropped your gaze to the floor and let out a disappointed breath. You knew as much, had said as much to Webb on the ride over, but it felt wrong for that to be the actual reality. 

You felt Beau brushing his thumb over the back of your hand in tender strokes. It was his way of reassuring you and apologizing at the same time. You couldn’t help but give him a thin-lipped smile. You knew he would do something if he could, but he was right. Unless there was evidence to Webb’s claims of the company illegally obtaining those animals, this was not for you or for the department to get involved in. On the off-chance there was proof, that evidence would need to be transferred to the right agency who handled such cases. Your hands were tied and there was nothing you could do from your position, that fact wouldn’t help you sleep better at night or help you forget what you had seen.

“That being said, I will talk to the DA and see what he can do about the charges. I can’t promise anything but I’ll try,” Beau finished, after seeing your reaction.

You turned your hand over, grabbing onto his, and whispered, “Thank you.”

He returned your smile and squeezed your hand before gently letting go. “And thank you for picking up the order earlier. And for not letting Hoyt bait you into an argument.”

Rolling your eyes and getting to your feet, you made your way to the bulletin board on the far wall to study its contents. “Sometimes I wonder why you even asked me to come here.”

You heard a heavy sigh behind you but you didn’t turn around to look. “You know why I asked you to join me here, Y/N. I need someone who has my back.”

“You have plenty of people here who have your back.” You pulled the paper you were looking for off the board and folded it up. “Especially her. She’d have your back, front, and center if she had anything to say about it.” Slipping the paper into the back pocket of your jeans, you glanced back at Beau to find him glaring in your direction. “Am I wrong?” You challenged.

“I really wish you two would try to get along.”

You scoffed out a laugh. “I’m not the one who throws a temper tantrum every time I walk into a room. That would be the woman whose insufferable ass has been glued to yours for the past six months.”

Beau shook his head. “Why do I even try?”

“Why do you?” You agreed. “And why do you defend her at every given turn when you know she’s the one that has a chip the size of Texas on her shoulder?”

“I told you, she’s been through a lot. With her mom and everything…” Beau waved a hand to indicate there might be more to it than you knew. You didn’t think there was; you had heard about it from practically everyone around here, but you also knew Beau was a good man with a big heart. So while you didn’t excuse away the blatant hostility Hoyt had shown you from the moment you arrived, you knew that your best friend tried to be understanding and his patience was longer than the length of the building you were currently in.

“Right,” you muttered. When you first showed up here, Beau told you everything that went down in the amount of time it took you to be able to secure your transfer. You knew all about Jenny Hoyt, her mom, Cassie Dewell, their interesting history, Denise, Sunny, Buck, and everything that happened with Emily and Carla. As a matter of fact, as soon as Beau called you in a panic over Emily’s being taken, you had told your boss down in Houston, Burke Ellis, that you were done waiting for him to stop dragging his feet and you were out on the first red-eye you could book a seat on. As a matter of fact, that was how you and Cassie first met, and how you first came across Hoyt. 

Beau had rushed over to you the minute he had spied you hurrying into the station, asking for Sheriff Beau Arlen and flustering Madge who had no idea who you were but that the man you said you were here to see was having a personal crisis and wasn’t up for seeing any visitors. You darted past her desk, which had further exasperated her, and you practically jumped into Beau’s open arms. You both hugged each other tightly and he nearly lifted you off the ground.

“Thank you,” he rasped out into your ear. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course.” You ran your fingers soothingly through the hair at the back of his neck. “Where do you need me?”

He had pulled back and it was then that you could see the toll this was taking on him; the fear, worry, and exhaustion were clearly pronounced on his handsome face. “Honestly?” He croaked out. He then grabbed your hand and quickly led you to an office in the back, both of you moving past many shocked onlookers, a 5’6” blonde woman among them who you would later come to know as the biggest pain in your ass in your career thus far. 

You saw the gold lettering on the door stating this was Beau’s office and he slipped you inside before shutting the door and closing the blinds. He pulled you back into his arms, burying his face into your neck. He surprised you a moment later by picking you up and placing you on the corner of his desk, never once moving away from you. You could feel the wetness against your skin and you saw his shoulders shake as he let out a pitiful sob. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he spoke. “I just… My baby girl has been taken by this murderous son of a bitch and I—” He couldn’t even get the rest out and you shushed him, holding him together as best you could while he fell apart, scared out of his mind at what could happen to his daughter. Emily was like a niece to you; you couldn’t even imagine how terrified she must be, let alone how her father must feel. You knew one thing, though: you and Beau would find her and bring her home. In order to do that, however, you needed to keep Beau from breaking completely and re-calibrate his focus.

You had started to press kisses to the side of his head, promising that you both would do everything to get Emily back safe and sound. “I’m here now,” you murmured into his ear. “We made one hell of a team once, this will be no different. We’ll get her back, Beau.” He sniffled and moved back to look at you, nodding. You gave him a tender smile and wiped underneath his eyes before running your hand through his wayward hair (it had grown slightly since the last time you saw him) and stroking his bearded cheek affectionately. “I’ve got you. Always.”

He stared into your eyes for so long as you comforted him that you didn’t notice that he was moving closer until his nose nearly bumped into yours. You didn’t realize that your breathing had picked up or that your heartbeat had accelerated until your lips parted to let out a small puff of air. His green gaze dropped down to your mouth at the action and then you noticed him wet his lips with his tongue. Your own tongue automatically mirrored his and you swore you felt your heart stop when you saw him take it as a green light and start to lean in, closing his eyes. Alarm bells went off in your mind: this was your best friend who was vulnerable due to the situation at hand, seeking comfort from someone familiar to him that he knew he could fully trust; there was an active investigation going on into his daughter’s abduction and you knew you were on a timeclock; every second counted and there was no time to waste. Yet you were frozen, unable to react and unwilling to stop him from taking the solace he needed in you. 

You’d be lying if you said you never imagined your friendship with Beau possibly crossing the line into something more at one point. While he was married, you had never entertained it, but afterwards, there had been that one night… Nothing had ended up happening between you, of course, but it had definitely been a close call. You had attributed it to too much liquor and the need for consolation during a rough time in his life, being more than relieved when he didn’t appear to remember the next morning. So your friendship continued unmarred by any tension or awkwardness. Now…how could you not give him what he clearly needed from you at one of the worst times in his life? 

You had just shut your eyes, making your decision and waiting for impact, when a knock sounded on his door and then it opened, a surprised gasp emitting from the doorway. You both turned to look, seeing a stunned woman standing there who you hadn’t passed by before. Beau let out a stuttered breath but pulled away from you all the same. It left a funny feeling inside your chest, but you told yourself he had made the right decision which prompted sweet relief to flood through your own veins. Nothing should occur between you and Beau right now, not when everything with Emily was going on and emotions were running high. And what if you had let him take comfort in you and it ultimately ruined your friendship? Not to mention he was now your boss. How complicated would that be? Your best friend meant more to you than one moment of throwing the rule book completely out the window. 

The woman worriedly glanced behind her and seemed to relax when she didn’t see who or what she was looking for. She then gave Beau a small smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Beau cleared his throat and leaned against the desk, next to you, facing the door. You discreetly ran a hand across his back in reassurance. “It’s fine. What is it, Cass?”

Your eyes widened when you heard the nickname and quickly made the connection. This was Cassie Dewell, the local private investigator Beau had told you about. He had mentioned that they had become close friends since he took the job.

“I just came to tell you that I think I might be able to help with Sunny.”

Beau immediately got to his feet. “You think she’ll tell us where Buck’s taken Emily?”

