#we’re running out of options here gang!!!

[thatgirlwhokeepsreading]

The thing the people don’t tell you about re-parenting yourself/similar gambits is that for bitches of a particular temperament (it’s me I’m bitches) it sometimes makes you so so mad when it works. Sold all my baby dolls in a garage sale when I was eight not because I didn’t want to them anymore but because I thought I shouldn’t want them anymore, and now the only thing that had me sleeping like a rock after fortnight of hells is this elaborate LARP so I can convince my central nervous system that there is someone in charge who a) wants to take care of shit and b) can take care of shit.

RSD emotional hangover making you too agitated to sleep even though you’re intellectually aware the conflict is resolved? Not anymore with the power of making dairy-free chocolate milk and listening to ten minutes of Dune on audiobook while reading alongside on your e-reader before you pass the fuck out.

Like you would think cringing into the sun* would keep one even more awake than the vague background radiation of little-T traumas (which has actually reduced after five years of medication and psychology appointments), but I guess it is really about quantity over quality. Guess one big cringe is less impactful than the relief from convincing the quivering little toddler that’s been left in charge of the sleep lever in your brain to come out from under the desk and do their job by putting up a sort of flimsy curtain so they can no longer see the wall of painting symbolising your mild disconcerting experiences

And I reference temperament when I know that my annoyance is in fact also a huge part to do with socialisation, particularly being primed towards abnegation + a fundamental suspicion towards adults engaging with things culturally associated with Children and Childhood, both of which are things I challenge on principle consciously/intellectually. But knowing that it’s completely harmless, and like hey I could be doing meth or something, does not change the fact that when I mimic the running commentary I do with babysitting kids Just In My Head To Myself and immediately become head-nodding sleepy, I’m instantly like “oh we respond to this and not a haunting amount of melatonin? cool. yeah. sure.”

(*Of course none of this is cringe when other people do it, as they are allowed to experience Quirks and Vulnerabilities in peace because they are Not Me. That said, when I’m not venting on tumblr dot org I do generally avoid calling any of this stuff cringe bc I am aware that caveating with “This only applies to me because I’m Not Like Other Girls (I’m Worse)” often doesn’t actually make the other person feel assured you’re not judging them.)

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 4: Beverly Hills]

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, lowkey sexual harassment, emotional distress/panic attack, Maroon 5, some shouting, minor injury, Sunshine and Aegon share an apple.

Word count: 5.8k

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Baela has made you breakfast. On the kitchen counter is a plate holding a single slice of wheat toast with a transparently thin smear of peanut butter. You’re already nauseous; the smell of toast in the air is enough to make your stomach lurch and the caustic burn of acid rise in your throat. In their vase, the sunflowers are perky and radiant, like the nuggets of gold that beckoned settlers to the West Coast in the mid-1800s, the hope, the possibility, the indomitable dream.

“I don’t think I can eat anything,” you say.

“Try,” Baela insists, pushing the plate towards you. Jace isn’t shuffling around lackadaisically or sprawled across the orange couch; he must still be asleep. “You aren’t going to make a good impression if you’re all woozy and retching everywhere. You don’t want to look half-dead when you meet Maroon 5, do you?”

“Oh my God.” You chuckle languidly, rubbing your forehead. Your eyes ache; you’ve barely slept. “I completely forgot they’re going to be there.”

Baela grabs a can of La Croix out of the refrigerator and sets it down beside your toast. “You’re that freaked out about the bathtub thing?”

“I guess so.”

“You wanted to be an actress. You’re getting your wish. It’s a blessing.”

And a curse, you think before you can stop yourself. You nibble at your peanut butter toast reluctantly. “I shouldn’t complain.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Baela says.

You crack open the La Croix and take a sip: icy, sharp, oddly dry, Strawberry Peach, pretty awful. “It could be a lot worse.”

“Yeah, it’s not like it’s a Harvey Weinstein situation.” And in her tone is a quiet condemnation: you don’t belong here, you don’t have what it takes.

“What are you doing today?” you ask to distract yourself.

“Gym, the farmers’ market, practicing French.” Because Baela is leaving for Paris in a few weeks, and her agent didn’t even have to forge her a resume to get her the part. “Maybe you’ll meet a guy on the music video set, like a camera dude or a boom operator or something, and then you can finally have a real boyfriend and stop fantasizing about your elderly engaged agent!”

I doubt it. Nonetheless, you smirk weakly as you nurse your La Croix. “Let’s hope he’s not a hobosexual like Jace. We’re running out of room.”

“Hey,” Baela says as she admires your sunflowers with a soft, fond smile. “Jace isn’t so bad.”

“No,” you agree. “No, he’s not.”

You are standing on the sidewalk outside your apartment building when Aegon rolls up in his white Chrysler Sebring convertible, just a few minutes shy of 8 a.m. Hair stylists, makeup artists, and costume designers will reinvent you when you get to set, so you are dressed for comfort: an olive green floral sundress with large buttons down the front, your trusty TOMS wedges, just a blur of eyeshadow swept across your lids with a fingertip so you don’t feel naked, sparkly gold Bold Moves by Huda Beauty. Aegon is already blaring Lose Yourself and rapping along loudly, wearing his aviator sunglasses and flashing gang signs, his sandy blonde hair brutalized from the wind:

“I’ve got to formulate a plot, or end up in jail or shot,

Success is my only motherfuckin’ option, failure’s not,

Mom, I love you, but this trailer’s got to go,

I cannot grow old in Salem’s Lot,

So here I go, it’s my shot,

Feet, fail me not,

This may be the only opportunity that I got…”

“I told my dad you drive one of these,” you say as you climb into the Sebring. “He said they’re super unreliable.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Aegon replies. “But I have lots of money and very few responsibilities, so repairs aren’t a problem. And it cruises so smooth.” When he passes you a venti-sized iced vanilla latte, his right hand is shaking.

“You okay?”

Aegon flashes a grin. “Too much caffeine.” He whips away from the curb and drives towards the interchange of the 405, five chaotic lanes that fly northwest towards Beverly Hills. He is wearing his haphazard suit again, his jacket too big and his tie too skinny, reminding you of the Jehovah’s Witnesses who used to come proselytizing to your parents’ house until one day Tripp got fed up and told them you were Satanists. That is apparently sufficient to get a family on some kind of blacklist. Mom was mortified.

You are slurping your vanilla latte—very slowly, so your queasy stomach will not rebel—and trying to think of how to bring up the new scene situation when Aegon gets a call. Eminem vanishes from the Sebring’s speakers, and Aegon unplugs his phone from the aux and lifts it to his ear.

“Hello?” Aegon is merging onto the 405, crossing dotted white lines until he reaches the High Occupancy Vehicle lane along the concrete barrier. “Hey, Brando. What’s up?” A pause. “Why, what’s on Monday?”

You look over at Aegon: one hand on the steering wheel, hair whipping in the wind, black sunglasses that the early light glints off of, thoughtful creases etching into his forehead and around his eyes as he listens, endless blue sky above and miles passing anonymously below. It’s the morning of Thursday, July 3rd, and you have known him for three weeks, and you—who once made Mason wait months to do anything more than kiss you—think that if Aegon laid his palm on your thigh right now, only a whisper-thin layer of cotton between you and the warmth of his palm, it would feel not just good but right, safe, destined, and your drumming heartbeat would turn calm like the sea after a storm, and you would believe you were capable of anything he asked for.

