#mrs. mcarthy

[jlbilu]

Wow, ⬆this⬆ is from 2021 and the sentiment hasn't changed. I'd even say it got worse. Nowadays I'm unable to draw anything, not to say writing...

I feel/am so disconnected of all those Father Brown complex theories and headcanons I think I wouldn’t dare to write anything so no one could, you know, ‘hissssss’ at me for not stick to/fit into their “rules”. I think I’ll settle for drawing,

[colonellickburger]

Peter Mitchell. Mrs. McArthy & her daughter, Sangley Road, London. 1975

[shadowglens]

like kerosene (on a flame of doubt)

fandom: read dead redemption 2 warnings: canon typical violence, blood and gore characters: alma mcarthy (oc), john marston, dutch van der linde, arthur morgan, assorted original side characters word count: 7,826 overview: alma mcarthy joins the van der linde gang, circa 1891 BEFORE READING: please open in a new tab as it's very long and tumblr formatting is terrible on dash 😭

1891, Wyoming

“I want those stalls all mucked out before lights out, you hear?”

Alma rolled her eyes so hard she thought they might disappear into her skull. “I ain’t your servant, Jeremiah. Do it yourself.”

“Listen, girl.” The slapping of his boots through mud bounced between the walls of the livery as he stormed towards her. “While you are under this roof, taking my gold and tending my horses, you will do what I goddamn fucking say.”

Evening was drawing near. Distantly, if she strained her ears over the sound of her associate’s - sorry, boss’ - incessant droning, Alma could hear a pair of coyotes calling to each other in the nearby hills. One of the horses in the stall closest to her stamped it’s foot with a huff, whether at the threat of wildlife or Jeremiah, Alma wasn’t sure. She absently reached to hush it as the man’s squelching boots finally brought him to stand before her. 

His cheeks were crimson, a vein popping on his forehead and disappearing all the way up into his receding hairline. The horse, a beautiful roan mare, was now at the front of her stall and huffed sharply enough that Jeremiah’s neckerchief fluttered. “Wasn’t I fucking clear, girl? Pick up the goddamn rake and get to work.”

Jeremiah Owens wasn’t a particularly kind man, in the grand scheme of the things. He only knew how to yell or curse, smelt not-so-faintly of manure, and Alma was fairly sure he had never bothered to remember her first name. Girl this, girl that. Still, she fought the urge to stamp her foot like a petulant foal. He had never laid a hand on her, for starters, and shouting aside, he had given her free use of the small loft space above his office. Right now, he was the only thing separating her from the warmth of this livery and the rain-soaked emptiness on the horizon outside. 

“I’ve gotta do up the papers for those mustangs,” she snapped, biting down the fire in her gut. “Mr Darlington was due to send one of his boys tomorrow mornin’ for them, or did you forget?”

That was the other reason she liked Jeremiah. When she’d turned up on his doorstep just under nine months ago, looking like a starving rat no less, he hadn’t just offered her a job - he’d brought her in on the less-than-reputable side of his operation. More than that, he’d let her help with it. Storing and feeding horses was one thing, but a horse fence was an entirely different beast. A lucrative one, too. She knew he had a few hundred gold stored somewhere in the basement of his house, she was sure of it. 

“I ain’t smooth-brained, girl.” Again, she rolled her eyes. Again, he glared. “The papers are already organised. Just muck the stalls out.” At that, he stormed back the way he’d come, no doubt to the comfort of his small house up the way. 

“O-kay boss,” she sing-songed, mostly to piss him off. 

To his credit, he didn’t bother turning back around. 

In truth, Alma didn’t mind the cleaning. It was mindless, sure, and it left her muscles aching every night in her sorry excuse for a bed, but at least it kept her busy. Didn’t give her too much time to think. If she had time to think, she started remembering, and that led nowhere good. 

She worked her way through the stalls as the daylight finally slipped away below the horizon. The roan mare was a legit purchase on Jeremiah’s part, currently the only one in the livery. A group of men had brought in a trio of mustangs a few days ago, beautiful beasts captured from somewhere over the mountain, and then there was the stallion. 

He was a huge Thoroughbred, proud, a striking blood bay colouring. Alma was sure he’d been nicked from one of the local ranches, but it wasn’t her or Jeremiah’s jobs to ask those kinds of questions. Either way, she’d be sad to see him go, even if he would fetch them a fortune. He was magnificent. 

Alma had reached his stall, and was about to sneak him a sugar cube, when something clattered to the ground at the opposite end of the stable.

The stallion jerked away from her hand, startled, as Alma too spun on the spot. 

Her hand went to her hip on instinct. Her revolver, as always, was holstered. Jeremiah had fought her on it for about a week before a wannabe gunslinger had held them both up over ten dollars. She’d been armed while working ever since.

The livery was deathly silent. 

Most of the lights were off by this time of night, only one illuminating her end of the stable and one in Jeremiah’s office. The office where the sound had, undoubtedly, come from. Alma crept in that direction, keeping her shoulder tight against the stall doors and the shadows they cast. There was only one place Jeremiah ever was at this hour, and it for sure wasn’t working. Lazy bastard.

A shape darted past the office window. 

Fury, at being robbed, at being stolen from, gripped Alma, and before she could think of any common sense she was sprinting for the door. 

The hinges were always loose and creaking, and even her slight frame sent the door slamming open as she barrelled into it. The shape turned out to be a person as the door also slammed into them, sending them careening into the far wall with a shout. Alma twisted, revolver drawn.

It was a man, scrambling to his feet while one hand gripped his nose. There was blood covering his chin and throat. She couldn’t see much of his face through his curtain of dark, greasy hair, but she could hear him cursing under his breath.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Alma snarled, gun aimed between his eyes where he was leaning back against the far wall. 

“You broke my fucking nose!”

She took a step towards him, gun still up. “You were trying to steal from us!”

He shifted, spat a glob of blood in her direction. He spoke like a street rat, kind of looked like one too, but his clothes were just a little too nice to be one of the petty thieves Alma was used to seeing around town. The leather of his boots, though now muddied, was clearly well looked after, and the holster for his own revolver looked well made. Maybe he was from a gang? Jeremiah had grumbled that there were a few that rode through every so often, but usually they brought good business to the livery.

“What do you want?” she snapped. Back in the stables, she could hear the mustangs cracking a fuss at all the commotion. 

He scoffed. “Your money. What, are you simple?”

“Fuck you!” Alma glanced quickly at his gun - still holstered. “Give me back anything you’ve taken. Now!”

Despite the gun pointed at his forehead, he had the audacity to laugh. “Or what? You probably don’t even know how to use that thing.”

Oh, this greasy fucker. 

The Alma from five years ago would’ve baulked at even holding a gun. Her Pa had taught her how, of course, but she’d been a proper little girl back then, with parents who loved her, and a warm home to run back to if things got too hard. 

Five years was a long time.

The man’s left arm, the one not gripping his broken nose where it was still streaming blood down his face, twitched closer to his holster.

No you don’t.

Alma shot him.

“Fuck!” he screamed as the shot rang out through the office and livery and the land surrounding it. The horses cried out, an owl scattering from the rafters and into the trees beyond at the sudden noise. His body slammed back against the wall, broken nose long forgotten as he clutched helplessly at his shoulder and the rough line the bullet had drawn through his skin. He was lucky she’d only grazed him and not put it between his eyes.

Alma stormed up to him, lunging, and before he could react she had his revolver in her free hand. “I said, give me back anything you’ve taken!”

She could hear Jeremiah shouting for her up at his house.

The man dropped to the ground, one shaking hand held palm-out as the other tried to stem the bleeding. Alma was close enough that she could see the sweat on his brow and the wide-eyed look on his face, like a startled filly. It was barely a flesh wound. He really hadn’t thought she’d shoot him.

Belatedly, she realised he was barely older than she was, maybe even the same age. More a boy than anything. Just like she was barely anything other than a girl.

“ - all of it!” he stammered. She hadn’t realised he’d been talking. “Get away from me, you psycho!”

He’d emptied the small satchel at his hip, sending an assortment of trash and stolen goods scattering to the floor. A few wads of cash, a stack of fraudulent papers that Alma had hand-written herself, a pack of cigarettes, a few twigs and rocks, a tin of gun oil that looked like it was nothing but dregs, and a little pocket knife. She took the cash and papers, thought for a moment, then pinched the cigarettes too even though she didn’t smoke.

She glared at him, raising both guns again. “I’m the psycho?”

“You shot me!”

“You deserved it,” she said, backing up to slam everything back onto the desk. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the drawers all sitting wide open. Subtle. “Now get -” she started, breath caught at the adrenaline coursing through her veins, “now get the hell out of here before I really shoot you!”

The man - the boy - just stared at her. His nose, thankfully, had stopped gushing blood all down his front, although now his arm was stained russet too. His shirt was well and truly ruined.

Alma marched over to the window he’d apparently crawled through and slammed her hand against the frame. “Are you deaf?! I said go!”

That seemed to shake him out of whatever daze he’d fallen into. She tracked his every movement across the office, guns still razed, and simply glared as he awkwardly tried to clamber back out the window with only one good arm. She slammed the butt of his own gun against his back as he went, sending him tumbling into the mud outside.

He cursed, stumbled and slipped, before righting himself and sprinting for the edge of the property. If she squinted, she could make out the shape of a horse hidden just beyond the treeline. 

“And don’t come back, you bastard!” she screamed after him. 

Jeremiah chose that moment to burst into the office, door slamming open the exact same way it had moments before. “Alma!”

She leant back against the wall beside the window, a gun still gripped in each hand, and raised an eyebrow at her boss. “So you do know my name.”

“What happened? Did I hear a gunshot?” He eyed the leather-wrapped revolver in her right hand. Alma almost laughed when she realised he was only in sleep pants. Maybe the old geezer did care after all. “Where did that come from?”

“A gift from a thief. Don’t worry, I chased him off cause, unlike you, I care about this business.” 