Cassie shrugged. “It’s worth a shot. She’s been married to the man for years. She may not have known he was a serial killer but she knows everything else there is to know about him. She has to have an idea of some spots he might have gone to that we haven’t come up with yet. And we do have the update about Walter as leverage.”

Running a tired hand down his face, Beau sighed. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s give it a shot.” He glanced your way and you gave him a nod. Then he started, as if he just remembered something. “Sorry. Cassie, I’d like you to meet Y/N Y/L/N. Y/N, this is Cassie Dewell.”

Your head snapped in her direction. “Oh right, you’re the PI from the local agency in town that Em’s been working at.”

Cassie gave you a wave and you studied her, expecting judgment of some kind, yet there was no malice or hostility staring back at you. You had expected such a reaction from her walking in on you and Beau, yet all you could see was curiosity... As well as worry and guilt shadowing her eyes for a moment at the mention of Emily. “Yeah, that would be me. Hey.”

“Y/N’s from Houston.” Beau gestured towards you. “We worked quite a few cases together back in the day.”

Her eyes seemed to light up with recognition which surprised you. “Y/N Y/L/N…I was wondering why that name sounded familiar. You’re one of his former partners, right?”

You quickly exchanged a glance with Beau. “Sort of,” you confirmed.

“She’s transferring here but I asked her to come to help with…Emily…” Beau looked pained as he said the name.

You immediately laid a hand on his shoulder. “Whatever you need.”

He gave you a thin-lipped smile and you squeezed him in reassurance. 

“Nice to meet you.” Cassie’s voice pulled you both from the moment.

Your gaze snapped to Cassie’s. “Likewise. So, this Sunny…she’s the owner of the campground, right? Close to where the body of the first victim was found some years ago? And she’s the wife of the suspect?” Beau had told you a little about the case before Avery’s death and Emily’s abduction.

Cassie nodded. “Yeah. I’m hoping she’ll feel up to talking. Beau, I wouldn't ask but…would you mind giving me a hand? It might help shake something loose if we both take a run at her. She’s more familiar with us, and Walter will give us more of a card to play.”

Beau thought it over for a moment. “Agreed. We’ve got to try anything and everything so let’s do it.” Cassie turned to leave when he called out to her, “I’ll be there in a second.”

She nodded and quietly closed the door behind her.

Beau let out a heavy breath and turned to you. “Y/N, I—”

You shot up, standing before him. “No need,” you spoke softly. You took his hand in yours and squeezed reassuringly when you saw his eyes tighten. “Let’s focus on saving your daughter.” You gave him a small smile and he nodded, pulling you into him to place his forehead up against yours. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, closing his eyes. When you felt him relax slightly against you after taking a deep breath, out of instinct, you did something you had never done before, not when you were this close together and it was just the two of you. You pressed a tender kiss to his cheek, right above his beard line, forcing his eyes to snap open, staring right into yours, and he focused intently on you. 

“Let’s go find her and bring her home,” you whispered, stepping back only when he nodded, and turned towards the door. 

“Do you want me to watch the interrogation or do you need me elsewhere?” You asked.

He came to a halt, thinking about it for a moment. “Interrogation.”

You nodded and opened the door, stepping through to see several pairs of eyes land on you. It might have been intimidating to someone else, but to you, it was just par for the course. Beau had warned you about the small town atmosphere compared to the big city one you were accustomed to, so you weren’t surprised in the least when people started talking in hushed tones to one another as you both walked past without a word to anyone. It appeared you and Beau were on the same page: Emily was priority and introductions to your new coworkers would have to wait. 

He led you to a closed door where Cassie stood, waiting. You glanced around to look for the room you would be led to in order to watch the interrogation but didn’t see it. 

“And who’s this?”

You turned to see the blonde woman from earlier, a forced smile on her face and her blue eyes assessing you.

Beau seemed caught off guard for a moment, his focus on getting to Cassie and then taking on Sunny, but he quickly introduced you. “Y/N Y/L/N, Jenny Hoyt.” You gave her a nod and she returned it. “Cassie and I are going to take a run at Sunny, see if maybe she has an idea of a location where Buck may have taken Emily and Denise.”

The blonde’s gaze softened as it landed on Beau. “Of course. If you want, Cassie and I can do it.” You noticed Cassie’s eyes tighten but she stayed quiet as the woman then leaned into Beau a bit, saying softly, “You’ve been through a lot in the last few hours.” You watched as she squeezed Beau’s arm in support. Ah, so this was the infamous Jenny Hoyt you had heard about. The same Hoyt that had given Beau a run for his money when he first took this job and then continued to be a wildcard in the field. The same one who Beau felt the ridiculous need to babysit. Your eyes narrowed slightly as you watched her gazing up at your friend as if he had hung the moon in the night sky but you schooled your features into polite professional interest by the time Beau glanced over at you. 

“I’m good. Actually, Y/N, I’d like you to join us.” Both Cassie and Hoyt turned gaping expressions on you. While this was certainly a twist, you knew Beau wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t have his reasons. Sure enough, he elaborated, “I think a new face might provide the perfect shakeup that we need.” He gave you a meaningful look and like always, you knew exactly what he was thinking.

You gave the group a curt nod. “Sure. Can I see the file real fast so I know what I’m working with?” You held out a hand to Hoyt, assuming that she had Sunny’s file in her hand in expectation of the interrogation, waiting for her to pass it to you.

The blonde glared at you, a hint of suspicion in her eyes, before glancing back at the man. “Beau, maybe we should slow down and think about this for a second. We might only get one shot at this so maybe—”

“Hoyt, my daughter has been kidnapped by a serial killer. She fits his MO to a tee and we need to find her before…” He pressed his lips together tightly before blowing out a breath. “Look, Denise has been taken too, my ex-wife is a mess of tears, Avery is dead, and I’m barely holding it together. Just let me do what I have to do to save my little girl. So give Y/N the damn file.” He spoke the last part through gritted teeth, signifying the end of his patience, and that appeared to shock Hoyt and Cassie. You assumed that this was a new side of Beau that they hadn’t seen before but his daughter’s life was on the line. What did they expect? If he hadn’t said anything, you would have snatched the damn folder out of Hoyt’s hands yourself. Precious time was being wasted with the useless pissing match she seemed intent on engaging in. 

Cassie recovered first. “Jenny.” She gave the blonde an encouraging nod.

Hoyt’s features tightened and her eyes were pure ice as she finally placed the folder into your waiting hand.

“Thanks.” You immediately started scanning the contents. After a minute or so, you felt you had a general understanding of Sunny and her history from the file in addition to things Beau had mentioned to you already. You had more than enough to be able to pull off what he needed you to do. You shut the folder and gave Beau and Cassie a nod. “Let’s do it.”

Cassie opened the door and led the way inside, followed by Beau and then you. Hoyt stared you down as you passed her but you couldn’t be bothered to care. Right now, your priority was the young girl whom you had watched grow up, who you had sat through a blistering hot, cheesy middle school graduation for — all to watch her walk across the stage in a cap and gown. Her life was on the line and you’d make sure she returned to Beau safely no matter what.

You weren’t in there long. You did exactly as Beau had intended for you to do. You teed him and Cassie up very nicely to get what they needed to. Not much time had passed before Sunny admitted she most likely knew where Buck went, especially when Cassie swooped in with the information that her son, Walter, was still alive despite Buck’s attempt to kill him.

Once you left the room, Cassie was intent on finding Sunny’s other son, Cormac, since Beau and Hoyt were going to drive Sunny to the location she had revealed. You were about to offer to do whatever was needed from you when you heard a loud cry erupt to your left. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a woman with dark hair rushing towards you. You barely turned in time for impact when Carla threw herself at you.