I don’t want him to think I’m weak. I don’t want him to be disappointed in me.

“Right, yeah, I have to go to that,” Aegon says. There’s a lull as Brandon asks him something. “Because they keep trying to get Steve to do his own stunts and I don’t want him to end up with a broken back like Brendan Fraser. Uh huh. Sure. Oh, and remind Steve that he’s invited to the charity gala thing. Yeah. I don’t know, call Aemond and ask. No, I don’t want to call him, that’s why I’m telling you to do it. Okay. Cool, thanks. Hey, I have no idea when we’ll be done with the Maroon 5 thing so no need to wait at the office, you can take off at three or four or whenever. Sounds good. See ya.” Aegon hangs up and glances at you. “You’re invited too, by the way.”

You startle; your thoughts had been drifting. “Invited to what?”

“The gala in a few weeks. It’s to raise money for UNICEF. All my clients are invited.”

Just like they’re invited to his wedding in Turks and Caicos, you think, and you are hit by another pang of nausea so strong you put your latte down in the cup holder next to Aegon’s drink, something topped with whipped cream and a swirl of chocolate syrup. “I’d love to go! It’s like grown-up prom!”

Aegon shakes his head, but he’s smiling. Again, you are mulling over if and how to mention the new scene—does he already know? will he think I’m complaining?—but now traffic is thick and a Tesla cuts Aegon off, and he is focused on driving and reading the directions on the screen of the GPS mounted on the Sebring’s windshield, and you don’t want to distract him, and when he plugs his phone back into the aux there is a Red Hot Chili Peppers song that comes plucking out of the speakers as the mid-70s breeze ghosts across your skin like feather-light fingerprints: She Looks To Me.

The mansion is perched on the cliffside of Bendict Canyon, red-gold earth that glows under the rising sun, gnarled trees and shrubs twisting skyward from arid soil. The circular driveway is already crowded with trucks and vans, along with a few BMWs and Range Rovers. Aegon parks his convertible near the end of the driveway and then walks with you into the building: mid-century modern, glass walls and sand-colored marble floors to match the accents of amber and warm teak wood, jewel-tone velvet furniture and shag area rugs, statues that pretend to be gold and plants made of plastic. There are attendants brushing exotic cats, Ragdolls and Himalayans. There are people picking over trays of fruit and sandwiches, and others setting up light fixtures and placing marks on the floor with tiny Xs of white tape. You imagine yourself standing on them, and your knees and ankles feel weak as you toddle in your wedges.

Dan is here, and he parts a sea of assistants and sound technicians to cross the living room to greet you and Aegon, beaming and energetic and showing no indications of deception or malpractice. You watch as he and Aegon chat and laugh at each other’s jokes, tales of their most disastrous filming experiences, and you think: If Aegon trusts him, shouldn’t I?

Dan waves Maroon 5 over, and you meet the band but even as it’s happening you can feel yourself not committing it to memory, your skull too full of rattling anxiety, fog-like doubt. They are here to tour the set, but they seem halfhearted about it, and soon they find an excuse to leave; the band is filming their scenes on a different day and presumably have more interesting things to do. If I had millions of dollars, you think distractedly, I would want to be on a film set every day of my life. You are also introduced to the male actor, and he is very attractive in a tan, gym rat, California sort of way, and he seems perfectly polite as well. Aegon hovers nearby until the actor casually mentions his husband, then Aegon slides his sunglasses into his suit jacket and wanders off to pet the long-haired and ill-tempered exotic cats.

A copy of the script is placed in your hands and an assistant leads you upstairs to a small bedroom filled with racks of clothing and a station set up for hair and makeup. The costume designer and stylists work on you, and you make small talk so you won’t think too much about what’s about to happen and start hyperventilating. The first scene, blessedly, is fully-clothed: blush pink Prada ballgown, four-inch heels, your updo gracefully falling loose, dramatic fake eyelashes and inky mascara tears snaking down your cheeks, a screaming match with your supposed soon-to-be-ex lover. You and one of the makeup artists chatter about favorite eyeshadow palettes as she paints your skin like a canvas: a base of matte pink Love Letter by Anastasia Beverly Hills, the sheen of dusk-colored Brink by Natasha Denona.

When you’re ready, the costume designer says: “I don’t think they need you quite yet. You can stay in here, if you’d like.” She smiles, believing she is doing you a favor. “I know you actors need your space to get into character.” And then before you can think of how to protest, she herds the stylists out of the bedroom and you are left alone with the poltergeist of the near-future, cold pockets that make you shiver and the racket of furniture being rearranged in other rooms. You leaf through the script and then, when your hands start shaking, leave it on the low platform bed with a geometric print blanket.

Knowing you shouldn’t, you go to the racks of clothing and paw through garments until you find the lingerie for the bathtub scene: all black lace, all semi-transparent, and while clever camera angles and post-production editing will conceal anything elicit from the audience, there will be no such discretion here. And even if only the essential crew is present for the scene—though there’s no indication it will be a closed set—that’s still a cinematographer, a key grip, a camera operator, a sound technician…and Dan the director, of course.

Your family’s words come rushing back to you, a chorus of skepticism and caution and an underlying conviction that no one could want you for the right reasons:

If she wants to embarrass herself, let her.

Well, be careful, darling.

Who knows what his intentions are.

Men can be so creepy.

You walk towards the bed in a daze and then sink to the floor, backing up until you hit the mattress, hiding there in the small shadow, a sanctuary from the daylight that is flooding in through the glass walls. You feel like you can’t breathe, like your vision is going dark, like the chambers of your heart are splitting open, and yet you know from all your father’s stories of people showing up at the ER erroneously believing they are dying that this is all in your head, and you force yourself to take deep, slow breaths so you won’t pass out.

I can’t do this.

But you have to.

Everyone’s right. I’m not the kind of girl who makes it in Hollywood. Not exceptional enough, not bold enough, not beautiful enough, not willing to do what it takes.

But you’re not ready to give up yet.

There is a knock at the door. “Hey, you camera-ready, sunshine?” Aegon says from outside.

You press your curled index fingers just beneath your eyes to try to stop them from watering. “Yeah. Two minutes.” But your voice cracks, and now he knows something is wrong.

“Are you naked?”

You sniffle. “No.”

Aegon opens the door, and then he has crossed the room and is kneeling down on the floor beside you in his black suit, and he’s completely mystified because he’s never seen you this way before, and he’s half-reaching for you but he’s also hesitating, not knowing if you want to be touched. “What happened? What’s wrong with you?”

“I think…um…” Another sniffle. “I guess I’m just a little freaked out about the scene they added.”

Aegon is confounded. “What scene?”

You reach up onto the bed behind you and fumble around until your fingers grasp the script. You give it to Aegon and he hurriedly skims through the pages. When he stumbles across the scene in question, he goes entirely still and his murky blue eyes turn dark and hard and focused in a way you’ve learned is rare for him.