Jeremiah just gawked at her. “You shot him?”

“Would you rather I let him take all your cash and papers and everything not nailed down?”

“Well, no, but …” he only then spied the blood smeared on the wall and floor. “Hells, girl. How many times did you shoot him?”

Alma scoffed at him as she inspected her new revolver. “Just once, barely. I’m not a monster.”

...

One of Jeremiah’s cousins, Gregory, came by the next day to help shore things up in the wake of the attempted robbery. The man was Jeremiah’s opposite - tall, rotund, intimidating - which Alma supposed was a good thing. It’d hopefully scare any other would-be thieves off, at any rate. 

Not that they had to worry. The next few days were entirely uneventful. Mr Darlington sent a few boys down to pick up two of the mustangs, and paid triple what they were realistically worth without batting an eyelid. Jeremiah had made her hide the Thoroughbred out back before their arrival, just in case their suspicions rang true.

Alma had also convinced Jeremiah to let her man the fence after her little display the other night. That’s where she was that morning, perched on a stool behind the cut-out in the wall with her head propped up on one hand, when a man on a beautiful white stallion came trotting down the path. Even from a distance, she could tell she wouldn’t like him. The moustache alone put her off.

“Why, good morning to you miss!” he cawed. In the morning sunlight, the red of his waistcoat shone like rubies. “Fine day, isn’t it?”

Alma just stared at him. “I suppose.”

“Quite an establishment you’ve got here.” He hitched his horse by the post at the livery entrance, then waltzed over to where she was perched around the side. For a new customer, he sure knew his way around. 

“It ain’t mine, sir,” she said, fighting to smooth her brow against a brewing frown. “Can I help you?”

He was right before her now, smiling with too many teeth and his silly slicked-back hair. “Forgive my manners. Dutch van der Linde.” The hand he held out was tanned, roughened, yet adorned with rings of all metals that glinted as he moved. An unusual combination. When she simply looked from his hand to his face and back again, the man - Dutch, apparently - simply smiled and shifted to clutch at his gun belt with a hip cocked. “I was hoping to discuss a proposition with you, if you’d be amenable?”

Oh boy. “Unless it’s to sell that pretty horse of yours, sir, the answer’s no.”

“Now, now miss, don’t be so rash.” Alma felt herself tense, toes curling in her boots where they were hidden behind the counter. She could image Jeremiah in her ear, insisting that she be amenable to all customers lest she drive away business. She forced herself to breathe as Dutch kept yapping. “I’m here to propose an offer to you, specifically. You see, one of my boys said he ran into you a few days back, said you had a bit of a … disagreement?”

Any pretence of her being a good salesperson flew out the door at that. So the greasy fucker was back to haunt her then. She pulled her revolver from the holster at her hip before she could stop herself, jumping off her stool in the same moment. Trust her luck that the moment Gregory was nowhere to be seen was the moment she needed him. 

Dutch, to his credit, didn’t even flinch. Instead, he held up both hands in surrender. Still smiling. Still too many teeth. “Easy miss, I’m not here for what you think. Like I said, I have a proposition.”

Alma scoffed. Kept her revolver raised. “My mumma didn’t raise no fool.”

“I can see that. But I truly mean you no harm.” Dutch breathed out a laugh, or maybe it was a grimace? Alma could quite read the way his face twisted. “From the looks of John’s nose and shoulder, she apparently also raised quite a fighter.”

Was this the boy’s - John’s - father, then? Uncle? Alma supposed there was a bit of a resemblance with the dark hair, but it had been nighttime. Maybe she was misremembering. “Yeah well maybe you need to teach your boy some proper manners. Didn’t you hear it’s rude to accost a lady in the night?”

Dutch laughed properly then, glancing to his feet for a moment as if to collect himself before lifting his gaze back to Alma. His brown eyes assessed her. “Now, there is fire in you, miss. I knew I’d like you. ”

“The feeling’s not mutual.”

Another laugh shot from him, short like gunfire. “Hah! Now, where was I? Oh yes, I came to thank you for not killing John on sight, the boy was foolish to steal from such a … reputable establishment such as this one.” He waved his hands at the livery in question with an eyebrow raised. “I’d also like to offer you a job, of sorts.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m already gainfully employed, if you couldn’t tell.” Alma glanced behind her, hoping fruitlessly that one of her associates would actually be found in their place of work when she needed them. Alas, all that greeted her was the beautiful Thoroughbred with his ears perked in her direction. She kept her revolver gripped.

Dutch, apparently oblivious to her distraction, or perhaps not caring, soldiered on. “But does this place truly bring you satisfaction? Purpose? You’re clearly an intelligent young lady and have a mind for business and horses, and I just happen to find myself in need of someone with such talents.” He reached into a pocket of his coat, slowing as he saw her grip on her revolver tense, before producing a few pieces of paper. He gently placed them on the counter between them. Alma couldn’t help but gape a little when she recognised her own handiwork. “I’ve seen how you operate. Smart idea, faking the papers to get a higher price. I bet you’re making a killing out of the rich fools around here.” He paused again, for dramatic effect or to assess her reaction, Alma wasn’t sure. “Wouldn’t you rather put your skills to better use? Me and mine can offer you that and more.”

Alma fought the urge to ask where he’d got the papers from. “Let me guess? By ‘better use’, you mean scamming people for you, rather than this business? You must think me a proper idiot, just like that John of yours.”

It was an insult, and she’d meant it as one, but Dutch only kept smiling. Something in his eyes had sparked. “Think bigger! The government would see us civilised, chained up, would see our freedoms taken away. The rich folk around here no doubt deserve to lose some cash to you, sure, but a woman with your talents could be doing more than taking coin from a few oblivious ranchers. You and me and the others in my community? We can make a real difference.”

Surely he was a fool. The government? His community? Alma had seen how the law and the government treated people who didn’t fit in, people who lived outside the confines of society, and it weren’t pretty. As much as she hated the system sometimes, she had no desire to slide back into the fear she’d only just managed to crawl out of. 

Then again, what had her parents gained by being dutiful citizens? They’d been happy, for a time she supposed, but what were they now other than six feet under with no gravemarkers for Alma to visit? They’d done what they were told, had tried to live the great American dream, and it had torn them up and spat them back out like they were nothing. 

Worse than nothing. 

Still. Going in guns blazing surely wasn’t the solution either. No matter how many big, pretty words people like Dutch used to decorate it.

Gregory had apparently decided to finally do the job his cousin had asked him to, and Alma could hear him trudging through the stable in her general direction. She forcibly shook herself from her thoughts and perched back on her stool. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m mighty fine sticking to scamming the rich folk around here. Thanks, but no thanks.” She rested her revolver on the counter between them. “Now, if you don’t have a horse to trade, I think it’s time you left, sir.”

If Dutch was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. He simply smiled and held his hands in mock surrender, rings glinting again. “Well, if you change your mind, my associates and I will be in town for the next few days. We’ll be in the saloon, or nearby at the very least. You have a good day, Miss …?”

Alma bit the inside of her gum. Threw caution to the wind. “Alma McArthy.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss McArthy.” Dutch started walking backwards to his pretty horse with his pretty waistcoat and perfectly styled hair, and smiled. “Think about my offer?”

“Don’t count on it,” she called after him.

Gregory was beside her now, leaning over her shoulder to glare at Dutch’s receding form. His horse was small, fast no doubt, but he took his time trotting back up the path and over the rise. Alma kept her gun out until he was fully out of view.

“He give you any trouble?” Gregory grumbled, arms crossed. They were as thick as small trees.

Alma sighed, rubbing at her forehead. “Nah. Just … wanted to sell me something. I told him to sod off.”

“Hmm. Good.”

...

Alma was tossing and turning up in her loft above Jeremiah’s office, as she had been for the past few hours, when the gunfire started.

She tumbled from her cot, landing with a thud while her eyes adjusted to the near-pitch darkness. 

Another gunshot. Glass shattering. 

She fumbled across the small space for her gun belt, her revolver and the boy’s still tucked in their holsters. Lunged, then, for her coat where it hung on a hook haphazardly nailed into the far wall. The off-white of her sleep shirt near-glowed in the dark; even with her coat tugged on, her knees were still exposed. 

Another gunshot, another, another. Screaming. The horses were whinnying. 

A bullet shot through the wall of her loft, sending a spray of splinters towards her. Alma threw herself backwards on instinct, heart a drumbeat in her ear, and almost tripped over her boots where she’d left them scattered at the end of her shift. The whole livery was writhing as if in pain, had come alive with screams and gunfire. 

“Serves ya right!” someone - not Jeremiah or Gregory - was shouting over the cacophony. “Thieving scum!” 

It had been a relatively quiet few days, besides that boy trying to rob the place. Surely Dutch hadn’t returned? He had been a pompous ass with a stick a mile up his ass, but he hadn’t seemed to have any ill-feelings towards her or the stable. 

Alma went to make for the door, thought better of it, and tugged open the window instead. It was still at least a few hours before sunrise, the sky more stars than anything, and her eyes were still stuck with sleep. She couldn’t spy movement in the nearby treeline, but from this angle she could see figures darting about towards the front of the livery. 

“Come out here, you fucking coward!”

“Burn the place to the ground!”

“Flank them!”

It wasn’t too high of a drop, maybe a few metres. 

Another spray of bullets cut through the loft floor.

Alma jumped.

The grass and mud cushioned her fall enough that she didn’t snap both ankles on impact, and she never thought she’d be praising mud in her entire life. She made to run, slipped, fell flat on her front, and her sleepshirt was well and truly soiled now. Her mind unhelpfully supplied an image of the boy as he’d fled, bloodied and muddied as he’d been, as she now half was, and she cursed at herself. She could taste manure.

“Get the fuck outta my property!” That was Jeremiah. Alma raced to peer through a ground floor window, the glass shattered by bullets, and spied him crouched behind a stall with his rifle gripped in shaking hands. He was in the same state of undress as she was. “You good for nothing inbreds!” 