You held her as she cried, thanked you for coming, asked you to help find her daughter, mentioned her recently murdered husband, and just overall sobbed. This woman had been through one hell of an ordeal in the last few days. You couldn’t even imagine how torn apart you’d be if this were you, not to mention Carla was one of the most level-headed and toughest women you had ever met in your life. She was definitely tougher than you, and that was saying something considering you had seen some shit in your time. Now, seeing her reduced to tears like this, begging you to help save her little girl, to do whatever you had to in order to bring her baby back home to her…it turned your stomach and only added to the urgency of finding Emily and getting to her before that sick son of a bitch could hurt her. You hoped to hell he hadn’t already. Your stomach turned further at the thought and you could feel an all-too familiar fire that you kept a tight lid on when working cases that involved children… 

You forced yourself to let go of the thought. This was about Emily and her parents, not about you. Ignoring your experience that nagged at you and insisted that, due to the circumstances and the time already passed, there was a likelihood of a bad ending here, you swallowed past the lump forming in your throat and refocused your energy into trying to calm Carla down so you could help find her daughter.

It took Beau peeling her off of you and promising that you both were going to look for Emily right then to calm her slightly. She held onto Beau and you grabbed her hand, ignoring your training yelling at you in your head, and swore you would do everything you could to help bring her daughter back to her. 

“Y/N, Beau, please, you have to save her,” she begged. “Save our daughter!” She threw at Beau before Madge was able to lead her away. Watching her go, your jaw tensed as that fire from earlier threatened to return. You had the desire to find Buck and take the sick bastard down yourself.

Beau turned to you, his green eyes even more haunted than when you had first seen him, and that dulled the fire inside. No matter the anger you felt, it was nothing compared to what he must be feeling. You could only imagine the rage and hopelessness mixed with desperation that was swirling inside of him right now, and you knew exactly what he was thinking because you were thinking it, too. What if you couldn’t keep your promise to Carla? You shook your head to get rid of the thoughts. You wouldn’t think like that; those types of thoughts were useless. You needed to be at your best for him, for Carla, and more importantly, for Emily. Instead, you focused on the positives: you all had a lead right now, two in fact, and that was all that mattered.

You instinctively reached out and cupped his face with your hands, anchoring him as best you could. “Beau, listen to me,” you murmured. “You and Hoyt take Sunny to the spot she told you about. I’ll go with Cassie to find Cormac. Alright?”

He nodded, staring at you, and the movement forced a single tear to shake loose. You wiped it away discreetly before it could be seen and hugged him to you. “Go. Keep your phone on and if you need me, you call me. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to find her,” you whispered into his ear. 

You heard a sniffle in your ear. “Right, we’ll find her.” 

“And we’ll take down this sick son of a bitch,” you promised, pulling back to look him meaningfully in the eye. Come hell or high water, you had his back. 

Nodding again, he gave you a smile that was more of a grimace and placed a hand against your cheek. “Yeah, we will.” You reached up to give his wrist a squeeze.

“Beau.”

Both of you turned to see Hoyt and Cassie watching you curiously along with Madge and a deputy who you would come to find out to be Poppernak.

“We should go,” Hoyt insisted. 

Beau glanced back over at you, quietly clearing his throat and removing his hand. “Yeah.” His gaze snapped over to the other man, as if he had suddenly just had a thought. “Poppernak, get Y/N here a vest before she leaves. Get one for Cassie, too.”

“You got it, boss.” 

Poppernak walked away and Beau swung his head back to you. “You call me the second you get anything from Cormac.” At your nod, he laid a hand on your shoulder and lowered his head slightly to look you right in the eye. “Be careful.”

You couldn’t help but smile and say to him the thing you’d said to him every time he told you this in the past: “Always am.” His features softened the slightest bit at the familiar exchange between you. “Now, let’s go find your daughter and bring her home.”

“Yeah,” he breathed out and gave a sharp nod, what you had always called his game face filling his expression. Squeezing your shoulder, he released you and walked away. You watched him go and sure enough, the blonde’s glare entered your vision when she looked back over her shoulder while walking with him out the door. It was the same suspicious glare you’d been getting from her in the last hour, the same one you couldn’t help but notice when Carla had first launched herself at you. You knew then that whatever her reasons, she was going to be a problem for you. 

“Ready to go?” Cassie asked kindly.

You gave her a small smile. “Yeah. Let’s go get Em back.”

“And Denise,” she added.

“Right. Her, too.”

The both of you grabbed the vests Poppernak held out to you on your way out. 

Cormac had actually proven useful and he had thankfully led you to the correct location Emily was being held in. Beau had been practically inconsolable when he called you before that, thinking Emily had been killed in an explosion. Even though you had seen him at the worst times in his life, and had just seen him breaking down in front of you back at the station, you had never heard the pain that saturated his voice right then. You struggled not to break down in tears yourself. Laughter, football games in the Arlen yard, ice cream runs after particularly tough days at school, you teaching her how to make paella and her mom’s smile when Em proudly insisted she made it all on her own later at dinner that night, rides on the ferris wheel at the fair because her dad was too scared to take her but wouldn’t admit it — the memories of time spent with your favorite teenager assaulted you in rapid succession. You forced yourself to focus on Beau, to keep him from falling to pieces right then and there. You knew that’s why he had immediately called you, before he had to tell Carla. 

You were beyond grateful when a minute or two later someone interrupted your conversation to inform Beau that there was no evidence that Emily was in the explosion. The body they’d found appeared to be male. No Denise and no Emily. You had nearly fallen to your knees in relief right then, and you could only imagine how Beau must have felt. 

And soon enough, you, Cassie, and Cormac located both girls, very much alive, and freed them. Emily had held onto you, her young face streaked with dirt and tears, clearly traumatized from all that had taken place over the last week. It broke your heart to hear her terrified whimpers. When she first saw you, she had cried out your name and once you had her in your arms, she refused to let go of you, which was just fine by you. You were grateful she was alive and appeared to be unharmed, but you secretly wished you could have two minutes alone with Buck, that sick bastard who had done this to her. Hell, you wouldn’t have needed your gun at all. 

Beau and Hoyt showed up just as you were all stepping out into the sun and a huge lump formed in your throat when Emily finally let go of you to run to her dad. Seeing them embracing each other forced tears to run down your cheeks which you quickly wiped away. 

You were grateful to Cassie for that day. Her hunch about Cormac and her personal connection to him had helped get Emily back home safely. Not only had the two of you worked well together in that short span of time, but ever since then, you could see that she was good to Beau, and to Emily. Both Arlens had massive respect for her and you could see why Beau had spoken so highly of her before you came to Helena, and why he insisted on having her back professionally despite her being a private investigator. It was common knowledge that law enforcement didn’t always like having PI’s poking around cases, but Cassie had been given full access and assistance. You now saw why and you were thankful that Beau had such a good friend up here, someone who truly had his interests at heart as well as his daughter’s. And now you were also lucky enough to be able to call her your friend. There were many movie nights at Beau’s that were filled with light-hearted teasing and plenty of laughter since you’d settled into life in Montana.

As for Hoyt…well, things hadn’t really changed on that front. She certainly wasn’t a fan of yours, no two ways about it. 

You had gotten to know Poppernak a bit after you arrived but he was still in suck-up mode, so you decided to turn that to your advantage. It really didn’t take much to get it out of him; Hoyt had a thing for Beau, nothing you already hadn’t caught onto. Hell, she was practically all over him at his movie nights as well as anytime there was a meetup arranged at the local bar; if she wasn’t present for one reason or another, she was calling him constantly, either saying she needed a friend to talk to or it was under the guise of discussing ongoing cases. Beau never got a day off and there wasn’t one day he spent with Emily that didn’t get interrupted by a phone call from Hoyt. There had even been times he’d had to call you and ask you to take Em to a movie or keep her entertained because Carla was out and he had to go help the blonde on what should have been a case that a rookie fresh out of the academy could have handled. The kicker was that this was after what Em had been through, Hoyt knowing full well that Beau needed some time with his daughter after that ordeal. Not even you interrupted them, though both father and daughter had invited you to join them quite a few times.