He asks without lifting his gaze from the paper: “When did you find out about this?”

“Yesterday night. Dan brought the script to my apartment.”

Aegon looks at you. “He showed up at your house?”

“Yeah,” you whimper pathetically.

“Did he touch you?”

“What? No, nothing like that. He stayed in the hallway.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m sorry. I kind of assumed you knew.” A pause. “And I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Aegon, still clutching the script, stands and bolts for the bedroom door.

“No!” you beg in a whisper, lunging after him and grabbing his empty hand. “Aegon, no, I can do it. I don’t want to lose the job. I’ll do whatever they want. Aegon? Aegon, please, I don’t want to give up, I don’t want to go home a failure—”

“Don’t talk,” Aegon says, low and violent. “Let me handle it.” And before you can reply, he has ripped away from you and is through the doorway, down the staircase, into the living room where people are gathered under bright lights and making last-minute adjustments to furniture, décor, equipment. Exotic cats lounge on the velvet sofas. Your faux lover paces in a flawlessly-tailored white suit; he smiles when he sees you, then it swiftly dies.

Dan is chortling with two other men and leaning against a wall. Aegon rages to him, shoves him so hard Dan stumbles, strikes the wall two inches from his face. Aegon’s knuckles come away bloody; there is now a dent in the wall marred with a stain of crimson. An assistant screams; everyone in the room is gawking.

Dan is not just stunned by irate. “What the fuck, man?! That’s coming out of her paycheck!”

“How about we take it from your life insurance policy?”

“What is your problem?!”

“No, you know what you did!” Aegon shouts, and Dan is bigger than him but Aegon is seething, fearless, unrelenting, giving him no space. He balls up the script and pitches it at Dan; it bounces off his temple. “You knew any changes to the script were supposed to go through me and you hid this, and that’s fucked up, and it’s not happening. Take the scene out.”

Dan throws his arms wide in disbelief. “You said no nudity and no sex scenes, and this is neither. I didn’t con you, man.”

“Don’t act stupid. You went to her house and you sprung this on her and you thought you could get away with breaking the rules, and maybe you’ve done this before and no one stopped you because it’s just innocuous enough for you to have plausible deniability. But you’re not going to do it to me, and you’re not going to do it to my girl.”

“You think I need her?!” Dan yells, as if it’s preposterous. “She’s a nobody, she’s nothing special! She should be down on her knees thanking Baby Jesus that she’s on this set right now. You think I don’t have ten other actresses I could call?”

“So call them,” Aegon says. “But you’ll have to reschedule the shoot, and I know you’re paying a thousand bucks an hour for this place.”

“Hey dumbass, I spent over a thousand dollars on wine last night—”

“And I will never work with you again. And neither will Aemond, or Helaena, or Daeron, or any of our people.”

For the first time, Dan looks uncertain, stymied, wary. He studies Aegon as his crew avert their eyes awkwardly. On the sofas, the Ragdolls and Himalayans lick themselves and swish their fluffy tails. Aegon glances back at you. Your eyes are wide, glossy pools of pleading.

I don’t want to lose the job. Please, please, don’t make me give up on the dream yet.

“Look,” Aegon tells Dan, now level and diplomatic. “Do the right thing. You fucked up, you own it. Take the scene out and we’re cool. You get your music video shot on schedule. We get the originally agreed-upon terms. Everyone goes home happy. You’re a very talented director and I’ve only ever heard great things about you. I’d hate to have to start correcting people when they’re singing your praises.”

There is a long stretch of silence, and then Dan chuckles and holds up his hands as if surrendering. “Fine, no problem, we’ll axe the scene. It was just an idea, and maybe I got carried away. That was my bad. I had no idea you’d be so touchy about it.”

Aegon smiles, thin and tight and ingenuine. “I’ve been known to be sensitive.” He holds out his right hand; blood drips from his knuckles. An assistant drops to the marble floor and scrambles around wiping up the mess, viscous and scarlet. “No hard feelings?”

Dan shakes Aegon’s wounded hand. “No hard feelings.” Then he marvels at the blood in his palm and an assistant descends to disinfect him. Another moves an abstract painting so it covers the damage to the wall.

Aegon returns to you, and your pulse is slow and hushed, and your breathing is effortless, and you are transfixed; you cannot look away from him, you cannot believe he’s real. “So, uh,” he says, quietly so the rest of the room won’t hear. “No need to worry about that anymore. You want to take ten minutes to chill and get in the zone, and then we’ll get started?”

“No, I can go right now,” you tell him.

“Okay.” Aegon turns to Dan. “She’s ready.” Then he points at the male actor. Aegon probably doesn’t mean it to, but it comes out sounding like a threat. “You ready?”

The actor nods frenetically. “I’m ready!”

“Great,” Aegon says, and he steps out of the shot, and you step into it, and by the time the camera rolls you aren’t you anymore. You are a woman who desperately loves the man in front of her—instantly transformed from a stranger to a soulmate—and you are betrayal and jealousy and loss and wrath, and while your pink Prada dress is formal and wondrous your body is ever-contorting to be weak, vulnerable, breaking as you realize he is leaving.

Then you are clawing your way up the staircase in a heavy fur coat that seems to swallow you, then you are in a bedroom making unanswered phone calls in a lavender silk nightgown, then you are in the kitchen shattering plates and glasses in a neon green mini-dress, then you are in a leopard-print robe petting the exotic cats in the living room, then you are drowning in the swimming pool in a black empire-waist evening gown. Aegon follows you around the mansion and stands wordlessly in corners, chomping on his Juicy Fruit gum, holding the towels that assistants bring him against his knuckles; during every wardrobe change, he waits just outside the bedroom door.

The shoot isn’t done until after sunset, and you thank everyone profusely before you leave: the crew, the male actor, and especially Dan. You still need him to promote and release the music video, and assuming he doesn’t hate you after Aegon’s outburst, he’ll be a valuable reference.

When Aegon speeds his Sebring out of the mansion’s circular driveway and onto winding cliffside roads presided over by the towering shadows of palm trees, the first thing he says to you is: “You are never working with that man again.”

“Okay,” you agree immediately. And before you can say anything else he has put his phone to his ear. Faintly, you can hear ringing, and then a voice that you think you recognize as Brandon’s.

“Hi,” Aegon snaps. “What do I pay you for?”

“Aegon, please don’t be mad at him,” you say quietly. He’s driving very, very fast. The streetlights race by in a blur, the night wind tears like talons through your hair.

Aegon ignores you. “Why was her address on the stuff we sent to the Maroon 5 video people?” A moment passes. “No, it clearly wasn’t redacted because Dan Sacco showed up at her apartment last night. Yeah. That’s what I’m saying. Well, open your email and find out.”

“Aegon, he’s supposed to be off work right now. He’s at home, I’m fine, it’s not important.”

“Shh.” And then, after a long pause, Aegon says to Brandon: “Oh. I get it. Okay, yeah, my mistake. Sorry about that. Enjoy the 4th tomorrow, I’ll pay you extra for this conversation. Alright. You too. Bye.” Aegon sighs and looks over at you, as if he’s asking for forgiveness. “I mislabeled the PDFs. Brando thought he sent them the redacted one but he actually sent the original. He should have double-checked anyway, he usually does, but I was rushing him to get it out because I was trying to make sure you got the job. So…it’s my fault and I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine, Aegon,” you say softly.