The remaining mustang was rushing its stall, as if in hopes of breaking free, and Alma could hear the roan mare crying out at the top of her lungs. Movement caught her eye towards the entrance, and she caught sight of the Thoroughbred’s tail disappearing out the stable doors with someone atop him. 

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

Alma left her window behind and crept further along the outside wall, until she could just make out one of the men that had been decorating the livery in bullet holes. He was tall, criss-crossed with scars and looked as if he too had slipped in the mud at some point. Even through the grime and the black dots of her panic-riddled vision, she would recognise the family crest stitched into his coat collar anywhere.

The Darlington’s.

Well, shit.

The quickly-receding outline of the Thoroughbred disappeared over the rise. Alma wanted to punch something, shoot something, wanted to set the whole damned lot of them on fire. It was their own faults for being so complacent in guarding their property. Now, not only had a couple of hundred dollars worth of gold just run out of the livery, but it had left a trail of bullet holes in its wake. 

“ - pay for this!” The Darlington’s, those who weren’t in the process of also stealing the remaining horses, were still exchanging gunfire with Jeremiah. The mustang was giving them more trouble than it was worth, but a duo of fools were trying helplessly to muster it into submission while also avoiding getting a bullet between the eyes. 

“Darlington’s just lucky his whole goddamned stable isn’t here!” Jeremiah shouted. “Ain’t my fault he can’t keep his own things nailed down.”

“Speak for yourself, asshole!”

The roan mare was halfway out the door now, a rider grasping for her mane as they hoisted themself atop her. The swarm of gunmen was actually less than Alma had initially thought. She pulled her revolvers, crouched, aimed for the nearest idiot’s forehead.

Gregory was tackling the man into the muck before she could fire.

The two men went flying. Gregory was twice the man’s size, if not more, and easily had his opponent straddled with a fist flying towards their face before Alma could even blink. Once, twice, he slammed his fists down, spit and blood flying with every impact. Once, twice, she heard something crunch. 

Alma shifted her focus to one of the men trying to tame the mustang. Breathed. Fired. Unlike with the boy, she aimed properly this time, and the man crumpled satisfyingly as her bullet tore through his chest. The mustang reared back at the sudden freedom, sending the other man scattering away to avoid a hoof to the temple. 

Jeremiah seemed to be gaining ground too, his rifle picking off another Darlington. Alma should try to flank, get behind - 

Screaming.

Distantly, she recalled a gunshot. 

When she twisted, Gregory was looking right at her. He was still straddling the now-twitching corpse beneath him, his fists mangled messes, and his entire front was drenched in crimson. Not from his victim, though, she realised. Alma jerked forward on instinct, her body no longer her own, as she watched half his internal organs pour out of the newly-carved hole in his gut. She wasn’t sure if she was screaming. It didn’t matter. The thud of his body toppling to the mud forced her to her knees.

“You fucking bastards!”

Laughing. “Payback’s a bitch, Owens!”

“You fucking bastards!”

Hooves thundered past. The mustang, maybe. Alma forced herself to move, to throw herself behind the cover of a stall, as the gunfire kicked up again. Jeremiah was still cursing, still shouting, still firing.

She shouldn’t care so much. She’d known the man for barely a day. Her fury built, threatening to swallow her whole. He’d barely said two words to her. She wanted to kill something.

All at once, the sound came rushing back to Alma. The livery felt as though it was falling down around them. She spat out the taste of bile that had thundered up her throat, adjusted her grip on her revolvers, before standing and picking her next target. Most of the Darlington’s had fallen back to the stable entry, what with all the horses now having been properly stolen. There were still enough of them to be a threat though. Alma managed to clip one man’s shoulder, almost got another in the chest before he dived for cover, sent one falling back with a hole between the eyes.

Jeremiah cried out, deeper in the stable. Alma spun; despite the carnage, she could just make out his balding head through a hole that had been blasted through the stalls. A shadow was looming beside him. Seconds later, she could fully make out the man that had crept through the back door. 

The gunfire stopped as Jeremiah clearly struggled against his attacker. Alma, any hope of stealth long abandoned, sprinted for the pair. Gregory’s corpse. The rancher’s corpse. Her parents' corpses. Gregory’s corpse. The rancher’s -

She’d almost made it to them, had her revolvers raised, when someone slammed into her. 

Manure came rushing up to her, and for the second time that night she was rolling in it, hay and shit caught in her hair and coat. The bare skin of her legs tore against the debris of the livery floor. Her attacker, a wiry man with copper hair, immediately flipped her. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound died before it could erupt from her throat as he slapped her hard enough that the stars were suddenly inside the stable.

“Now, now, who’s this, Owens?” the wiry bastard asked, smiling as he grappled with her flailing arms. Not again, not again. “She’s a little young for a whore, ain’t she?”

Jeremiah had slumped back against the stable wall, but the fury in his eyes could have burnt them all to the ground. “Get off her, you sick inbred!” 

Her wrists were now pinned above her head. Alma could feel the cool evening air on her legs as her sleep shirt rode up. Someone else had moved to grab her feet where she had been kicking them. Not again, not again.

The man that had attacked Jeremiah now leaned over her boss. He had a bloodied knife in one hand. “I was gonna put this little lady out of her misery, but I think I’ve changed my mind. After all, who’s gonna keep this place running, once all that blood catches up to you, huh old man?”

Alma screamed, writhing, and earned herself another slap. 

The man with the knife wandered over to Alma then. Dark hair swung in his face as he crouched beside her and held the butt of his knife to her temple. His breath smelt of tobacco when he said, “We’ll be seeing you mighty soon, little lady. In the meantime, lights out.”

Darkness.

...

By the time she woke the next morning, her head was pounding so hard she could barely see straight, the livery was burnt to its foundations, the horses were all long gone, and Jeremiah was a cooling corpse laid out beside her.

...

Everyone stared at Alma as she burst into the saloon.

The place was quiet, which she supposed was to be expected given it was barely midmorning. Too early for the nearby ranch hands, too late for the drunkards. A small gaggle of men were half-heartedly playing poker in the corner; the sight of her dripping blood and stinking of manure in the entry grinded their conversation to a halt. 

She wasn’t sure if she recognised anyone. She didn’t care. This town, and these wretched people, would soon be lost on the horizon behind her.

“Jesus,” the barkeep shouted at her across the room, “get lost, girl, before I throw you out myself.”

Alma ignored him.

She hadn’t bothered to change out of her soiled sleep shirt. Couldn’t, not with the livery burnt to the ground along with any of her belongings. They’d left Jeremiah’s house standing, for some reason, but the place was better left to be the mortuary it now was. The rifle slung over her shoulder was the only remnant of the place she’d had the heart to grab before making the long walk into town. Her hair was a matted mess down her back, and her knees were still lazily oozing blood where they’d been scraped raw on the stable floor. A drowned, beaten rat likely looked better.

Her heart was still pounding in her chest. Alma was sure her jaw might snap in two at any moment with how hard she had been clenching it since waking up a few hours ago.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been forced to flee after a massacre. Any respectable, well-mannered girl of society would scarcely be seen in public alone, or at least without a good reason, lest it bring scandal. For Alma, she felt almost called to it, like a compulsion she just couldn’t shake. Always catastrophe. Always running. Always one. One day she was sure she’d run out of horizon to swallow her up. Either that, or her own fury would do it for her.

“Did ya hear me, girl? I said get lost!”

She had the rifle pointed at his forehead before he could blink. “Shut up,” she snapped, even as the sound of guns suddenly being drawn ricocheted through the saloon, “before you make me lose my goddamn fucking temper.”

“Put the gun down!” one of the patrons yelled.

The barkeep raised his hands, leaving his dishcloth to fall forgotten to the floor. “Woah, easy there missy.”

Alma chewed on her gum to still her raging thoughts. “There’s a man in town, said he’d be nearby for the next few days. Dark hair, moustache, fancy clothes. Goes by Dutch. You know him?”

The other patrons were still shouting at her. The barkeep’s eyes kept dancing between her, the rifle, and undoubtedly the guns pointed at her own head. “I ain’t answering no questions with a gun between my -”

“Do you know him?” A piece of her spit landed on his cheek.

“Who’s asking?”

Alma risked glancing to her right, towards the back of the saloon, and there in all his pretend finery was Dutch Van der Linde. The pomade in his hair was still stiff as bricks, and his outfit remained largely unchanged from when she’d seen him a few days ago. His boots were muddied at the edges, but at a quick glance he didn’t seem any worse for wear. Definitely not like he’d been involved in a major shoot-out or arson attack. 

Dutch’s gaze was cold where it landed on her. One of his hands was gripping his gun belt casually, although she didn’t doubt he was quick on the draw. It took him a moment, his eyes bouncing around her face, before they sparked in recognition. “Miss McArthy, is that you? By God you look miserable.”

“It’s been a long day.” Alma glared back at the barkeep, her nose scrunched, before begrudgingly lowering the rifle. “I’d say thanks for the assist, but I figure you probably deserved the bullet.”

The barkeep, for his part, seemed less phased without a gun in his face. “I weren’t lying, girl. Get the fuck out of my establishment. You ain’t welcome here no more.”

“Or what?” she spat, Dutch forgotten for the moment. “You’ll call the sheriff down on me? That good-for-nothing asshole couldn’t even jerk himself off if he tried .”

Someone coughed out a laugh by the stairs.

“Now, now, what Miss McArthy means to say,” Dutch said from where he’d suddenly walked up beside her, “is thank you for your incredible hospitality. We were just going, weren’t we my dear?”

“Don’t put -”

Dutch gripped her forearm. “Weren’t we?”

There were too many guns surrounding her, and she wasn’t a total fool. She’d have to find someone else to beat her anger onto. Maybe Dutch and his perfect little waistcoat would do. The look he was sending her made her insides boil enough as it was, but she eventually relented and let him drag her towards the back door.