At one point, you remembered the other thing Poppernak informed you about: rumors were circulating around the department that Beau and Hoyt were involved and had been secretly seeing one another. You knew Beau would have told you if he was seeing anyone, but it was no secret that Hoyt had appointed you as her archnemesis and you didn’t care for her at all. What if the rumors were right and Beau was too embarrassed to tell you? Or what if he thought it might make a bad situation worse? What if he wanted to find what he considered to be the right time to tell you? And if he was indeed seeing her, it would explain the incessant calls, the moon eyes, the distaste she had for you — all of it. The doubt continued to gnaw away at you and you didn’t sleep so well the first few nights after the talk with Poppernak. 

Finally, one day you asked Beau point-blank if anything was going on between him and Hoyt. Once he closed his gaping mouth and put his eyes back into his head, he assured you they were just friends and he was her boss. She had been through some ordeals herself and he was just trying to be there for her, to give her support when she needed it. Nothing more. You knew it was complete and utter bullshit or Beau wouldn’t have been so suddenly interested in the case file on his desk. A case file you knew had been sitting there for the past two days.

There was no way that Beau was ignorant of Hoyt's attraction to him. The woman practically had a flashing neon sign on her forehead every time she looked at him, not to mention she had pulled out all the stops to let him know she was very much interested. Beau was an affectionate person by nature so little touches here and there between you were par for the course with him if you were his best friend, as long as they were welcomed and didn’t cross any lines or make you feel uncomfortable. There wasn’t a single opportunity Hoyt didn’t take to get her hands on Beau or to get those little touches out of him. Of course he knew; he had to. All of this was so blatant, everyone else around them knew, too, hence the rumors swirling around the department. Even Carla knew, as she’d mentioned to you one afternoon, and if you thought you didn’t care for Hoyt, then the former Mrs. Arlen downright despised the woman. People who Beau and Hoyt didn’t know knew, as evidenced by a witness at a crime scene asking to speak to the sheriff’s girlfriend again. Yet, if he was willfully ignoring her consistently throwing herself at him, then there was nothing more you could say. To his credit, you had never seen him return any flirtation or interest, no matter how hard Hoyt was putting herself out there, before or after your conversation with him. 

There were a couple of times you discreetly noticed the hurt in Hoyt’s face when Beau chose to accompany you on a case, if he and Cassie were laughing together, or if he was extra tender with Carla when she would drop by the station to talk about Emily. It quickly became clear that this was more than a crush or some simple attraction; the blonde had serious feelings for your best friend. Knowing Beau the way you did and everything he’d been through the past few years, it shouldn’t surprise you if he was purposely putting blinders on when it came to this topic. Beau had dated some since his divorce, but he wasn’t ready to get serious with anyone. At least that’s what he’d told you time and time again, back in Houston and now here. It had taken him some time to get over his ex-wife and now Emily and his job were his top priorities. While deep down you might have a very tiny trace amount of sympathy for the blonde, Beau was the one who mattered to you in this equation. If Hoyt wanted to keep chasing after her emotionally unavailable boss, then that decision was on her. It wasn’t like Cassie hadn’t warned her, something the PI had mentioned to you one night after a few drinks while you both sat at a table, watching Hoyt pulling Beau onto the dance floor despite his clear reluctance. So if your best friend lived more comfortably in the land of Hoyt-is-just-being-extra-friendly-because-she-appreciates-my-friendship, then who were you to burst that bubble? 

It did bother you tremendously though to see Beau not putting up any kind of boundaries whatsoever with Hoyt even though they were sorely needed. So, in your own subtle way, from time to time, you tried to suggest he put one up… Maybe two. He would humor you and hear you out, but then he’d either pick up the phone the next time she called him on a day off or he’d refuse, saying she was in a fragile state right now and he couldn’t afford to put distance there when she needed his support. After a few instances of this craziness and Hoyt’s attitude with you grew, you stopped being subtle which resulted in arguments that turned into yelling matches, tense silences on the rare ride-along, slammed doors (usually at your place since a slammed door at Beau’s would most likely have knocked that thing over; Pedro’s door was a good replacement though—that thing may be old but it was strong like a tank), refusals to look at one another, crossed arms, and sometimes radio silence for a few days if the disagreement had reached a bad enough point. You were always professional when on the clock and you always resolved things eventually, but this was one sticking point neither of you budged from. You knew Beau was a good man and had a heart of gold, something you loved and respected about him, but he could sure be infuriatingly stubborn at times.    

And while you could admit Hoyt was a decent, hardworking cop, she was also a decent-sized, hardworking pain in your ass. You knew she’d be a problem for you and boy had she been. Her whole thing with the sheriff aside, it was no surprise that the source of her hostility towards you was the man himself, namely your friendship with him. You both were close and even though nothing had ever happened between you, it became clear that the blonde detested any familiarity or affection shown by either of you to each other. You thought it was ridiculous and you refused to change your relationship or how you did things just because she was eager for your friend to look at her the way she had been looking at him. In fact, whenever you were around, she turned her obvious coyness and see-through flirting attempts up a notch. Presently, as of a few weeks ago, Hoyt had taken to physically marking her territory, or what she considered to be hers, like her sitting on Beau’s desk—right next to him. She’d slide in beside him in your usual booth at The Boot Heel or she’d take the chair next to him during movie nights which would force you and Cassie to sprawl on the deck with a blanket, struggling to get comfortable on the hard wooden planks underneath. You fully expected one of these days to walk in on her jumping Beau right there in his office chair, something you hoped to hell you never did because you would never get that sickening image out of your head.

Sure, you had talked with Beau plenty of times about her open hostility. He had begged you to try to make peace which always made you laugh because you were not the intentional catalyst of all of the contention in this situation. 

“I have to make peace. Right,” you muttered, taking a sip of your beer that Beau had offered to you when you arrived at his place a couple of months back.

Beau threw his head back against his chair in disbelief. “I’m just asking you to maybe extend an olive branch. This thing between you two is killing me... And everyone else in the department.”

“Maybe you should tell your undersheriff to, I don’t know, act like an undersheriff?” You ignored Beau’s loud groan and continued. “Isn’t that what she’s supposed to do? Run the department while you’re out? My God, Beau, she can’t even go to the bathroom without your permission. You know that, right?”

“Y/N…”

“You and Em were supposed to go fishing last weekend with Cassie and Kai. I was going to take Carla out for the day to catch up and keep her mind off things while Em was gone. Remember that?”

You ignored Beau rolling his eyes. “Yes,” he begrudgingly admitted.

“And what happened?”

“Y/N, a case dropped. Alright? It happens. When a dead body pops up, I need to know about it.”

“Know about it, yes, not work it.” He turned to meet your unflinching gaze. “No more bullshit, Beau. You didn’t make it to Sheriff by being stupid. You’ve worked in a bigger department before, dealt with way more crime, and overseen a bigger force. All on your own. If this were anyone else, you’d have told them to do their goddamn job by now, or you’d get someone else to fill the spot. You’re making excuses for her and you’re holding her hand like she’s a damn 5 year old.”

Beau dug his teeth into his bottom lip, staring at you in thought. “I told you, she’s been through a lot these past two years.”

“And you haven’t? Cassie hasn’t? Your daughter and her mom? Really?”