“It’s not fine.” And you don’t have the opportunity to correct him because Aegon is scrolling through his contacts, and despite his earlier aversion to calling his brother Aemond, soon Aegon is recounting what happened and warning Aemond to never work with Dan, never recommend him to actors, never sell him a script, that Dan is dead to all of them as soon as the music video is officially released.

Aegon merges onto the 10 and heads east towards his office in Elysian Park. You don’t wonder why he’s not taking you south to Harbor Gateway, because you don’t want to go home yet. It’s well after 9 p.m., and the freeway is vast and open, silhouettes of skyscrapers and palm trees, reflective green signs indicating routes to Pasadena, San Bernadino, Santa Ana, San Pedro. Under the streetlights that arch overhead, you can see that the knuckles on Aegon’s right hand have turned violet and maroon, bruises down to the bone. When he reaches Downtown, Aegon’s Sebring takes the 110 north, and you are reminded of the route you drove to Elysian Park on the day you first met him, a girl with no prospects that he believed in anyway.

Aegon doesn’t hang up the phone until he’s at the curb outside the half-duplex he rents, a blinking blue neon sign that reads Targ Talent Agency in one window. He rests his wounded hand on the back of your seat when he twists around to look as he’s parallel parking. In the lobby, he goes to the minifridge behind Brandon’s desk and gets two green glass bottles of Perrier, passes you one of them, continues to his office and collapses into his chair, staring up at you as he swigs his Perrier and drops of condensation fall down onto his suit. He thumps his shoes up onto his desk, characteristically littered with gum wrappers and manilla folders and loose papers, framed photographs and his recently-acquired ceramic bowl of Honeycrisp apples. You are still standing.

“That happens sometimes,” Aegon says after a while. “Just so you know going forward, because I failed to make it clear before, script changes always go through me. I negotiate with the other party and if any modifications are approved I tell you about them, not the other way around. And unless you’ve cultivated some kind of working relationship with them, directors and producers should not be reaching out to you personally.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

You aren’t really sure. “I guess I should have known better.”

Aegon smirks, tired and cynical. “I told you this place is a curse.”

“You tried to warn me,” you concede.

“Do you believe me now?”

“No. I still want to be in Los Angeles.” I still want to be here with you.

He considers you, his head tilted thoughtfully to the side. “You did a really good job today, sunshine. Despite everything.”

“I hope so.”

He gives you a wry half-smile and takes another gulp of his Perrier. You haven’t opened yours yet. You are wearing your street clothes from this morning, TOMS wedges, unceremonious olive green sundress. Your hair is still damp from the scene in the pool and smells like chlorine. Aegon sighs deeply and kneads the area just above his right eye with his fingertips, as if he has a headache.

“Aegon?” you say, and he looks up at you. “Thank you for what you did for me.”

“I’d do it for anyone.”

“You’d almost break your knuckles?”

He glances at the back of his hand as if he had forgotten about the damage incurred there: clotted blood, subterranean bruises. “No, that was just for you.”

You set your unopened bottle of Perrier and your purse on his desk. Then you step out of your wedges, reach beneath your sundress, hook your thumbs under the waistband of your panties and pull them down to your ankles. You kick them away and leave them on the scuffed wood floor with your wedges. Aegon is watching you, his lips parted and his dark blue eyes amazed, as you walk to his desk and sit on the edge, pluck a Honeycrisp apple out of the bowl there, and take a large, famished bite. When saccharine juice spills down your lips, you don’t wipe it away.

Slowly, Aegon’s own mouth blooms into a smile. “I was wondering if it was mutual.”

He stands, harvests the apple from your hand, buries his teeth in the wet yielding flesh in the same place where you bit it. Then he lets the apple tumble to the floor as his hands rise to your face and he kisses you, and if you once discovered that this was easy with Mason then here it is instinctive, necessary, sheltering, and you have never felt so safe, and you have never been so sure of anything. You are unfastening the large buttons that run down the front of your sundress. Aegon is shrugging off his suit jacket and opening his shirt, his chest and belly soft and warm, no distance between you as you lie back across the desk and Aegon climbs on top of you, tasting like apples and Juicy Fruit and night air. Folders and papers cascade in a flurry. The bowl of apples is shoved off the ledge and shatters. Photographs are knocked to the floor, their glass panes splintering.

You are afraid only once, when Aegon unclasps your bra and tosses it away, but then he’s touching and kissing you there, lips and tongue and teeth, and his need is so palpable, and you can’t believe you ever considered scalpels and stitches. “I knew you were perfect,” he whispers against your throat, and when his war-torn hand travels between your legs you are already slick and starving, and you tell him you can’t wait.

You glance down as he rummages around in a drawer of his desk and eventually—seconds that feel like an eternity—finds a few condoms in silvery wrappers. “I’m sorry you have to use one,” you say, breathing heavily as you lie beneath him, not wanting to ruin this. “I’m sorry I’m not on the pill or—”

“I’d wrap up anyway. I’m serious about the no kids thing.”

And then he’s easing himself into you, and it’s better than it’s ever been because you’ve never wanted it more, and you’re trying not to moan too loudly because you don’t know if there’s anyone home in the other half of the rundown little duplex, and when your eyes flutter open you see flashes of the mint green walls, beams of headlights raking across the windows, gleaming emerald shards of your Perrier bottle that has tumbled to the floor and broken there, hemorrhaging a sea of carbonated water. It’s not a climax but a plateau so high you can’t think, can’t speak, your fingers in Aegon’s hair and your hips moving with his, your legs linked around him and his voice in your ear, is this okay for you, is this good, and you are nodding and gasping and letting him take you to a place where you can have everything, magic that usually only exists on pages and screens.

Aegon finishes—too soon, with some embarrassment—then pulls back and is alarmed to find tears on your cheeks. He wipes them away with his hands, bewildered, concerned. “What are you doing? Don’t cry, sunshine.”

You laugh shakily. “I’m fine, I swear, it’ll go away. I just get emotional.”

“Always?”

“When it’s good.”

Aegon kisses you, sweet and slow, and then he climbs off the desk and flings the condom somewhere, grabs your hips, drags you towards to him. You sit up when you realize what he’s doing.

“Oh no,” you say. “Wait, no, you don’t have to. Don’t worry about it.”

Aegon furrows his brow at you impatiently. “Do you want to come or not?”

“Well yeah, but it can take a while. So I’ll just do it myself later.”

“Shut up and put your legs over my shoulders.” He yanks you closer and you fall back onto the desk, now damp and slippery with perspiration, and you are grinning up at the ceiling, astonished and euphoric and a little sheepish, not expecting it to work but then being overwhelmed by him, coaxed into it like tumbling down the crumbling wall of a canyon, plummeting into inevitable and effortless gravity, the earth disintegrating beneath your clawing fingers when you try to catch yourself. Then Aegon takes your hand and shows you that he is hard again.