They passed the stairs and another soft laugh escaped one of the two figures leaning there. Dutch wasn’t even looking at her as he led them outside, but called over his shoulder, “Come along, boys.”

“Real charmer you’ve got there, Dutch. I’m surprised you two didn’t get along better, Marston.”

“Oh fuck you.”

Alma waited until they were outside proper before wrenching her arm free. She still had the rifle gripped in one hand, and spun with it loosely gripped to glare at the trio. Dutch had stopped to assess her with his arms crossed, hip cocked as usual, and despite the commotion inside there was the ghost of a smile on his face. The young man beside him was as tall and broad as an oak tree, with hair like dirtied sand and a healthy spray of stubble across his jaw. He was in the process of jabbing a younger man beside him, who was all wiry limbs, dark hair and - 

“You?!” Alma shouted, stomping a step forward. 

The boy - John, if she remembered Dutch correctly - flinched back on instinct, which just seemed to make the tall man laugh. 

“Stay the hell away from me!” John shouted in the same moment that the tall man laughed, “Watch out, Marston, or she’ll skin ya alive.”

“There will be no skinning,” Dutch said with a sigh as he stepped between them all, and Alma wondered again if he was the boys’ father. “Miss McArthy, this is Arthur Morgan.” He indicated the tall man, who was still laughing under his breath. “And we all know you’re well acquainted with young John Marston.”

She just glared at them. John glared right back. Alma didn’t miss the way he rubbed absently at his shoulder.

Dutch apparently took that as an invitation to continue. “Introductions aside, I must ask, Miss McArthy, what brought you to be in such a state of disarray? I’m understandably thrilled that you’ve come to discuss what I offered but, I’ll admit I wasn’t convinced I’d ever see you again.”

There wasn’t any pretty way to describe a slaughter, she knew that from experience. Judging from the copious weapons strapped to the three men before her, she figured they weren’t squeamish. Still, she’d rather not think about it. “People change. It’s human nature, in case you weren't aware.”

He laughed. “That fire’ll sooner get you into trouble you can’t fight your way out of, miss.” He took a step towards her, hands in his pockets. “The truth?”

She glanced at John and Arthur, but they were both leaning against the back of the saloon, spectating. Fabulous. 

“You said you and your ‘community’ were out to make a difference. That you help people, take from the rich, that kinda thing.” She swallowed the bile and fire in her throat. “Turns out those oblivious ranchers you were talkin’ about weren’t so oblivious after all.”

Dutch, for his part, did look genuinely struck as the truth settled in his mind. “The stables?”

She shrugged, indicating her ruined form. “What’s left of it is standing right here.”

“I am sorry, miss. Truly.”

Alma scoffed. Began to pace, rifle still white-knuckled in front of her. “I ain’t here for your sympathy. I came for your help.”

“Dutch is many things, Miss McArthy, but he ain’t a god.” Arthur leaned forward as he spoke, his face half obscured by his hat. “Can’t turn back time, I’m afraid.”

She fought the urge to walk up and hit him. “You think I’m simple? I’m no fool.” He held up his hands in mock surrender as John snickered beside him. She turned her gaze back to Dutch, who hadn’t entirely dismissed her. “I know who did it. I know where they live. You help me settle this debt, I can make it worth your while.” 

“As sorry as I am to see you in such a state, Miss McArthy, my people and I don’t operate on revenge.”

“Bullshit you don’t!” she snapped, stepping so close she could smell Dutch’s cologne. “You’re outlaws, aren’t you? A gang? Don’t think I don’t know exactly what you lot are. ‘Community’ my ass.”

Arthur took a tentative step away from the wall, the line of his shoulder suddenly sharp. Dutch simply held her gaze, and when he spoke his voice dripped of barely-contained venom. “You’re walking on mighty thin ice, miss. Best you don’t stomp too hard.”

“I ain’t judging you. We all do what we need to get by. Hell, I’m not saint.” Alma indicated her blood-stained clothes. “I know what you are though, what you do.” She jabbed a finger into his chest despite the way he towered over her. “You said you like sticking it to rich folk. Help me do that and I can guarantee you coin for your trouble.”

The little patch of grass behind the saloon was quiet for a long moment. John had started pacing a little, still scratching at his shoulder. Arthur was watching Alma’s hands where she was gripping the rifle.

She knew she had Dutch hook line and sinker when he tilted his head, all predator. “How much coin are we talking, exactly? And from who?”

“At least a few thousand, probably more.” Arthur whistled at that. “The Darlington’s own a big ranch west of town. Follows the river, has the big fuck off homestead planted in the middle. You’ve probably seen it. They took all our horses before sparking their matches, and I’m sure there’s a few more on the property worth pinching. Their Thoroughbred stallion alone would fetch you seven hundred.”

Dutch raised an eyebrow at her with a hand on his hip. “So you expect us to not only break into a heavily guarded ranch, but also walk out of there with multiple horses that we’d then need to resell? And the establishment where we’d do such a thing just got burnt to the ground.”

John was looking at her like she’d hit her head.

“You’re outlaws, aren’t you? Surely you do this sort of thing all the time?”

“Not exactly,” Arthur said, but he was scratching his chin in thought. “I know the place, Dutch. Hosea got talking to one of the ranch hands yesterday at the store. Could be worth our time.”

“Of course it’s worth your damned time!”

 “I’ll be the one who decides that, thank you miss.” Dutch planted a hand on her shoulder. “After we do this, and it pans out, what do you say about my offer? A young lady like you would be wasted on the streets in a backwater dump like this, and I’d hate to see you suffer.”

The man was as slimy as a snake and half as pretty, but Alma wouldn’t pretend that the offer wasn’t … tempting, especially given her current circumstances. Her mumma had always warned her away from trusting powerful men, especially those with only illusions of it, but what choice did she have? She’d been burned before, and she’d likely be burned again. If they didn’t do it, she’d surely just do it to herself.

His questionable company and fashion taste aside, Dutch didn’t seem entirely insane. Arrogant, prideful - sure. At least in that regard he was honest about his intentions. Jeremiah had been a weak man, at his core, and Dutch seemed as far from weak as you could physically get. Arthur, too. John … well he didn’t count.

Alma looked at Dutch and sighed. “So you’ll go to the ranch?”

“Let’s just say you’ve sold me on the idea,” he said with a smile, squeezing her shoulder where it was still gripped in his hand. “Besides, you were right. I do like knocking rich folk down a peg or three, especially when we profit from it. It’s good for my soul and pockets.”

A chill wind rushed between the buildings. Alma remembered her state of undress, and ached for warmth and a home that no longer existed. When she met Dutch’s eyes, she saw burning. 

“If it pans out. We could all be riddled with bullets in a few days.”

“That’s the spirit, Miss McArthy!” Dutch laughed, clapping her on the back. “Arthur, see about getting the young lady cleaned up and fed, won’t you? We’ll head back to camp and start talking out this plan.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” John shouted, eyes wide as saucers. “You’re letting this psycho stay, just like that?”

Alma spat back, all venom, “Says the greasy rat who smells like he crawled out of a gutter. What are you good for anyway, besides annoying everyone?”

Dutch just rolled his eyes and walked off, calling after John over his shoulder. Arthur met Alma’s eye with a smirk, before turning to ruffle John’s dark hair where he still stood, gawking. 

“Oh, little Johnny Marston here is good for lotsa things. Failures of plans, entertainment, target practice -”

“I hate you both,” John grumbled as he stormed off after Dutch, who had already disappeared around the corner. 

Alma couldn’t really find it in herself to laugh, not crusted with blood and manure as she was, but in another life she would have. As it stood, she just slung the rifle back over her shoulder and winced as the movement caught on her bruised side. The pain made her remember Jeremiah and Gregory, slaughtered and left to rot in the sun, and she had to swallow bile for the third time that morning.

If Arthur noticed, he thankfully didn’t say anything. “I think you and me are gonna get along just fine, Miss McArthy.”

In the almost-midday sun, the blue of his eyes glinted. “I wouldn’t be so sure, not with the company you keep.” He laughed under his breath. “And … just Alma is fine, if it’s all the same to you.”

He waved a hand in the general direction of the main street, and Alma down a nearby alley beside him. His shadow engulfed her. “‘Course. Let’s get you cleaned up and pretty before we all get shot by your ranchers tomorrow.”

“Don’t blame me for being realistic. And they ain’t my ranchers. I’d sooner see ‘em gutted like pigs for what they did.”

Arthur looked at her with a raised eyebrow, shaking his head, but kept pace with her as they headed towards the local hotel. “Miss Grimshaw is gonna love you.”

...

Two days later, Alma was fleeing the Darlington ranch with a few hundred dollars in her pockets and a freshly stolen mustang mare underneath her. A week later, she was halfway across the state with a gang of outlaws known as the Van der Linde gang. 

And that, as they say, is that.

...

TAGLIST:

@nokstella, @celticwoman, @florbelles, @zahra-hydris, @arborstone

@kibellah, @carrionsflower, @fenharel, @daerans, @fashionablyfyrdraaca

@loriane-elmuerto, @imogenkol, @knakrack, @roguecritter

[yourfavoritecrimesolvingpriest]

Emer Kenny’s Instagram stories!! Ahh I love her 😍

[jlbilu]

-solve a mystery

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lmk your answers :)

[jahayla-parker]

Hi!

I love your fics and I have one for Peter if that's alright??

Peter, being the superhero that he is, is constantly running late to school. Eventually, the headmaster gets sick of it and punishes Peter (by forcing him to audition for the school musical)

Peter hates the idea at first, but he has no choice and is forced to do it. The headmaster tells him that his best friend (the reader) is also auditioning.

When Peter eventually finds her, he asks her what musical they're doing. She tells him it's Beauty and the Beast. She's very excited about Peter auditioning.