He let out a deep breath and sipped from his bottle. “We all have. That’s why when one of us needs a hand, we give it without question. When one of us falls, no matter how often or how long it takes, we help them get back up, every single time.” 

You swallowed the argument on the tip of your tongue and sat back in your chair, staring down at your bottle and playing with the edge of the label. “Okay, Dr. Phil.”

A laugh erupted from the man and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shaking his head. “I’m just saying we all help each other as best we can. If that means she needs help on a few cases, I’ve got her back.”

“I think you and Hoyt have very different ideas of what the word few means.”

“Y/N, if it was you, if it was Cass, I’d do the same thing. You know that. Look, she was there for me when Em was taken.” You did your best to hide your flinch but it must not have been well enough because his hand suddenly covered both of yours. “You all were,” he clarified. “I’m just trying to return the favor.”

“Sounds like you two are a lot closer than either of you let on,” you mentioned quietly.

When he didn’t respond to that, you snuck a glance up at him. His eyes were glued to you but after a minute, he retracted his hand and dropped his gaze to the deck. “We’re friends.”

You felt a weird sensation in your chest, like something fell into the pit of your stomach with those two words. Beau was a very direct person. He looked you in the eye, he shook your hand, and he didn’t bullshit. That meant if he wasn’t looking at you, if he was feeding you this same line of bullshit, you knew that wasn’t the entire truth. You weren’t sure if it hurt because your best friend was lying to you yet again, possibly still not trusting you with the truth, or if it was due to what he’d said. Either way, you refused to look at it too closely, not wanting this feeling to consume you as it seemed intent on doing. It was easier to put distance there in your mind, to tell yourself that Beau Arlen was a grown man and he could make his own decisions. You just wished he’d get involved with someone better suited for him, like Cassie. Granted, Cassie was with Cormac and they seemed happy, but why couldn’t Beau find his own version of Cassie? Someone who wouldn’t interrupt his time with his daughter, who wouldn’t selfishly absorb all of his time off, who didn’t physically embody the definition of clingy, and who wouldn’t treat his best friend like shit day in and day out?        

Honestly, you could care less about what Hoyt thought of you or how she acted towards you. For you, this was all a one-sided issue that Hoyt herself was making. You saw through her bullshit and you didn’t take her crap, and that infuriated the blonde. But what did she expect? After working a short stint in homicide in Manhattan and then with cartels, drug rings, and all sorts of other mess in Houston, very little had the power to intimidate you these days. Certainly not some little Miss Perfect whose work uniform appeared to consist of band t-shirts, leather jackets, and thick long heels as an undersheriff (how did that make for a successful running down of a suspect? seriously), who also batted her eyelashes at her boss and scowled at you from the moment Beau addressed your existence. You’d seen some things in your time and Helena’s runner-up for this Regina George wannabe was a mere speck on the windshield of shit on top of shit. You had no time for it. You just wished sometimes that Beau would stop trying to put it on your shoulders to do something about it, especially when he knew who the real culprit was.

And almost as if he had just heard your thoughts, he hit you with: “I’m asking you if you can be the one to reach out, Y/N, because I know I can rely on you. If I ask her… With Jenny, it’s complicated.”

“Not my problem,” you snapped out, taking another sip and refusing to look at him.

A very tense silence followed for the next few minutes as you both nursed your beers. You half-wondered if this night was going to end in yet another argument about a woman that wasn’t worth wasting a second over. This much disagreement was uncommon for both of you and you hated it. Oh, sure, you’d had your spats over the years but they were pretty minor and easily dissolved. And the silences… Usually, if a silence fell over the both of you, it was comfortable and felt overall peaceful. Not lately, which always seemed to follow a mention of Hoyt in some fashion.

You felt the all-too familiar burning in the corner of your eyes when you had the thought that had been getting louder and louder as more time passed: perhaps your transfer here had been a mistake. You didn’t regret being here to help when Emily was taken, but maybe once she was safely back home, you should have returned to yours. While Beau had made room for you in the department, there wasn’t really a place for you here; as much as you enjoyed spending time with your favorite family and new friends like Cassie, the person you had dropped everything and moved across state lines for was on the other side of a huge chasm that hadn’t been there before his move up north. It was growing every single day and you had no idea how to stop its progress or bridge the gap. You did your job well and deep down, you knew you would be more efficient elsewhere. You settled into the Montanan lifestyle as best you could but you had to admit to yourself that you knew it wasn’t a perfect fit. The more time passed, the more and more you believed your decision to be a mistake. The man you cared most about in this world had called you, told you he needed you, and you jumped without hesitation, not sparing a single thought or even looking to see where you’d land. Were you really that surprised that things were turning out this way? And every single time Hoyt threw hostility your way, it reinforced what you already knew to be true, the very message she had been sending you these past six months: you didn’t belong here. You turned your head to the side to discreetly wipe away a tear that had managed to escape and you took a breath to prevent any more, telling yourself to get it together.  

You waited for your eyes to clear, to push back down the swell of emotions inside you, and took one last sip of your beer. Just as you were about to announce it was time for you to head home and thank him for the drinks, Beau spoke up. “See that?”

You glanced up to where he was pointing and caught the tail end of a shooting star. A small smile formed on your face as you took in the night sky. You had never seen anything like that before. That was one thing you’d give Montana. It was hard to believe but the sky was so different compared to Texas and definitely not the same as New York. Everything up here was so clear and beautiful. Big Sky Country indeed. 

One night you, Beau, and Cassie had taken to trying to pick out as many constellations as you could find on Cassie’s smartphone. You were not completely successful but there were a lot of laughs as you all tried your best and then there had even been a very interesting conversation about UFOs and the possibility of extraterrestrial life. That had been a night for the books, especially when you and Cassie broke out into fits of drunken giggles when you grabbed Beau’s nose and made a weird mix of a boop and honking sound when you all discussed how you would greet aliens should they ever show up but were not hostile towards humanity. Beau had merely rolled his eyes in good humor and promptly cut you and Cassie off for the rest of the night, taking car keys from the both of you.

“A shooting star,” you whispered in amazement. “I think you’re supposed to make a wish on them, right? Did you make one?” You kept searching the sky, hoping to see another one so you could do just that. The other one was too fast and you desperately wanted to wish that things would get better and you could make your new home work like you had in Houston. The thought immediately saddened you when you remembered how a certain Texan and his family had helped in that department. You swallowed the lump back down and kept watching the sky, hoping like hell the universe would help you out just this once. Just one more. You weren’t wanting a meteor shower to suddenly happen of course, though that would be amazing to witness. You made a mental note to yourself to google it later to see when and where you could see one.

“Already did.”

Your brows furrowed at his response and you turned to find him watching you closely, almost as if he was waiting for you to realize what that wish had been. When you did, you scoffed and got to your feet, second shooting star and your wish be damned. “I’m not doing the olive branch thing so you can forget it. Not even some small rock from outer space is going to force me to do that one.” You stretched, feeling slightly more energetic than you had a moment ago, most likely due to the irritation you were currently experiencing. “Well, this has been fun but I should head home. Thanks for the beer.”

A hand pulled the nearly empty bottle out of yours and another dug into your jeans pocket, pulling your keys out before you could react. “Beau, what the— I’m fine.”

“Uh huh. Listen, you know the deal. You need to sober up before you leave.”

“I’m not drunk! I’m not even tipsy!”

Beau shot you a look. “It’s late. There’s a possible ice warning for later tonight. You’re staying.”

“I have work tomorrow!”

“Good thing you have such an understanding boss then, huh?” He gave you a wink which made you roll your eyes and fold your arms across your chest.

“If you’re so worried about my blood alcohol level, maybe don’t serve alcohol when I come over?”