“More,” you plead in a whisper, and you go with him down to the floor, careful to avoid jagged flecks of glass and fragments of the shattered ceramic bowl, and you are helping him roll a new condom on because he’s taking too long and you can’t wait, and you’re both laughing as you straddle him, and then it becomes something quiet and slow and indelibly heavy, imprints in sand that eons of waves could not wash away, and afterwards you lie together on the floor for a long time, not saying anything, not tethered to reality, drifting in a bone-weary mirage of nightscape chemicals until the sun will rise and paint the world in color again.

You get up and start looking for your wedges. You have to shake them to get pebbles of green glass out. Aegon, still lying on the wood floor, watches you; you smirk guiltily. “I should probably go home soon. I have to be at Cold Stone tomorrow morning.”

Aegon seems surprised. “You’re working on the 4th of July?”

“Only until 6:30. Then Baela and I are going to see the fireworks.”

“And you’re driving to work, right? Not walking?”

“Right,” you promise.

Aegon groans as he drags himself to his feet, pulls on his suit and misbuttons his shirt, surveys the damage done to his office and runs his hands through his disheveled blonde hair. He shakes his head and looks a little sad, vacant, meditative. Does he regret it? you worry; but then Aegon turns to you and smiles. “Let’s get going.”

The long-gone daylight has been replaced by streetlights and headlights and coils of neon, glowing through the darkness like manmade stars, young synthetic constellations. As the Sebring sails down the ghost town of the 110 at midnight, Aegon passes you his phone. “Listen to whatever you want.”

You scroll through his Spotify playlist; there are five hundred songs, lots of Alanis Morissette and Pearl Jam and Third Eye Blind and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. You remember listening to one of their songs on the way to the mansion in Beverly Hills this morning; Aegon must really like them. You choose another Red Hot Chili Peppers song at random, one you’ve never heard of before, Hard To Concentrate. The hypnotic guitar chords spill from the speakers, and as you gaze dreamily over six abandoned southbound lanes, you can see on the periphery of your vision that Aegon keeps glancing over at you, his hair flying in the wind and his bruised right hand resting on the steering wheel.

Aegon parks illegally in a fire lane on the curb outside your apartment. “Hey,” he says when you open the passenger’s door, and you stop and return to him. “I’ll see you soon, alright?”

You check the analog clock on the dashboard, a black box of green numbers. It’s just after midnight on July 4th. You murmur as you kiss Aegon one last time, your lips curled into a smile: “Happy Independence Day.”

Then you float up the concrete steps and into your apartment building, higher than the sun at noon.

[rockscanfly]

Random Charles Smith Headcanon's

Has probably contemplated suicide at more than one point (see “I’m here just to hurt and suffer myself. In this land I feel stuck.”)

Maybe a little vain. He cares for his clothing well, embellishes himself. 

Has auditory sensitivity. He gets very irritable with loud people.

Has never felt like he belonged, always feels cut off

Is comfortable with violence only against folk he sees as on his own level/like himself. Has little empathy for himself so has little empathy for them (hence smoking while Arthur beats a man for information, the efficient and quick kills of the bounty hunter, the poachers)

Has a STRONG sense of justice--that includes responsibility and culpability. People make choices and Charles holds them accountable for them. Sadie is a killer, so he treats her like any other ally. That German family didn’t make that choice, neither did the Wapiti. But he doesn’t have any pity for the gang.

Animals don't choose violence, hence the protectiveness over them and their dignity. 

Comes off as cold because he isn’t loud/not good at chat. He’s really just been alone most of his life. 

Okay with drinking, does NOT like drunkenness. Back to culpability. This can make him unforgiving and harsh at times.

Both he and Arthur are so used to people passing in and out of their lives that they’re afraid to hold on too tight. Then Arthur gets captured by Colm. Hosea talks to him, about Bessie and about Arthur’s dead family. 

“I’m not her,” Charles says. “Not either of them. I’m not asking you to leave your world behind, and I’m not going to wait for you in some house. We’re partners first. I’d lose the rest of it before I let you put me to the side.” 

He likes that Arthur is big enough to push him around, to hold him down and anchor him when he can feel himself getting lost. To toss him over a broad shoulder when they’re swimming around on a hunting trip and settle him down on soft pelts, to pin him and bite the lonely from his skin. 

Charles can kick Arthur’s ass and will do so on request

He’s kind and thoughtful. He’d be the one to make Arthur little presents and leave them around for him. Practical things, made special with the careful workmanship of beading/embroidery/etching. 

Can be impatient—autonomy is his norm so waiting on others both physically, mentally, and emotionally doesn’t come natural to him

Will cut slingload on people he feels don’t value him back—would not pine for Arthur or stick around if Arthur tries to protect himself by lashing out at Charles, even if he still has feelings. His father taught him that he has to protect himself because no one else will do it. Arthur. Well. Arthur’s the only person he’s trusted to have his back. Because Arthur proved it, several times over. There’s no one Charles would have used “do it for me” on other than Arthur Morgan. 

He fell into fighting again because he had begun opening his heart for the first time since he was a child, and then fate took Arthur too. Like Charles said—he was put on the earth to cause pain and to suffer himself. 

He tries to help folks, but he’s not good at talking and he can’t use his privilege to help like Arthur did. He’s everything the US government hates, even more than the Waipiti. They reach a point where his violence is no longer useful. And for a drowning, grieving, heart sick stretch of years violence is all Charles has left to him (hence going to Saint Denis, a city he hates, and fighting people for white folks' entertainment in a transparent suicide-by-cop bid for someone to end his suffering) And then Sadie gives him the option of closure and working beside John reminds him that he is a man, not a weapon, and Beecher’s Hope makes him believe he too can change. 

Charles has never tried to be anything but who he is. He and Arthur are similar in that way. What he realizes, what Arthur realized too late, is that he can change if he wants it. And that maybe he’s allowed his past pain and scars to run his life along a course he doesn’t actually have to follow. 

Brought to you by my on-going replay of RDR2 and my undying love and devotion to princess of my heart Charles Smith.

[bebe-writes-stuff]

more baji drabbles please.🙏🏼🙏🏼

Baji reacting to his s/o, who can fight

Power couple. period.

Everyone was shocked when Baji, of all people, managed to find a girlfriend—especially someone as gentle and sweet as you. It was hard to imagine someone like you by his side, considering Baji's reputation for being rough around the edges, loud, and sharp-tongued. Yet, against all odds, the two of you clicked in a way that no one saw coming.

You were always seen laughing together, eating together, and hanging out. But despite the smiles and carefree moments, something lingered in Baji's mind: What if being with him put you in danger? He was a well-known delinquent. You always seemed relaxed, and unworried when you were with him, and he chalked it up to your trust in his ability to protect you no matter what. But that wasn't the case.

The sun was beginning to set as you and Baji made your way to the Musashi Shrine. The ancient trees loomed overhead, their branches swaying gently in the evening breeze. The shrine’s stone path was familiar under your feet, where the Tokyo Manji Gang often gathered in secret. Baji walked beside you, his usual confident stride a little more subdued today. He hadn’t said much on the way here, and you knew why.