When auditions come around, everyone is very shocked at how good Peters voice is, and the teacher gives him the role of the Beast (the reader of course getting the role of Belle)

As rehearsals go on, Peter slowly starts to fall for the reader. On opening night, Peter confesses to the reader that he likes her and they kiss. (Maybe throw in them rehearsing the ballroom scene as well?)

Hope you get better soon! 🙏

Worth The Embarrassment and Disappointment: Peter Parker x Reader

Hi my little lovely anon! Sorry this took so long to post, I hit a slump after getting sick but I am back now!

Thank you for requesting this, I hope you like it! Also, I am writing this from Peter's POV since I think given how it transpires it would be best that way; hope that's okay!

Also, I am leaving this without a photo as I want it to be a neutral Peter not a specific Tom!Peter or Andrew!Peter only, but picture whoever you'd like!

For that reason, P/B/F is referenced which is just Peter's best friend, so that can be Ned, Harry, etc.

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Peter's P.O.V.:

"Mr. Parker, this is your third tardy this week alone!" Mrs. Mcarthy, our headmaster, scolds, staring at me as I fidget in my seat across from her. I was out late last night for patrol and overslept again. I sigh and nod, knowing there is nothing I can say to fix it. "Is something going on at home?" she asks, leaning back in her desk chair as her eyes fall to the pile of papers on her desk in between us. "No ma'am" I quickly utter, not wanting the school to judge May for my mistakes. "Hmm. Shall I call your aunt and notify her as to how much school you've been missing?" she asks, marking something on her notepad.

"No!" I panic, "I mean, no ma'am. May is very busy as is. I promise to make up any homework and tests I missed!". May knows about patrol but our deal was that if I patrolled on a school night that it would not interfere with my attendance or academic performance the next day. Headmaster Mcarthy taps her pen on her desk a few times as she seems to ponder what to do. Maybe I could- "Alright Mr. Parker. I will make you a deal. If you catch up on any missed assignments and do one other thing, I will not notify your aunt and will not let this impact your attendance record," she says, correcting her posture.

"Absolutely! Thank you Ma'am" I say, feeling much less anxious. "Oh, what is the other thing?" I ask as I recall there was more to the bargain. "You will be auditioning for the school musical" she smiles. I feel my stomach drop, "what?!". "Yes, the drama department has notified me they are worried not many will audition this year as a" she begins, looking down at her notes for a moment "Mr. Thompson, has been going around spreading rumors about last year's lead". Great, even more of a reason to not want to do this. "Mrs. Mcarthy, with all due respect-" I begin to argue, but she cuts me off with a wave of her hand. "This is not up for debate Mr. Parker. If you do not show up to auditions, or do not accept the role given to you after auditions, the tardies will remain on your record and your aunt will be notified" she states. I nod and sigh softly. However, she seems to hear it, "cheer up boy, your best friend Y/N, is said to be auditioning this year". For some unknown reason, I can't help but smile softly at that information. Probably because at least I won't suffer alone in this. I mutter a thank you as I grab my bag to rush out. I need to leave before she tries to add anything else to my punishment.

"Woah Parker, no need to run! I'm sure you'll make it to the bathroom in time this time" I hear Flash laugh as I dart into the hall. I groan, he will never let me live that down. A few weeks ago I was running late, again, I know, and knocked into a girl who had an open water bottle in her hands... needless to say it spilled when I crashed into her and unfortunately for me soaked the front of my clothes. It was clear it was not pee as it was all the way to my chest but of course, Flash did not care about that as long as it made me embarrassed. "Shut it Flash, we all know that was water" someone yells back, causing me to smile knowing it to be Y/N. "We don't know that Y/N" Flash argues, glaring across the hall. I turn my attention to where he is staring and smile as I make eye contact with her. "Yes we do" she says, rolling her eyes, "besides, do we really want to talk about people having accidents?" she asks raising an eyebrow as she looks over at him. "Hey! You would have too if you had just met Spider-Man!" he defends, causing me to bite my lip in order to not start laughing. Y/N doesn't bother though and shakes her head as she laughs, "I'm not the one with a huge crush on Spider-Man, I think I'd be fine" she smirks as she walks towards me. The smile on my face wavers slightly. I am not sure why, given I am obviously aware she knows I am Spider-Man and therefore know she did not freak out about meeting Spider-Man the way Flash did when he saw Spider-Man on our class trip. But, something is upsetting me nonetheless. Think Parker, you're a smart guy, you can figure this out!

"Don't let him get you down Petey" Y/N says as she comes over and wraps her arms around me for a hug. I push my confusion to the side and decide to think about it later instead. Smiling, I wrap my arms around her and give her a hug, "I'm not". She pulls back and nods as she brushes her hair behind her left ear, "why were you running though?". "Oh, I was trying to get away from Ms. Mcarthy" I admit, rubbing the back of my neck. She laughs and shakes her head, "First it was nuns that terrified you, now it is headmasters too?". I feel my cheeks warm and the embarrassment of being embarrassed in front of her makes them warm up even more. Get yourself together Peter! "No, no! I just got in trouble for being late" I begin, trying to clear up the confusion in hopes of redeeming myself.

"Again Peter?" she sighs, pouting slightly. I press my lips together and shrug, "it was a long night". She nods and reaches out to place her hands on the sides of my arms as she looks me over, "did you get hurt?". I shake my head, "No, y/n/n, I'm fine. I meant to come over last night but got caught up and didn't want to risk waking you". She smiles softly at me, "I appreciate that Pete, but you know I don't mind. I wasn't aware May was letting you go out on a school night again is all". "Well, she was. If she finds out I have been late almost each day this week though, I think she will go back to restricting that again" I frown.

"You've got a hard life Peter" Y/n sarcastically says, patting my shoulder as she spins around to walk next to me. "Actually I do, cause it turns out I will be auditioning for the play" I tell her, causing her to stop and turn to face me. "First of all, it is a musical Peter. Secondly, since when do you enjoy that type of thing?" she asks. "Hey! I enjoy watching you in them, I just don't enjoy being in them myself" I defend, recalling attending each of the musicals and plays she was in over the last several years. She blushes and smiles, "well, then why are you auditioning?". "Headmaster Mcarthy is making me" I explain, gently grabbing her shoulder and spinning her around so we can keep walking and not be late to our next class. The last thing I need is to be late to another class. "Oh the horror. How ever will you survive?" she laughs, linking her elbow with mine. I tense momentarily before scolding myself to relax. This has been happening for the last several weeks whenever I touch her, it is like this rush of energy goes through my whole body. I tried talking to P/B/F about it the first time it happened but he tried to make it into a joke about how I must like-like Y/n. Not that liking her would be a joke, she is amazing and I absolutely would understand someone having a crush on her. But, I don't, she's my best friend. "Peter, you good?" I hear her voice ask tenderly, snapping me out of my racing thoughts yet again today.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry. Just thinking" I tell her, forcing a smile onto my face. She gives me a skeptical look but nods, "you'll do fine Peter. The auditions are after school today but they will give you a script so no need to memorize anything, just read from that". If only the musical was the main thing I was focused on. I nod, "what show is it?". "It is Beauty and the Beast!" she says quietly as we enter the science lab, but I can hear the excitement in her voice and I smile knowing how happy she must be that the school is finally doing a Disney musical. "Who knows, maybe you'll get the role of Chip!" she giggles. I laugh with her as we take our seats, "you think so lowly of me that I would only be assigned Chip?". She shrugs, "hey, don't knock Chip, he's cute!". I find myself blushing but before I can even question why, she smiles and turns to face the front of the room as our teacher begins his lecture.

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"What the hell Peter!" Y/n whispers aggressively, as she softly smacks my arm with the back of her hand. "What?!" I ask defensively. "You never told me you could sing like that!" she says causing me to blush. "Was it okay?" I ask, laughing softly. "Okay?! Peter, look around. No one was expecting that!" she says, pointing around the room. I bite my lip as I notice everyone staring at me. Jen Fisher, the most attractive junior winks at me as my eyes scan the room. I blush and quickly turn back to Y/N for comfort. She rolls her eyes, "anyways, we should hear roles here soon after the next two people audition". I look up at the stage to see the two remaining people in line waiting for their signal. I nod and turn around to see if Jen is still looking at me. When I do, I see she is walking over to me. "Oh my gosh" I say, uncertain on what to do. "What?" Y/n asks before she notices Jen, "oh. Well... have fun with that". "Wait, you're just going to leave me?" I ask, offended. "Yes Peter. I am not going to just stand here and watch her flirt with you... that would be.. weird" she says, walking off. I sigh, not wanting her to leave. "Hey Peter, that was quite an audition," Jen says, playing with her fake blond hair.

"Alright everyone, roles have been decided, please listen up" the drama club teacher says, grabbing his clipboard. Jen sighs realizing I won't be able to answer the fifth question she's asked me. To be honest, most of them did not make sense and it was clear she was trying to make small talk but was not good at it. I glance around the room, trying to find Y/N. I finally find her and frown upon seeing that she is standing with Brad Davis. I don't trust that guy, and Y/n deserves better than him. I try to remind myself that Y/n has assured me that despite his attempts to ask her out, they are not dating. I know I shouldn't care, but I just don't want her to get hurt. "Hey, maybe you'll get the role of Beast and then we can kiss" Jen says, causing my head to snap back towards her as my face heats up. She smiles and turns back to the teacher.

After I process what she just said, I find myself looking back over at Y/n. This time though, she is looking back at me and gives me a soft smile. I debate walking over to her but before I can decide, the drama club teacher has begun to list who has which role. I sigh and turn my attention back to the front of the room, knowing I should probably pay attention to what role I have. "Patrick, you will be playing Chip" he says. I bite back a laugh as I don't want him to think I am laughing at him, but rather the fact I will not be playing Chip after all. I glance over to Y/N and see her shrug playfully at me causing me to smile. "Peter, you will play Beast" he says, causing me to freeze. Did he just say Peter?! "Yay" Jen giggles, clapping her hands.