“What, and miss great moments like…” He reached up and grabbed your nose, making the same boop-honking sound you had made weeks ago. 

You pushed his hands away. “First of all, that is not what I sounded like. Secondly, I’m no lightweight. You know that. How many times have I drunk you under the table?”

He lifted a finger and opened his mouth to argue but then thought it over. “Good point.” You gave an approving nod. “But that was one time, in San Antonio.” He was referring to the day trip you had taken so you could visit the Alamo. You had never been and when you mentioned it, he insisted on being your guide. Carla and Emily were supposed to go as well but the latter had gotten sick so her mom stayed home with her. Beau didn’t want to leave Emily and you were willing to reschedule but Carla insisted you both still go. When you visited a bar later on, Beau issued a little friendly drinking competition between the two of you, as long as one of you was still sober enough to drive home. He had been convinced he would emerge victorious; he was wrong. That had been a long ride on the I-10. By the end of the night, Carla had her hands full with two sick people, each having their own trash baskets by their bedsides. It took some time but she eventually forgave you.

You held up two fingers. “Twice actually. You didn’t really think I’d let you forget Austin’s birthday party at that place in downtown Houston, did you?”

The man winced. “Alright, alright. Twice.” You nodded in approval. “Now, all the talk about drinking aside, you did just remind me how my time with people I care about has been interrupted quite a bit lately. Even if you’re set to drive, just stay. We can watch a movie and you can have the bed.”

A part of you wanted to accept but the other part wanted to retreat to your sanctuary, where you could break down in tears or mope around in peace. “I don’t really want to spend another night in the tin can,” you whined. “My bed is so much more comfortable and I feel it calling to me right now…” You glanced longingly in the direction of the road.

Beau’s jaw dropped. “Tin can? Between you and Em, I swear… Why can’t my girl get any respect around here?”

“Because you refer to it as a girl. You know how I feel about that.” Another eye-roll. “Beau Arlen, you keep rolling those eyes of yours at me, they’re going to fall out of your head. You just wait.”

“Sure they will.” He laid an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in closer and giving you a smirk. You couldn’t help but lean into him, hoping to feel that closeness between you again even if it was only physically. “What if I whip out some marshmallows? Whaddya say?”

“Are you really trying to bribe me to spend the night? With a gooey, sugary, yet very deliciously fluffy confectionery treat, no less?”  

“Is it working?”

You shrugged though deep down you knew it was. Marshmallows over a fire were your kryptonite and the son of a bitch knew it. “Tell me you have graham crackers and some chocolate that’s not expired, and you’ve got a deal.”

He beamed at you like a kid seeing wrapped presents under the tree on Christmas morning, making your heart feel a little lighter. How could you say no to that?

A few s’mores and quite a few more beers later, you were snuggled into his side, rapidly falling asleep. He had insisted you sit with him in his chair so you could both huddle under his one blanket for warmth on the cold night. Your drunken giggles may have made a reappearance as he worked to adjust the both of you for maximum blanket coverage but you would never admit to it if ever questioned in open court. You swore you’d buy him a few more blankets, especially when the thought popped into your head that there was a possibility that he and Hoyt had cuddled and done God knew what else under that thing. You’d even tried to wiggle it off of you since the thought took root in your stomach and soured (or maybe that was the beer), but Beau kept tucking it around you and pulling you closer until you finally gave up and settled against him with a sigh. The sound of his heartbeat and his deep voice as he spoke to you lulled you into slumber almost immediately. You thought you felt his lips brush against your forehead and you could have sworn he said something akin to “Definitely came true” but you had practically drunk your weight in beer and you were exhausted from the late hour as well as all of the roiling emotions inside of you so you couldn’t be sure it wasn’t something you dreamt instead. When you woke up with a massive headache the next day, alone in Beau’s bed with the blanket completely wrapped around you while the man snored from the couch, a dream was definitely what you chalked it up to.

And now here you were, yet again, at another impasse over the insufferable pain in your ass named Jenny Hoyt. The woman barely interacted with you, preferring to act like you didn’t exist or to silently glare at you from across the room, and she wasn’t even here, but somehow there she was, always in between the two of you. It really made you miss the old days, back before things went to shit for Beau in Houston. Back when things were a lot less complicated. 

“Davis is booking Webb so I’ll go finish up the paperwork.” You turned to head towards the door.

“Y/N,” Beau sighed, giving you a pleading look.

“Thanks for the talk. I’ll catch you later.” You sent a forced smile his way and slowly spun out the door, closing it behind you. Passing by Poppernak on your way to your desk, you snatched a muffin right out of his hand. 

“Hey! That’s the only blueberry from the bag. Madge got the other.”

“That sucks,” you teased before breaking off a piece of the top and tossing it into your mouth. “I thought you liked chocolate chip, anyway.”

“Nah, not anymore. It gives me bad heartburn,” he confirmed sadly.

You couldn’t help but arch a brow at him. “And blueberry doesn’t?”

He shrugged. “Not as much.”

With a roll of your eyes, you tossed the muffin back at him and he caught it with a bright smile. You slipped the paper out of your back pocket and punched a familiar number into your phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“Your mother, Pepper Snaps.” Poppernak frowned over at you. You couldn’t blame him; you were being a total crankpot. It wasn’t just your recent conversation with Beau or Hoyt’s attitude or even your most recent case. You hated that you had to sit at a desk in the middle of a busy station while Beau and Hoyt got to have their own offices. Normally, you wouldn’t care, but when it came to phone calls or conversations best kept away from prying eyes and overeager ears, it was frustrating. You weren’t a deputy — you had as much authority as Hoyt, and Beau had made that perfectly clear to the department when you started (though you had a different title due to politics and budgetary reasons). Due to lack of room, however, you were forced to share a space with them, your deskmate being Poppernak. Not that you minded but damn the rest of the department could be so nosy sometimes. When you noticed a couple of other deputies watching you, you asked loudly, “Can’t a girl get some privacy around here?” All of them looked away, not willing to enter into yet another glaredown with you. They never emerged victorious in those encounters, even Miller who could be a real jerk when he wanted to be. They had all learned very quickly in your first week that you could hold your own and you could go endless rounds with the best of them. You could stand the heat and before long, it would be your kitchen and they’d be burnt to a goddamn crisp or running for the door. 

“Mind your muffin,” you grumbled to Pops.

When the line connected and the operator asked you who you were trying to contact, you cupped your hand over the mouthpiece and asked for the department you needed. While you were being transferred, Pops arched his eyebrows at you in question since he had overheard you because no damn privacy.

You let out a sigh in resignation and shook your head. “I’m following up on a case. It’s nothing.”

“Sure sounds like something,” Pops said through a mouthful of muffin.

Giving him a look, you sat back in your chair and listened patiently to the public information that substituted what normally would be hold music. You thought back to your ride over to the station and what Webb had said while in the back of your car. You may have pushed the right buttons to get him to open up and say enough to help you make the decision you just made, but you didn’t have any evidence that anything he’d mentioned was the truth. Still, you knew what you saw and you knew what your instincts were telling you. Like Beau said, you couldn’t get involved but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do something.

A few minutes later, after consistently turning Webb’s words over and over in your mind and listening to the same public safety message for the twelfth time, someone finally answered.

“Agent Sanchez? It’s Y/N Y/L/N. Not sure if you remember me from the Carter case last year. How’ve you been?” Carter had been an escaped convict that a manhunt had been on for last year, and it had been an all hands on deck situation. You and your partner had been stuck with Sanchez and this other dickish agent whose name wasn’t even worth remembering, but you and Sanchez had gotten along well enough to help get the job done. In the end, Carter had been apprehended and dumped back in prison thanks to the cooperation and joint efforts of all of the agencies involved.