As you approached the clearing where the rest of the gang was waiting, Baji finally spoke, his voice low but firm. “You should head home, Y/N. I’ve got business with the guys, and you know how it is. I don’t want you getting mixed up in any of this.”

You looked up at him, your eyes narrowing slightly. “Baji, I’m not a little kid. I can handle myself.”

Baji sighed, running a hand through his messy black hair. “It’s not about you handling yourself, babe. I just don’t want you involved in this stuff. It’s dangerous.”

“And what about you?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “You’re in the middle of it, every day.”

“That’s different,” Baji replied, his tone softening as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “This is my world, not yours. Please, Y/N, just this once, go home.”

You stared at him for a long moment, weighing your options. Baji had always been overprotective, and while you appreciated his concern, it also made you more determined to know what was going on. You finally nodded, giving him a small smile. “Alright, I’ll go.”

Baji’s eyes searched yours for any hint of deception, but you kept your expression neutral. “Good,” he said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “I’ll come by later, okay?”

“Okay,” you replied, turning to leave. But as soon as you were out of sight, you doubled back, slipping into the thick foliage near the shrine. You crouched low, your heart pounding as you carefully moved through the trees and bushes, positioning yourself close enough to hear the meeting.

The voices of the Tokyo Manji Gang filled the air as Baji and the others began to discuss what had brought them here tonight. You recognized Mikey’s voice, cool and commanding as always, followed by Draken’s deep, steady tone.

“There’s been some trouble brewing with one of our rivals,” Mikey said, his voice serious. “They’re planning to make a move soon. We need to be ready.”

“How many are we talking about?” Baji asked, his voice hardening.

“Enough to cause problems,” Draken replied. “They’re not gonna back down easily. We’re looking at a full-on gang war if we don’t handle this right.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you listened, the weight of their words sinking in. A gang war. This was serious—more serious than anything you’d ever heard Baji talk about before.

As the meeting continued, you couldn’t tear yourself away, even though every instinct told you to run. You needed to know what was going to happen, what Baji was going to do. But as the meeting drew to a close, you knew you had to leave before anyone spotted you. You carefully backed away, slipping out of the trees and hurrying down the path back to your home.

The walk felt like a blur, your mind racing with everything you’d heard. When you finally reached your door, you barely registered the familiar surroundings of your room. All you could think about was the impending fight, and what it meant for Baji. What if something happened to him? What if he got hurt—or worse?

The next few days you were passed in a haze. You were quieter around Baji, more withdrawn, your usual lighthearted demeanor replaced by a growing sense of dread. Baji noticed, of course. “You’ve been acting weird lately,” he said one afternoon as you sat together on a park bench. “Something bothering you?”

You shook your head, forcing a smile. “No, just tired, I guess.”

But Baji wasn’t convinced. “You’re not telling me something,” he pressed, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “If something’s wrong, you need to tell me, Y/N.”

You wanted to tell him everything, to share the burden that had been weighing on you since that night at the shrine. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Not when you knew it would only make things worse. So you shook your head again, leaning into his side as you whispered, “I’m fine, Baji. Really.”

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close, but you could feel the tension in his body. He didn’t believe you, and you couldn’t blame him. The unease between you only grew as the days passed, and the date of the impending gang war loomed ever closer.

The day of the fight arrived, and you hadn’t heard a word from Baji. Not a call, not a text—nothing. You spent the entire day gripping your phone, checking it constantly, hoping for some sign that he was okay. The silence gnawed at you, each passing hour adding to the pit of dread growing in your stomach.

By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, you couldn’t take it anymore. The fear and worry were too much to bear. Baji might have wanted to keep you out of this, but you couldn’t just sit back and wait for something to happen. Without a second thought, you pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, the thick fabric swallowing your frame as you tugged the hood low over your face.

Determined, you slipped out of your house and made a beeline for the location where the fight was supposed to take place. The streets were eerily quiet as you made your way to the outskirts of town, where an old, abandoned junkyard served as the battleground for countless brawls between rival gangs. Tonight, it would witness yet another bloody conflict.

You arrived just in time to see the fight unfold. The Tokyo Manji Gang was holding their own, but it was clear they were outnumbered. Your heart pounded in your chest as you hid among a pile of rusted cars, watching the scene play out below you. Baji was in the thick of it, his fists flying as he took down opponent after opponent, but even he was starting to tire.

Toman was winning to a certain degree until, suddenly, the tide turned. The rival gang pulled a dirty move, signaling for reinforcements. Another group of delinquents swarmed the area, overwhelming the already battered Toman members. Your breath hitched as you saw them closing in on Baji, who was now surrounded by more than fifty opponents, all threatening to jump him at once.

Your body moved on instinct before your mind could catch up. Without thinking, you sprinted down the pile of junk cars, your feet barely touching the ground as you made your way toward Baji. Just as one of the enemies tried to sneak up on him from behind, you launched yourself into the air, your foot connecting squarely with the side of his face. The force of the blow sent him crashing to the ground, unconscious.

The crowd gasped in shock, eyes widening at the sight of this mysterious figure who had appeared out of nowhere to protect Baji’s back. You stood tall, fists clenched and ready to fight, but the hood of your hoodie obscured your face, leaving them guessing who you might be.

Baji, still in the middle of knocking down several opponents at once, caught sight of you out of the corner of his eye. He was about to shout at you to get out of there when your hood slipped off, revealing your face. For a split second, time seemed to stand still.

“Y/N?!” Baji’s voice cracked with disbelief. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Not the time, Baji!” you yelled back, your voice firm as you took down another opponent who dared to get too close. “I’m here to protect your back, so focus on the fight!”

Baji was stunned, his mind reeling as he tried to process what was happening. You—his sweet, gentle girlfriend—were here, in the middle of a gang war, fighting off delinquents like you’d been doing it your whole life. He had so many questions, but there was no time to ask them. Right now, you were right—he needed to focus on the fight.

Side by side, the two of you fought off wave after wave of enemies. Baji’s strength and speed were unmatched, but you kept up with him, your movements precise and powerful. You weren’t just holding your own—you were dominating, knocking down anyone who came near him.

Eventually, the tide began to turn in Toman’s favor once more. The rival gang members started to retreat, unable to withstand the combined force of Baji and the mysterious fighter at his side. When the last of them had fled, leaving the junkyard littered with bodies and debris, you finally allowed yourself to relax, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

Baji turned to you, his face a mix of shock, confusion, and—if you looked closely enough—pride. “Y/N… what the hell was that?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief. “How did you—where did you learn to fight like that?”

You gave him a tired smile, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “It’s a long story. But first, let me take care of those cuts.”

You pulled out a small first-aid kit from your pocket—something you’d brought just in case—and began wrapping Baji’s knuckles, which were bruised and bloodied from the fight. As you worked, you explained everything. How you had followed him to the shrine, overheard the meeting, and decided that you couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. You apologized for going against his wishes, but deep down, you knew you had made the right choice.

Baji listened in silence, his eyes never leaving your face. When you finished, he let out a long sigh, running a hand through his messy hair. “Y/N, you’re unbelievable,” he said, his tone a mix of exasperation and admiration. “I wanted to keep you safe, and here you are, kicking ass like it’s nothing.”