I quickly turn to fully face the direction Y/N is in and she smiles at me and gives me an enthusiastic thumbs up. I blush and try not to panic. I've never done a show before and now I have the lead?! Y/n seems to notice my concern and gives me a nod and whispers 'you've got this, I'll help' knowing my Spidey hearing will pick up on it. Brad places his hand on her back as he asks what she said. I roll my eyes and begin to walk over towards them when I hear someone let out a high-pitched scream. I snap my head in the direction it came from and see Jen looks upset. "I am playing Mrs. Potts?!" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest, "who is playing Belle?!". "I was just getting there, Belle will be played by none other than our Y/N" he says and I smile and instantly look back over to her. She is blushing and staring at the ground as everyone claps, but I can see the prideful smile she is wearing.

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"Okay, Petey, you have to be more serious" Y/N pouts, setting the script down on my bed. "Sorry, sorry! I just keep thinking of the scene where we're going to have to kiss" I admit, biting my lip. She blushes, "why Peter? We aren't even to that yet". "I don't know" I say, but I do know. Ever since realizing what the roles we were assigned meant for us, I've been on edge and trying to joke around in order to stall us reaching that scene. There are so many things that could wrong. What if the kiss is bad?! What is the kiss is good?! What do I want the kiss to be?! What does she want the kiss to be?! What if we don't want the same thing? What if we do want the same thing?. Her sighing brings my attention back to our current situation, "Peter, please. I know this isn't that important to you, but it is to me".

"I'm sorry y/n/n, I know it's important to you, and therefore it is to me too. I'll stop messing around" I assure her, feeling guilty for letting her down when she has been trying to help me. "I'm not asking you to completely stop Peter, just we've been on this scene for like 20 minutes" she laughs. I smile as I hear her laugh and know she is not truly mad.

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"That went really well I think" Y/n cheers as we leave rehearsals. I laugh and nod, feeling happy she is so cheerful. I love seeing her this happy. "Uh.... hey Y/n/n?" I ask, scratching the back of my head nervously. "Yeah Petey?" she asks, smiling at me. God that smile. It probably took longer than it should have for me to realize I was falling for my best friend. Maybe if I had noticed it earlier I could have stopped it. But, did I really want to stop myself? The answer is no, but I also knew I didn't want to lose her as a friend. I haven't seen anything that suggests she likes me back so I have been keeping it to myself but it is killing me. Each time I see her in the hall between classes, join her in science class, or rehearse with her I have such conflicting emotions. Y/N has always been a comfort to me, and still is, but lately, I am also nervous around her now that I know how I feel and realized all the embarrassing things she's seen me do. Rehearsals are the hardest given it is a romantic relationship between our characters despite us not being together ourselves. The worst though is when we rehearse at her house or mine because then there are no other distractions I can use to clear my mind. Since we are not in a relationship, the school said it would be inappropriate for them to ask us to kiss for the sake of a musical so each time we get to the scene where we thought we'd be kissing, I get disappointed each time it doesn't happen.

"Petey, you're spacing off again" I hear her laugh causing me to immediately blush. "Sorry" I mumble, hating myself in that moment. "You don't need to apologize, you sure you're okay?" she asks as she has been the last two times she has caught me zoning out as my thoughts race. It is not only embarrassing, but I don't want her thinking I am not paying attention to her. I'd hate for her to think I didn't care enough about her to listen to her completely. I could listen to her go on and on for hours about the color white if she wanted to. Thankfully she hasn't, but if she did, I would listen without complaint just to be able to be with her and hear her. "Yeah, sorry... Just nervous" I say, pulling myself together at the last moment. "May wanted to see if you'd like to join us for dinner tonight.. I was thinking maybe since the final dress rehearsal is tomorrow, maybe you want to come over and we can rehearse a bit too" I say and instantly regret adding that aspect. She probably would have come over just for dinner, she has before. Yet now I have put myself in a place to get disappointed again. She smiles and nods, "awe! sure, let me just text my mom".

"That seemed to go well" May says as I help her clean up the dishes. "What?" I ask, drying the clean one she hands me. "Tonight, you didn't seem as bummed when she left. Did something happen?" she smiles. "MAY!" I groan, leaning on the counter. "Alright, alright! I was just asking" she laughs, handing me another dish. I sigh and grab the dish, "nothing happened May. Nothing ever happens outside of rehearsal".

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"Does this look okay?" Y/n asks, spinning around in her Belle dress. I smile widely at her and nod. "Are you sure? I feel like this part is a bit unflattering" she laughs, running her hands over part of the dress. "No!" I correct and mentally cringe at how rushed it came out. "No, you look beautiful" I admit, blushing. She blushes and shuffles her feet, "thanks Peter. Maybe I should wear yellow more often". Before I can stop myself, the next confession is out of my mouth, "you always look beautiful". Her eyes widen as her blush darkens and she bites her lip, "oh... thank you Pete". I could get used to causing her to blush. "Why don't you go try your's on?" she asks, smiling at me. Even though I had no intention of actually putting it on tonight I know I can't tell her no so I nod and rush off to backstage.

"This looks really good Peter" she says, running her hands over the material of my costume. My body seemingly cannot decide if it wants to melt into her touch or freeze and it is so uncomfortable. I am going to have to tell her how I feel soon because this is brutal. "No fur yet?" she laughs, stroking my face with her hand. My eyes snap up to look at her, "oh.. uh no, they said I only need it tomorrow for the performance. It is kinda itchy". She giggles and nods, "well you look great". I blush, "thank you Y/n/n". "Alright everyone, let's run the ballroom scene with everyone in costume once and then we will call it a night so you can rest before tomorrow" Mr. Maxim, the drama club teacher says.

Don't step on her toes. To the left. Now to the right. Stop looking at your feet and look at her. I mentally groan as I keep correcting myself in an attempt to not mess up. When I do focus back on Y/N, I see her smiling at me as she grips my hand tightly. During the other rehearsals, she mentioned this scene making her anxious, which is another reason I wanted to get my part correct for her. I smile at her hoping to calm her nerves a bit and it seems to do the trick as she softens her grip on my hand. I squeeze her hand and continue the dance, my eyes never leaving her face. At the end of the dance, her face is so close to mine I have to physically restrain myself from leaning in to kiss her. "That was great everyone, make sure to sleep enough tonight. See you all tomorrow!" Mr. Maxim says. I sigh and step back, letting go of her body. She gives me a small smile, "I should probably head straight home tonight. But I will see you tomorrow Peter". I nod and say goodnight, feeling upset yet again at how it ended. I've got to tell her.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

"Whew, opening night tonight" Y/n says, pacing backstage. "Y/n/n, breathe. You've got this! Plus, I'll be right there with you" I tell her as I grab her hand to stop her from walking to the right again. She smiles and nods, "you're right, thanks Peter. We've got this". Well, I don't know if we've got this, as I am going to really have to act like I am not upset when it comes to the scene we could've kissed at. Nonetheless, in order to not make her more nervous, I smile and pull her in for a hug.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

"Oh my gosh! Peter! That went so well! Thank you!" Y/n cheers, wrapping her arms around me the second we get backstage. The fake smile I wore on stage slowly morphs into a real one as I wrap my arms around her. "You did amazing Y/n/n" I tell her. She pulls back to look up at me, "you did to Petey! Did you have fun?". I bite my lip and nod. She pulls all the way away and frowns, "really? You didn't have fun at all?". "What? No, I-" I begin, trying to fix this. "Don't you dare try to lie to me Parker" she says, crossing her arms over her chest. How does she look so breathtaking even when she is mad at me? "I wasn't lying! I just..." I begin, looking at the ground. I know I should just tell her, but if it upsets her I don't want to ruin tonight for her.

"Peter, what is it?" she asks, grabbing my hand, "why didn't you have fun?". "I did! I just was kind of disappointed" I mumble. "About what?" she asks softly. "The kissing scene," I say, knowing there is no point in trying to hide anymore. "There was no kissing scene Peter" she says, confused. "I know, that's why I was upset" I admit, blushing. "Oh.. Wait, what? Are you saying that..?" she begins, mumbling as she tries to finish her question. I sigh and take a step back so I can see her completely.

"What I'm saying is that I'm not sure when it truly started, but lately I have realized that I like you, like like you like you" I start, cringing at how many times I just said the word like. "You like me?" she asks, eyes widening as she stares at me in shock. I nod, "I do, yeah. A lot actually". She blushes and comes closer to me, "why didn't you say anything before now?". "I wasn't sure how you'd react" I admit, "and I didn't want to be even more disappointed". "Peter, did you ever think maybe you wouldn't have had to be disappointed at all?" she smirks. "What do y-" I ask, but am cut off as she leans in and presses her soft lips to mine. I smile and wrap my arms around her as I kiss her back. "Do you.. you l-" I ramble as we pull back, an embarrassingly large grin o my face. "Yes, I like you too Peter" she smiles, causing my heart to somehow speed up even more than it did during the kiss. She likes me back! I smile knowing that she likes me despite all the embarrassing things I’ve done and now I know my disappointment was worth it to have our first kiss be like this instead. 

[navelgazed]

My last thought for the day:

Mr. McArthy, you will not be remembered as a great man in your time or after it, if you are remembered at all. You will only be remembered as a man that sucked the dick of anyone willing to give you the position, and then sell your soul to them for good measure.

In 50 years, that's what you'll be remembered for. I certainly hope it was worth it.

[missing-fanfics]

Dodgeball

Aye, @crowdedimagines wrote a much better fic before we did. Read theirs here. I’m just here to spread that good Harry love. It’s a good time.

~

“I’m not going to lie, I'm a little nervous because Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N are on opposite teams. If anyone is going to take the game too far, it’s them two. I mean who wouldn’t want to hit their fiancé with a dodgeball?” Melissa Mcarthy said looking behind her. Harry was stretching while making no so subtle glances at Y/N as she talked to Michelle Obama.