You made a little small talk and then you got right to the point. “Listen, do you happen to have any contacts in the branch office in Montana? You do? Do you think you could put me in touch? I have a case up here that I think one of their departments might want to take a look at.”

Sanchez gave you the name and number of his contact, told you to keep him updated, and let him know if you needed anything else. He also mentioned you should call him to go for a drink next time you were in town. Remembering the wedding ring he had been sporting, you gave him a vague but polite noncommittal, thanked him, and promptly hung up. You glanced up to find Pops staring at you wide-eyed.

“What?”

He glanced around, seeming unsure, and then leaned in closer. “Does the boss know you’re doing this? Because if Hoyt finds out you’re pulling the Feds into this, she’s going to—”

You held up a hand after you dialed the next number and unfolded the paper from your pocket, looking at the information you needed. “Pops, let me stop you right there. I spoke to the sheriff already about this case. What Hoyt does or doesn’t do, doesn’t concern me, and the same goes for her where I’m concerned. Understood?”

Poppernak shook his head and leaned back. “Okay but it’s your head if she finds out. Just warning you.”

You gave him a wide grin right before the line connected once again. “She can try.”

dividers by @firefly-graphics

[slay00ryu]

Swimming With The Snake.

This was supposed to be an ask but I deleted it- I'm so so so sorry </3 Still posting it tho! :) Trigger warnings!

Ronin being himself.

Mentions of suffocating and drowning.

Hurt / Comfort

Anxiety

Have fun!!!

Water was keeping you in its embrace, comforting yet heavy.

You are currently in your swimming practice. You're a professional swimmer, ever since you were a child you loved the feeling of freedom that water gave you.

Now it wasn't your passion, it was an obligation. Something you had to do, something you had to be good at. And what would happen if you're not? You can as well be gone from the world. You're nothing without swimming, an useless human.

That are your thoughts, or more precisely, the thoughts that your coaches and parents pushed you into following.

You were made for swimming. You had to be fit. No fun, no friends. Nothing. Only you and the pool.

At least that's how your life looked until you met this weird mechanic.

You remembered this day like it was yesterday, you were driving home after another won competition, there wasn't any other feelings that exhaustion. Exhaustion from this life, from the routine you have going. Your life is an endless cycle; wake up, eat, swim, repeat. You hate it, yet you can't break it.

While you were lost in your thoughts, your car suddenly broke down, you cursed your breath.

"Just my luck."

You mumbled as you called the nearest mechanic to fix your car.

And that's how you met Ronin, a guy who's a walking definition of the word "edgy".

Somehow you were interesting enough for him to ask you for your number, at first you were unsure of accepting.

You accepted.

What's the worst that could happen? It's not like he's some sort of a serial killer like the Butcher, right?

After meeting Ronin, he would text you a lot, invite you for hang outs. At first you turned him down. You had to train. To work harder and harder every day. To get better, to earn more wins.

Well, your new friend stayed stubborn, he texted you, flooded you with invite after invite. You just had to agree.

And now, here you are. Standing in front of a cafe in one of the "nicer" outfits, it was your first friend hang out after all. You were nervously tapping your foot, you were supposed to prepare for a national competition, not wait for some guy who's just interested in you.

"Hey there swimmer."

Here he is. Ronin. A man so mysterious you don't even know his last name or anything besides the things he cared to share.

"Good to see you. You're worse than my coach you know?"

You said sarcastically. Somehow seeing another human who didn't tell you to swim as if your whole life depended on it felt good. Almost too good. It's like you were something more than just a swimmer, a human with your own thoughts and feelings.

"Oh, so a shitty coach hm?"

Even with that cocky grin, you could still see the dangerous look in his eyes. Like he had some wicked plans in his mind.

"You... could say that, yeah."

You sighed. Your coach is a terrible person, even worse than your parents. He pushed you too far, sometimes didn't let you take breaks. It was exhausting, you swore that it would kill you one day. You just had to wait for that day to arrive.

Weeks passed. The finals for one of your many competitions were getting closer every day,

Your relationship with Ronin was blooming into something more. He would pick you up from your practices, take you to his favourite places or just to hang out around the town. His mysterious aura kept you craving for more of him. He started to be the only thing on your mind, besides swimming.

Unfortunately, you had less and less time for the meeting. Your coach made sure to push you even further, keep you longer in the practices.

One of these days, when you were swimming for so long that your body felt even heavier in the water. Your body simply gave out.

Exhaustion, mixed with all the anxiety that you felt due to the pressure you were under, they won over with your abilities to swim.

You were drowning.

Trying your best to swim, making it only worse. The water got into your nose and mouth, slowly making its way to your lungs. the sensation was burning, there was ringing in your ears and sour tears mixed with water.

Your coach left for a smoke earlier. He wouldn't save you. Is this how your story ends?

Are you going to drown? Alone and unloved?

As your body grew heavier and heavier, suddenly strong arms were holding you, pushing you up.

You were placed on the cold tiles, your vision blurry, but you could make out the plum coloured hair that were dripping wet.

"For fuck's sake... Y/N I swear."

It was Ronin. He saved you. But why was he present at the pool? And what was this irony scent that came off of him.

"Don't even say anything. You... This asshole, if I knew that this is how hard he-"

You couldn't really understand what he was mumbling about. Your whole body was heavy, you were just so exhausted...

Ronin watched you as you fell asleep. He sighed, you were so exhausted, and this was the fuck's fault.

He wiped his blood stained hands into his shirt, so he could pick you up and take you home.

Oh yeah. Blood stained.

Ronin killed that asshole.

He was watching your every practice, seeing that asshole made his blood boil. He was the only thing that stopped Ronin from setting you free, from helping you find your best shape.

"Don't worry darlin', now you will be set free."

[colourful-void]

alright closing umineko for the night!! i had a great time with it so far!! i really like the writing style, and for the most part its actually a lot less dense than i was expecting. I thought it might be some house of leaves stuff but no this is pretty easy to read, at least so far! im rlly glad for that like it doesn't feel too simple, not too complicated, its good!

current character thoughts run down, though i've barely started so i dont know much yet: ginzo: he sucks he totally sucks and im convinced that he made some kidna deal w/ beatrice in order to take advantage of the earthquake and war and such. not entirely convinced hes not about to just murder the whole family bcs he seems like he would do that. krauss: also sucks. just a real dick, but in like. he's a standard asshole really. natsuhi: much in the same vien, but she's got that matriach of the family thing going on i hope will b explored more <3 jessica: she's neat i like her! looking forward to more on her. Eva: i was digging for her a while and then i saw how she treated shannon and it went out the window hideyoshi: ive yet to expirence a thought on this man George: he's very tropey in a good way and i enjoy he's friendly guy swag. looking forward to it inevitably falling to pieces rudolf: DICK!! kyrie: girl leave your husband. i can treat u better <3, im glad she has some decency but my mind aint set on her yet battler: HES SO CRINGEEEE <333333333333333333333333333333333333333333 sometimes he does genuinely offput me but mostly he's just stupid <3 rosa: be a bit nicer to ur daughter, but beyond that shes chill i think. no big thoughts here. i do like her dynamic in relation to the rest of the siblings so far maria: MARIA MY DARLING MY DEAREST SHES SO SWEET AND SILLY AND CLEARLY OMINOUS I CANT WAIT TO SEE WHAT DARK MAGICS OVERTAKE HER OR WHATEVER <333 maria for whatever the fuck she wants 2024 love her so much no crazy thoughts on the head butler or doctor but i think in a different world the butler and ginzo had crazy gay sex shannon: shes soooo sweetie <3 suspiciously so this game wants me to like her so bad and i do <3. i am aware of one key spoilery fact about shannon uncovered in some content warnings i recieved, but its kinda fun seeing the set up for that! everyone be nicer to my girl kanon: hes suspcious but overly so and i wonder what his deal is. i also think all the servants need to be treated better this fucking furnature stuff <3 its awful i love it narratively gohda: i think he would kill someone with very little hesitation. i wanna try that panna cotta. kumasawa: shes like a grandma to me <333 i like her!!