You chuckled softly, finishing up the bandages and giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I didn’t want you to fight alone. You’re always protecting me, Baji. This time, I wanted to protect you.”

Baji shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re something else, Y/N. But… I guess I can’t be too mad. You saved my ass back there.”

“Glad I could help,” you replied, your smile matching his.

As the two of you stood there amidst the aftermath of the battle, the moonlight casting long shadows across the junkyard, you realized that this was your world now, too. You and Baji weren’t just a couple—you were a power couple, literally. No one was matched with your strength together.

[cruel-summerxy]

renegade - billy the kid x reader

summary ➞ Your brother Jesse is back in town and he brings a friend with him. You know he’s bad news but you can’t help but to be drawn to him. word count: 2.2k words.

a/n ➞ will anyone read this? Probably not but I’m going crazy for tom blyth rn. I’m for sure gonna do more parts, kinda miss writing. oh and this is based on renegade by big red machine and ms taylor allison swift. anywho, hope y’all enjoy.

It was a quiet and cold day when you first met Billy. You had been trying your darndest to stay away from your brother and his gang but word had gotten back to you that he was back in town. You had done your best to not go into town, avoiding Jesse would be the best option.

A tap on your window causes you to reach for your gun. Ever since your Papa had died and Jesse had left it had been up to you to protect your home.

“Who’s there?” you shout, not daring to look out the window.

“My name is Billy. I’m a friend of Jesse!” a voice beams. You scrunch your eyebrows and decide to look out. Your eyes are met with a tall man— kid. He couldn’t be older than 20. A part of you knows that anyone associated with your brother was bad news but when you see him in front of your house your heart skips a beat. His blue eyes almost make you lose focus.

“And?” you ask annoyed, your hand gripping your firearm.

“You’re his sister, right?” Billy questions and looks through the window, catching you off guard. You point

your gun at him and he takes a step back.

“Woah I’m not here to hurt ya,” he raises his hands in surrender, “Jesse sent me here. He said you’d help.”

You mentally curse Jesse out and open the door carefully. Billy takes another step back and watches you intently, his hands still up.

“And why would I do that?” you raise an eyebrow, “I don’t know you.”

“Cause you’re nice,” Jesse shouts from the corner of the house.

Your eyes widen when you see Jesse with a red head next to him. You pivot your heels towards the door hoping that he won’t catch up.

“Come on, I know you see me,” your brother bellows and runs behind you. You lock the door and lean against it. To say you loathe him is an understatement.. You let out a sigh and contemplate if ignoring him would do any good. Right when you are about to walk away you feel his arm come over your shoulder. You groan as you realize the back door wasn’t locked.

“Well that’s not very nice to do to your older brother, sweetheart,” Jesse lectures you as you both walk to the dining room, his men close behind. Billy gives you a sorry smile and leans against the counter. You hold back an eye roll and pick up an apple, pretending to inspect it.

“What do you want Jesse? Tired of stealing and running away yet?” you mutter avoiding his gaze. He laughs at your words and shakes his head. Ever since you had been little Jesse attracted chaos and destruction.

“Something like that. Listen me and the boys need a place to crash for a while,” Jesse explains and points at the two men behind him. “This is Billy and Beckwith.” Your eyes inspected the men in front of you— a blush covering your face as you saw Billy again. Your face quickly changed when your worried mind spun with possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you debate.

“Come on sweetheart,” Jesse nags, “we’re tired and hungry. We won’t cause any trouble, you have my word.”

“Mama won’t like it… she doesn’t want to see your face around here,” you remind him, hoping that he’ll forget the whole thing.

“Mama doesn’t know who you are. I doubt she’ll even recognize me,” Jesse counters. You sigh and lean against the counter, your arms crossed. Billy remains quiet and straightens up next to you. You think of Jesse's words and groan. He had a point, your mother’s condition had been going downhill, her often forgetting to even eat.

“I don’t want your men stealing from Mama,” you state, “no bringing women and no late night shootings.”

Your brother nods and a smirk appears on his face, “told ya’, boys. Come on, let me show you my father’s whiskey collection.”

Billy hesitates, but follows the blonde man.

.

You felt a headache coming and you went back to your plants. Jesse had only been back for a few hours and your body was already stressing out. You caught a glimpse of Billy once again, your shaky hands causing you to drop the task at hand.

“Need anything?” you ask and walk up to him. You squint, trying to cover the sunset.

“Jesse made me come out here,” Billy coughed awkwardly, “he’s wondering if you can make us some food.”

“Of course he is.” you groan. You sigh and clean your dirt covered hands on your dress. You look up at Billy and scan his face for a moment, his blue eyes doing the same. “When was the last time you all had a proper meal?”

“It’s been weeks,” he says truthfully and follows you back into the house. “been catching some meat here and there but we’ve mostly been eating berries.”

“Jesus,” you mutter and try to turn on a fire. You feel Billy’s eyes on you, your breath becoming uneven now.

“Here let me help,” Billy says and turns on a fire easily. You give him a once over and put on a pot. You wash your hands, Billy watches your every move and hands you a drying rag.

“I’m sorry for disturbing your peace. Jesse insisted on us coming here. He said you’d take us in,” Billy spoke sincerely.

“Why are y’all running?” you question him. Billy’s eyes darken as he recalls why Jesse and the other man had to hide.

“Stole some cattle and then accidentally killed someone.”

You stop what you’re doing and look at him. He stares back, not moving an inch. You search for a teasing smile or a glint of joking but find none. “How do you accidentally kill someone?”

He ignores your question and looks down at the apple you had been inspecting earlier.

“You can eat it. I’m tired of ‘em. Mama’s the only one who eats them,” you say and soften your face. He shakes his head in embarrassment but you roll it his way. “It’ll go bad. We’ve got more in the back.”

He reluctantly takes a bite and thanks you. You smile at him and you wash some vegetables. His eyes follow you and do your best to ignore him. He wasn’t making you uncomfortable per se, but it had been a while since a man had been in your home.

“Can you let Jesse know I’m cooking something?”

Billy nods and walks back to his friend. You can hear them in the other room, Jesse being the loudest. After a few minutes you hear Jesse’s laugh and then hear him speak once again.

“She’ll get over it, it was like five years ago.” Jesse told them and your heart sank. Anger flooded your body as you realized what he was talking about. You began chopping the vegetables with more force.

“Stupid Jesse and his stupid little friends,” you whisper to yourself. This had been why you didn’t want him in your home again. Jesse had the tendency to come into your life and cause old wounds to reopen.

..

“Dinners ready,” you shout and serve yourself a plate. You hear the boys come in and take a bite, ignoring them.

“Woah didn’t even serve us,” Jesse teases and serves himself. The two others follow suit and moan at the smell of your food.

“Y’all got hands,” you point out, this getting a laugh out of Billy. You smile at his reaction but cover it when Jesse sits next to you.

“That’s not very nice sweetheart,” Jesse replies and tries

the food on his plate. He whines at the taste of your food but you're too occupied with Billy, him sitting across from you. He wasn’t bad looking at all. His dark hair and blue eyes mesmerized you, making you lose your train of thought. Jesse calls out your name.