“I’m not actually American, I’m British. Me and Reggie kind of got flip flopped. I was supposed to be on that team, but then the idea of girls against boys came around and now I’m here. So, uh, go colonies” Y/N said smiling and raising her fist. The audience laughed at her calling the U.S. ‘colonies’.

“She’s not even American, it’s kinda like she is trading in her own country” Harry says and he looked back at his fiancé that was stretching out with Melissa. The camera caught a glimpse of a smile before Harry changed back into his ‘game face’. “Ayway, it doesn’t matter. Fiancé or not she’s going down”

Y/N looked around with her eyebrows furrowed as she stood for the American national anthem. Mila Kunis looked at her and placed Y/N’s right hand on Y/N’s chest. She winked at her and turned to the flag as the anthem started.

Y/N started singing, making her voice purposefully quiet as she was the only singer in the group. She didn’t want to make the silly affair turn competitive so she kept her voice quiet. She made eye contact with Harry. He narrowed his eyes and shook his head at her, mouthing the word ‘traitor’. She grinned and decided to be louder.

“-at the twilight’s last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars” Y/N sang louder making the other girls sing louder too. Their slightly dead performance livened up and sounded sweet with the women’s voices.

The America crowd clapped at their performance and Team UK started to sing ‘God Save the Queen’.

A smile tried to fight its way into Y/N’s face as James Corden tried to yell at everyone during the song. Harry shouted the words, making his voice dull to no outshine the other men. The UK crowd clapped at their song and James clapped.

“Let’s play dodgeball, yeah?” He said making both teams cheer. Y/N tightened her ponytail and walked dramatically with the other women to the left side of the court. The blue of their uniforms shining together.

The buzzer went off and everyone sprinted towards the middle. Y/N grabbed for a ball and tore it away beige Benedict Cumberbatch could grab it.

The game raged for a few minutes before it was only Harry on the UK side. Michelle Obama and Y/N on the US side.

Y/N blew a kiss and chucked the ball at Harry. He tried to jump over it, but only caused the ball to go to an unfortunate place. He laughed before falling dramatically to the ground.

Y/N spun around and Michelle jumped at her causing a group hug.

“Damn Y/N that’s harsh for your the man you’re going to marry. Don’t you want kids?” Melissa said making the group laugh. Y/N threw her head back in laughter and gave Harry another look. He looked at her and she mouthed ‘sorry’. He stuck his tongue out at her.

The next game started and ended with the UK winning. Their bragging brought a smile to Y/N’s face as she watched they hollar and jump on each other. Harry clung to James like a monkey and it took everything in her not to laugh.

Y/N sat on the bench at the end of the third game. She watched as the two women chucked their dodgeball at Benedict Cumberbatch. When one hit his leg she jumped off the bench and ran to the women on the field. A group hug commenced and they all started shouting “USA”.

Y/N stood on the podium as James handed Michelle the comically large trophy. They all huddled around it as confetti fell from the ceiling.

They stopped rolling and Harry came on the platform to hug Y/N.

“Congratulations darlin” he said rubbing her arms. She grinned and looked at her teammates. Melissa winked at her and covered her eyes jokingly.

“So, Fiancé or not I am going down huh” Y/N asked as she slid into the passenger's seat of the car. Harry gave her a sheepish smile before turning the keys over and starting the car.

“It was all for the camera. You know, hyping up the match, I was acting” he says taking his right hand off of the steering wheel and placing it into Y/N much smaller one. She gave him a sly smirk before popping the question.

“So Mr. Actor, how do your balls feel?” She asked turning her whole body towards him. She gave him a devilish smile while letting out a chuckle. He gave her a frown before looking down at his crotch.

“Hurts, but nothing my fiancé can’t help fix” he winked as to punctuate his sentence. Y/N laughed at him before replying “Fiancé or not, that’s not happening”

[queensantiagoofthe99]

"I'm awake but at what cost" god Sullivan is me and I love him

More Father Brown text posts

[please-help-this-little-lesbian]

My Personal thoughts on The Prom Novel, organizes by chapter

Prolouge

-It’s Broadway Mania, Saundra

-I like the typical broadway journalism

-But the dialogue is...weird

-The NY Times review made me smile

Chapter 1

-She started with don’t be gay in Indiana praise the lord

-“I’m already gay in Indiana.” Iconic

-So we’re just gonna brush over the death threat? Ok

-Why would Emma come out on YouTube?? Idk seems weird.

-“The digital hellos make me feel less alone.” Preach

-I’m sorry, but I can’t see Edgewater having a “cool” church

-“No mom, I want to go to the cool church.” Iconic

-“Meatball spooner???” Emma honey no...

-I wouldn’t describe Alyssa’s hair as auburn but cool I guess

-Emma was a baby lesbian aww

-Pastor Zak

-Why would anyone in town besides Alyssa watch Emma’s channel? Idk the whole scene is confusing.

-Crunchy ramen salad aggdfbfdfgg

-“cancel the gay like Netflix.” Beautiful

Chapter 2

-Alyssa’s contrasting view of Indiana is 👌

-How far away is James Madison that Alyssa has to get up at 5am?

-Golden Weevils???

-Future Corn Keepers of America??? Can you not mention FFA???

-So that’s how it got out

-“I’m not ashamed to be a lesbian.” 👏👏👏👏👏

-Caitlin’s eyes are brown?? Maybe Saundra wanted to include Gabi and Brittany?

-Mr. Greene cheated and I oop sksksk

-I always thought the Greene’s were well off but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Chapter 3

-Nick Leavel. Saundra, I get what you wanted to do, but is coming up with original last names that hard?

-$100? That’s cheap...

-does JV Football mean nothing to Saundra?

-That is NOT how the promposal goes

-You know what? Nick is the whitest kid at their school.

-NO BAND CLOSET?!??!!

-“That’s basically a gay tax.” Me when I spend money.

-THAT. IS. NICKS. QUOTE. HOW DARE YOU SLANDER SHELBY LIKE THIS.

-I too, would panic and say Anna Kendrickson.

Chapter 4

-Oh, Frick

-What school has a lunch that’s over 30 minutes?

-“We HaVe MoRaLs”

Chapter 5

-“My own personal cootie factory.” whAT

-Yeah So no death threats then ok

-Emma, you have a truck

Chapter 6

-Shelby is being slandered I won’t stand for this

-“Ho-meo and Juliet.” I’m stealing that.

-LGBTOMG I—

Chapter 7

-These insults, does Saundra not know how high schoolers actually talk

-Emma says y’all gay rights

-Oh there’s the death threat.

-Why so many big words??

-The Rosa Parks exchange is weird

Chapter 8

-Did...Nick And Kevin tpose?

-Saundra you can’t replace Trent like this

-“Plus all the other letters that I don’t know, but are equally worthy of love!” I. Lost. It.

Chapter 9

-wow how convenient that we’re alluding the Crucible since I happen to be in it

-How DARE they defame Trent’s cowbell like that!

-Alyssa never wore that outfit

-“Everyone gathered to discuss whether or not I deserve civil rights.” Mood

-“Elena Greene.” That’s it book cancelled

-stop. Assigning. Lines. To. The. Wrong. People.

-That’s not the hashtag

-“liberal actors from New York.” Saundra—

-At least we have “This isn’t America, it’s Indiana.”

Chapter 10

-“I rAiSeD yOu To Be A gOoD cHrIsTiAn”

-“I’m not telling you to hate that girl.” I’m actually Helen, you are.

-Is Helen subscribed to Emma’s channel?

-Man Mrs. Greene has some nerve

Chapter 11

-“Farm metaphors! How charming!” I’m saying that.

-baby gayseed

-emmAs HAD SEX?!?!!??!

-Emma? Doesn’t? Expose? Alyssa? Like? That?

-Mary (Emma’s grandma) is pETTING a godspell kid???

Chapter 12

-Helen works real estate, not retail.

-Daaaance with youuu

Chapter 13

-Mary is a savage

-Dee Dee how dare you eat Angie and steal her words

Chapter 14

-Um the lavender dress is Alyssa’s not her mother’s Saundra get your facts right

Chapter 15

-WINSTON MCARTHYS CASINO

-Mary please punch Dee Dee

Chapter 16

-“No homo” there it is

-Is the prom an Aladdin reference?

-Elena Lannister Greene

Chapter 17

-Saundra these chapter titles

Chapter 18

-Emma’s shirt is iconic

-WHERE IS 24 MART????

-“You made my mom cry rage tears”

-That’s not Kaylee’s friggen tatoo

-“Nooo. Not my precious Kelvin’s head!” Is Saundra on crack

Chapter 19

-Mary you gotta be more slick

-Ooh she spitting truth

-Uncle Donnie is an icon

Chapter 21

-Asggf Emma’s mullet phase

Chapter 22

-Emma has Adsense?

-EMMAS SONG IS UNRULY HEART WOMAN

Chapter 24

-The PowerPoint adhecvfsfb

-Barry’s speech I’m crying

Chapter 25

-ALYSSA KISSED FIRST?!?!

Conclusion:

If I was going in blind, I would’ve loved it! And I do enjoy it! But, I do wish it would’ve stuck to the musical more, and had better last names. And Angie and Trent.

[comicbooksidecharacter]

Hiraeth [Part 2]

Bucky Barnes X OC (Amelia Stone) Hiraeth: (n.) “longing or deep yearning for a place, time, feeling or person long gone; or that never was.”

Previously: The OC was attacked by the Winter Soldier. After putting up a fight, she receives a bullet wound and lands in a hospital.

Part 2

Sounds began to amplify slowly, and (to be quite honest), it was annoying. Muffled voices, currently undecipherable, just an annoying buzz that was starting to get louder and louder. With a jolt, which she wasn't sure if it was physical or mental, she felt sounds beginning to distinguish themselves. Beeps, footsteps… was it paper? people talking. She wanted everyone to be quiet and shut up. The auditory overload seemed too much. To make matters worse, visual overload followed; a light that felt as bright as, possibly, the sun was right against her eyelids and she felt as if she was lying naked in broad daylight in the middle of a park.