i havent met beatrice yet but im looking forward to it she looks super neat.

i also apperciate how slow burn this is, a few hours in and very little has happened yet it's nice. there's already a lot building but like. nothing big yet it's nice. i like it. it feels like it's moving at exactly the pace it wants to and i enjoy it a lot. the sound design is also rlly good. the music is really nice a couple times i got distracted and just listened to it in the bg. the sfx r nice too.

i do not regret my sprite choice i like these designs they're fun, but i do think maria looks a little off for her alleged age of 9, but it's easy to ignore after a min or two.ironically when i was loading the game and saw her on the steam page it def aligned better, but at the cost battler to my eyes is now yassified. he cant be a pretty boy to me he's too lame.

voice acting is great everyones putting fucking everyting into it and i enjoy that. fully commited to the enviroment and its great.

where i left off: everyone just finished having lunch! kumasawa covered for shannon not knowing the red sauce's ingredients. that's all for now! not sure when ill paly more, probably tomorrow, but its been good!! good game so far i like this setg up!! im also eagar to get more into the murder and violence and witch stuff but like, it does a good joib of setting up the characters so i dont feel impatient, and unlike a lot of games w/ murder n mystery that get right into it i kinda find it refreshing how slow this one is to start its like we all know itll get there so the tension of everyone being relatively calm is great.

anyway, umineko day 1: it was good =D

[mr-self-destructxx]

oc hcs<333

hi hii!!!! bc its pride month id decied to post hcs about one of my fav ocs!!! her name is ruby ophelia and i... like her a lot:3

if you got any questions send me and ask!!! i will prob add more to this later lol, rbs are always appreciated but not necessary<3

(also!! tw for mentions of death, abuse, and implied suicide)

ty for reading!!!

Black transfem lesbian

Implied that shes traumatized from her early childhood

Growing up, her family consisted of her and her mother, and later on a dog

She has always dressed frilly and feminine, even as a kid, so it wasnt that much of a shock to discover she was trans

Gets her whole knowledge of romance from reading unrealistic romance novels in her teen years(this has a mild impact on her current love life)

Loves loves LOVES! Women that are taller than her, she prefers her partner to be a bit more,,,,, bold? If that makes sense…?

Cuts her own bangs like… twice a month

Can't stand wearing glasses but doesn't like the feeling of contacts, so she usually switches between them

Hates how long it takes to shave so she just…. Doesn't. Razor burn is her mortal enemy tbh

Is sorta autistic coded in the sense that if you flirt with her, she wont understand unless it's painfully obvious

Really tiny feet

very short……. Like 5’4 short

Was almost 19 when she died, much to her dismay, she had spent a lot of her time prior to her death being depressed.

Likes baking,,,, cookies in particular

Overthinker fr

Would love to wear heels but her feet hurt+ she always falls over

Prefers tea over coffee bc caffeine makes her nervous

When she died, she decided to change her life for the better and tries to be a nicer person (she already was before, this was just more oriented towards herself now)

Is big into gardening, but never has the energy to start other than a few house plants

The circumstances surrounding her death are kinda unclear, because she doesn't remember it that well…

^^ like all she knows is that her ex killed her and that she has scars on her wrists(this is not true)

She came this conclusion bc her ex was abusive and manipulative to her

So that's something she would do…. Right?

Nap enjoyer

Like shed sleep 34 hours a day if she could

Is surprised when the LITERAL PERSONIFICATION OF DEATH falls in love with her, like,,,,, she's just some girl and they kill ppl

Death is kinda cute tho so its okie:3<< thoughts in rubys brain

[numinously-yours]

What to leave behind and what to bring into the new month

Happy last week of January! Pick a group for insights on what you should leave behind as the month ends and what you can focus on in the new month ahead. Let me know if you have any topics you'd like me to pull for!

My dear pile one,

It is time to let go of your need to do everything on your own. If you’re feeling overwhelmed or weighed down by your responsibilities – or what you think is your responsibility – try remembering that you’re not alone and there are people here to help carry the load. Allow others to help, even in small ways.

Personal growth and development may be a great focus point for you in the upcoming month. The Magician brings forth the tools and energy you need to make progress in this personal journey. Focus on your “why” and look inward at your power. This period of growth will last you throughout (and beyond) the month, so don’t get hard on yourself if you don’t see immediate results. Growth is not linear.

Hello lovely twos,

Rather than the Tower representing a destruction that has already happened/is currently happening, I think you’re being told to leave January with a bang (semi-literally), and create the destruction of your self-limiting beliefs. Light up some sticks of dynamite, rev up the bulldozer, or get that wrecking ball swinging cause we’re not going into the new month with any of our same thoughts. Your self-limiting beliefs have felt like a chaos storm in your brain, and this is your permission to let them go.

February is a month of self-exploration. It is a month to figure out why these self-limiting beliefs exist. This may be a good time to do some shadow work. Shadow work is tough, but I think some good realizations can come out of it. Here are some shadow work prompts if you’re ready to get started. You may find truths you didn’t know existed. Or you may find yourself answering just as you’d expect, but this time… it’s gonna hit different. You’re going to find answers for yourself which will put a lot into perspective and really help with letting go of your self-doubt.

For those who aren’t ready to dive deep into the darker parts of your soul (which is A-OK!), take a look at the resources at your fingertips. How can you align these resources with your goals? For example, do you have a goal to say nicer things to yourself each day? Make yourself a daily check list – add some normal items like “1 hour with no screen time” or “brush your teeth” and then add “say one good thing about yourself”. As you check of the easier items, you’ll see the tougher ones. And in an effort to make those check marks, you’ll get in the groove of participating in the hard tasks.

My pile three friends,

Teamwork and collaboration seems to have been a theme in January. Whether it be your new years resolution, a project at work, or homing in on a new habit, the foundation was set in this last month. I wouldn’t say you’re really leaving anything behind, but the creation stage is ending. You are moving forward into the stabilization and growth phases of this beautiful thing you’ve launched.

Bring this sense of accomplishment into February with you to start the month off strong. You’ve done really great work! One great way to keep momentum is a partnership between your higher self and the work you are doing. As you continue to build on the project you started think: what can I get out of this project personally and what can I bring to this project to ensure it thrives. You will feel better about the end results knowing that it made your heart happy and that you had something to do with its success.

To my pile fours,

You know what your higher self is trying to tell you. You know what your guides are hinting at. Maybe it seems too good to be true or it’s scary, but either way, you gotta get rid of the clouds you’re using as a way to doubt yourself. I know from experience that self-doubt speaks LOUD. It is MEAN. But it is soo worth getting past. It doesn’t mean it’ll go away for forever, but it sure can get quieter.

In this situation, “clarity” can be seen as the opposite of “cloudy” , and mental clarity is exactly what the King of Swords wants you to bring into/work on in the new month. You may not be ready to jump right into this new thing in February, but you can do the work this month to feel more confident when the time officially comes. Lay out the facts for yourself: I have done hard things in the past; I have the resources I need to be successful; I have people I know will support me when it gets difficult. And repeat these facts to yourself as much as you need to. As with pile two, you could do some shadow work to  bring clarity to why you feel this hesitancy to move forward.