But it was not a park, because what she heard next explained everything.

"She went into v-tech and we administered epinephrine. And surprisingly the tests seem normal so far. We don't know what caused the v-tech in the first place." and then silence again. her ears buzzed and the sun set.

The next time her mind began to process information she heard muffled sounds again. But now they were distinguishable. She was in a hospital, or medical facility of some sort. Cardiac monitors, respirators, nurses at a distance, papers... everything made sense. Her eyes took time to accommodate the light overhead, the bright white ceiling of the hospital gave her relief, her heart clutched on to hope.

"Hello", she managed to whisper after fifteen minutes of making up her mind. The voice was hoarse. Her throat was parched and bitter.

"HELLO!", she said louder with a resolve, but no avail. Then she looked at the small box right next to her right hand, attached to the bed. She recognized the location now. It was the Avenger's facility.

"IDIOT", she declared herself, and pressed the red button, which was used to summon a nurse or doctor in case of emergency or for help. A few seconds later, someone came in. She couldn't turn her head because she had no body to follow her command but she could see the blond hair of Nurse McArthy and her purple scrubs.

"Good evening Amelia", she said, with a smile. "Glad to have you back with us." She had to admit, seeing someone after God knows how long was a good feeling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One of the drawbacks of being conscious dawned on her just an hour later. Her body felt excruciating pain. Her limbs felt swollen, her muscles as if they had been torn apart, and as if there was some pain all the way into her bones, into every cell, if that even was possible. She was always on morphine, the control of which was in her hand. She scoffed when she wondered how the doctors even trusted her to manage the quantities she was giving herself. She couldn't remember being brought to the hospital. Or maybe she did, and her unconscious mind was trying to save her the memory of pain.

Steve and Nat hadn't visited her. Besides, she didn't quite think they would. She was in the Avenger's facility. They were probably out fighting HYDRA and that Winter Soldier. But there WAS one person she wanted to meet.

"Nurse, I would like to meet Tony Stark", she said to McArthy who had come in to check her vital signs as usual.

"From what I know Mr. Stark rarely comes to the tower these days. But I think he will visit you as soon as he comes back here. He was keen to know about your condition and progress."

Amelia rested her head against the pillow in relief. Good. Now she could tell him about Sitwell and HYDRA and the Winter Soldier and Nick Fury's death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days had passed since she was conscious and she was nowhere near feeling better. The nights were especially painful because in her sleep morphine would run its course and then she would have to be in pain for some time before it began to take effect again. She also feared getting dependent on it. Why was the pain not going away?

A week passed. It was a cool Wednesday morning. The hospital busy as ever when the room's door slid open and she heard 5 voices, arguing among each other, closing up on her.

"Chop chop four-eyes", Tony's face was the first she saw when she opened her eyes. And surprisingly, he was in his iron man suit. She was genuinely so happy to see him. If her body didn’t contort in pain, she would have hugged him right then and there.

"How're you doing?", Natasha's voice was next and she jerked up, only to have some part of her body wring in pain.

"Easy", Tony said, helping her move her bed up so that she could lean straight. And to her surprise, Steve and Banner were there too. She was confused. How come Steve and Natasha were there? Was this an illusion? Did they tell Tony about HYDRA and had they begun to fight them?

"Tony", she begun, "I'm assuming you know all about Sitwell and HYDRA right now."

At this, the silence in the room became dense. Steve and Natasha exchanged looks while Banner only looked at his palms before looking at Tony again. Tony was looking at her as if to judge her injuries.

"Yeah about that..."

"What is it?", she asked. And just then a man entered the room that made her gasp in shock. Nick Fury, in his signature black leather coat and eye patch, unscathed, seemingly alive.

"What. the...", she asked, shocked out of her wits. A silence followed. All she could hear for minutes was the sound of the ECT and the clock's hand ticking. Everyone else seemed to stay quiet and patient so that she could take it all in.

"Yeah he's alive....unfortunately", Tony said, making Fury look at him sarcastically while Steve looked at Ellie with concern that she didn't quite understand why.

"Look I'll tell you everything about it when you're up and running", Tony said.

"Well, I am up. I dont see a need to run seeing all of you are here... so just tell me.."

Silence again. Tony was definitely discerning whether or not he should talk to her about something, which made her more anxious. What could it be that was making him hesitate so much?

Immediately, as all of them would expect anyway, her brain started to try and put pieces of the puzzle together. Maybe it was Fury's trick, the whole death thing. He was one for such theatricality sometimes. But even then, it would have been understandable, so the hesitation wasn't something that would make sense.

"Did something happen to me?", she asked, looking at her body, which for now wasn't really giving a response to her commands to move. or maybe the limbs were just too stiff or swollen for it. All she felt was pain.

"Would you just tell me already?"

"You had been missing for 8 months. We just bought you 4 weeks ago from a HYDRA facility, you had been in a coma ever since", Steve finally spoke up.

Maybe it was better that Tony not tell her yet.

[meetnategreen]

“We are ready to continue to cooperate for the next specifically we are almost ready to buy more Javelins [missiles] from the United States for defence purposes,” Mr Zelensky said during the call.

The US president replied: “I would like you to do us a favour though because our country has been through a lot and Ukraine knows a lot about it “

“You just added another word,” Mr McCarthy said during the interview, appearing to refer to the word “though”.

“No,” Scott Pelley said. “It’s in the transcript.”

“You said ‘I’d like you to do [me] a favour though’?” Mr McCarthy said, with apparent surprise.

“Yes, it’s in the White House transcript,” Mr Pelley said.

________________________________________________

McCarthy Translated: I only read the talking points, because I’m too stupid/ lazy/ indifferent to read the actual transcript or the report.

[floopity-floop]

Floop is here

Floop loves to meet new people. Floop loves you all. Floop may miss a few people, but Floop still loves you.

@todays-michael-mell @todays-jared-kleinman @todays-mr-heere @todays-jenna-rolan @todays-evan-hansen @todays-jake-dillinger @todays-thalia-mcarthy @todays-chloe-valentine @todays-rich-goranski @todays-jeremy-heere @todays-mr-reyes @todays-heather-mac @todays-heather-duke @todays-heather-chandler

Floop is happy to be here. Floop doesn’t know everyone, so if Floop missed you, Floop is sincerely sorry.

[todays-nicole-millar]

Today, 04/11/18

Today Nicole Millar decided to make one of these blogs to definitely not get shit on the popular kids.

(@todays-michael-mell , @todays-dustin-kropp , @todays-brooke-lohst , @todays-madeline-monroe , @todays-jake-dillinger , @todays-chloe-valentine , @todays-thalia-mcarthy , @todays-christinecanigula , @todays-s-q-u-i-p , @todays-mr-heere , @todays-mr-reyes , @todays-evan-hansen , @todays-connor-murphy , @todays-alana-beck , @todays-zoe-murphy , @todays-jared-kleinman, @todays-rich-goranski)

[shadowglens]

5, 12, 33, 40 + alma/charles!!!

SHIP ASK MEME

5. nicknames? pet names? any in-jokes?

charles called her miss mcarthy for about an hour before he realised that the gang only really called her that if they were pissed off at alma or giving her shit (lol), so switched to just mcarthy like the others for a while. they shifted to be on a first name basis fairly quickly though. once they’re in a relationship, charles often quietly uses pet names for her, like “sweetheart” or “darlin’”, and in private he often calls her “freckles” jokingly. alma uses “honey” every so often, but mostly just uses his first name. she will jokingly call him “wolf” sometimes just to see him roll his eyes.

12. is there a wedding? what was the proposal like? any kind of honeymoon?

while they’re not religious, i think alma does have a romanticised view of god and marriage and tying yourself legally to a person like that. she remembers her parents being married, remembers a couple of marriages happening at their saloon when she was younger, and it was always such a happy, romantic thing. i don’t think charles would mind either, in all honesty - he had never thought much about marriage until seeing john and abigal tie the knot at the ranch, and then it became less of a Thing For Other People and more of a possibility for himself. he quietly loves the idea of alma becoming Mrs Smith, loves the idea that he could call her his wife.

he makes sure to offhandedly mention marriage a few times in conversations, like when they’re talking about john, to see how alma reacts. when she seems in favour of it, he finds a beautiful spot near their house, with beautiful trees and wildflowers and a waterfall spilling over a cliffside into the lush valley below, and blesses the ground as he remembers his mother telling him. then he brings alma there at sunrise, and proposes as her skin is bathed in pink and orange, with a beautiful gold ring inlaid with wood engravings that he spent a fortune on. they both for sure cry and alma kisses him silly until the sun has fully risen.

33. what kind of presents do they get each other? do they only do it on special occasions?

charles likes to make his own gifts, and has given her handmade arrows from yew and eagle feathers, has carved small horses and tucked them into her pack, has found her little poetry books in general stores and written little messages inside the cover for her.

alma is more of a practical gift giver. she buys him new weapons and tack and gear, gets him a special brush for tamia and hair ties made of silk and a beautiful clay mug from one of the woman at the reservation.

40. any special memories? do they have a special place they like to go to?

there’s no special place, but there are defintiely memories. there’s the field of wildflowers that charles found for her, the bark of the oak tree that they kissed against for the first time, the look of wonder they shared over the midwives head as birdie’s newborn scream filled the room, the purple-pink-yellow of the last sunrise they shared at the marston ranch with their found family. 

[todays-jared-kleinman]

9/27/18

Today, Jared was bored and probably high, so he decided to make this blog.

( @todays-michael-mell @todays-jeremy-heere @todays-rich-goranski @todays-christinecanigula @todays-chloe-valentine @todays-brooke-lohst @todays-jake-dillinger @todays-madeline-monroe @todays-jenna-rolan @todays-mr-heere @todays-evan-hansen @todays-dustin-kropp @todays-thalia-mcarthy )