“What?” you knit your eyebrows at his voice.

“Said if this is Mama’s recipe,” Jesse repeated with a full mouth. You cringe at his actions and shake your head.

“It’s my own.”

“It’s delicious,” Billy compliments and takes another bite. You smile at him and try to keep yourself from getting red in the face. You look at his shape and frown, his body jagged and weak. The warm meal probably settled into his stomach quickly.

“Thank you Billy,” you smile at him and look at your brother and his other friend, “y’all like it?”

Beckwith nods and continues eating. You suppress a laugh and look at Jesse, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s alright,” Jesse teases while sipping on his beer, his eyes landing on your own “since when do you drink?”

You ignore him and look up at Billy who had been staring at you already. You cross my arms and observe him, “why are you drinking? Aren’t you too young, Billy?”

Billy smiles, amused at your curiosity, “I’m not that young.”

“He actually is,” Jesse mumbles between bites, “but after a long day one needs a nice beer.”

“One might argue that you need a bath as well,” you reply. Billy chuckles under his breath and continues eating. A hint of achievement covers your tummy. “But I am serious. I’ll bring some water for you all, you really do need to clean up.”

Jesse rolls his eyes but it goes unnoticed by you. You’re too caught up on Billy to look at your brother. Your eyes land on the dark circles under his eyes. It hadn’t occurred to you that the group of them might want to lay down and rest. You wipe your mouth and look at Jesse, his body filled with exhaustion as well.

You clear your voice and look back at all of them , “the baths can wait. I can set up your rooms if you wish. You must be tired.”

They nod and you stand up. You walk through the hallway feeling someone following you. You turn and are met with Billy’s tall and hard figure.

“Shit, sorry. I was just trying to help, didn’t mean to hurt ya,” Billy apologized. You looked up at him and he smiled, it not quite reaching his eyes.

“It’s alright, you must be drained out. You like sleeping with a lot of blankets?” you ask as you gather them from the closet. He sheeply nods and you gather more in your arms. Billy follows you, keeping a distance.

“This is my room,” you say pointing, “that one is Mama’s. This one is Jesse’s. You’ll have to sadly share with Beckwith.”

“That’s alright. It’s better than sleeping in a tent, darlin.”

“I suppose,” you reply and your eyes gleam at his words. You quickly open his door and show him where he’ll be sleeping. “It’s not big but you’ll each have a bed.”

He nod appreciatively and takes the blankets off your hands, “thank you for taking us in. I know you and Jesse don’t get along.”

You shrug and close the window in the room. In a swift motion you turn on a candle, carefully avoiding your fingers. “He's a pain in my ass but he’s still my brother.”

Billy smiles and leans against the wall. “Trust me, I know.” His eyes drooped, his fatigue becoming even more evident.

“Well you should sleep Billy,” you whisper and he agrees with you.

“Goodnight,” he says softly, matching your tone.

…

The next few days you steer clear from Billy and Jesse. The group of men spend their time resting or drinking. You engulf yourself with your mother and your fields of corn.

One morning Billy finds you working in the fields.

“Do you not rest?” he shouts, catching you off guard. You look up, wiping your forehead. You lean against your shovel, “I do, just like starting my day early. How’d you sleep?”

“Best sleep I’ve had,” Billy confesses and walks up to you. His steps grow louder as the gap between you two closes. He’s wearing the same clothes for days now but you say nothing. He reaches you and takes the shovel from you, copying your previous movements. You take a step back and let him help.

“That’s good to hear…” you say and stare at him. You couldn’t wrap your mind about someone as young as him running in Jesse’s circle.

“What?” he laughs at the look on your face, his own cheeks turning red.

“Why are you with Jesse and his men? You’re far too young,” you speak your mind.

“Told you, I killed a man,” he huffs as he digs a hole. You freeze at his voice.

“Hold on, you killed someone?” you say and silence settles over you both. “I thought Jesse or Beckwith had killed someone and that’s why you were running,”

“It was an accident,” Billy reminds you softly, using the same words from the first day.

You tilt your head, not sure if you should believe him. “How do you accidentally kill someone?” Not once does he stop digging, you can see his demeanor changing. Perhaps you had pushed too much.

“What? You scared of me now, darling?” he laughs at the look your eyes held. The noise coming from him almost scared you — almost.

“Oh I’m not frightened, I’ve seen Jesse take someone’s life. Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man.”

He laughs at your words and continues digging up. You remain in your position.

“No really, I can.”

[nightxcreature]

Regarding Dean (Prompt Drabble)

Based on the prompt by @awkwardsilince

+Prompt will be in bold+

                Warnings: None? Slight cursing, Dean forgetting everything, Use of Y/N

Pairings: none

                Based on Season 12 Episode 11 (Regarding Dean)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                                I had been sitting in the motel room with Dean for the better part of an hour. Sam and Rowena had gone on a run to grab supplies for yet another spell to help Dean regain his memory. It’s been gone for a few days now and we’re running out of options to fix him. I’d been watching him for roughly twenty minutes as he tried to figure out how to turn the T.V on. He’s used the remote in various positions, touched the screen, tapped the wall beside it, and even asked the picture on the wall for help. For some reason, nothing has worked.

                “Can I help you?” I finally ask when he picks up the lamp and raises it as if he’s Harry Potter about to perform some magic spell to make Scooby-Doo appear.

                He jumps and spins around brandishing the lamp like a weapon, “Oh, I forgot you were there…” He trails off and I can see the wheels turning as he tries to remember my name.

                “Y/N.” I reply with a sigh.

                He nods and puts a finger to his head, “Right, Y/N. I knew that.”

                I give him a thumbs up and stand from my chair, “Sure you did. Do you need help?”

                “Help with what?” He asks, looking between myself and the lamp in his hands, “With the light…stick?”

                I let out an even bigger sigh, taking the lamp from him and putting it back in its place. Turning the T.V on for him, I head toward the table to try and dig through the lore again.

                “I really have no clue how someone can be so stupid.” I whisper to myself, looking back over my shoulder at Dean.

                He laughs at whatever Scooby and the Gang have done, and then turns from the T.V back to me, “Was-was that pointed toward me?”

                                I send him a wink, “You’re the only other person in the room. I would ask you take a guess, but I’m honestly scared as to what you might say.”

                “Right…just you and me in here….” He repeats, looking around nervously.

                “My name is Y/N! Son of a Bitch…do we have any sticky notes?!”

[i-heart-yellowstone]

40 - State of Emergency

Part 41

Raised Fair Share of Hell

Please leave comments ❤️

Tag list @bvbwestfall @hcwthewestwaswcn @child-of-of-the-sunshine @elenavampire21 @keep-the-wolves-close @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @whatelsecouldgowrong @lover-of-books-and-tea

Alissa’s pov

Pressing my phone to my ear it went straight to my daughter’s voicemail inbox making me sit my phone down and grabbing one of the glasses near the living room bar, throwing it harshly against the nearest wall.  “Argh!” 

“That glass belonged to my father’s grandfather.” Beth spoke typing away on her laptop while sitting on the living room couch. 

Stomping my boots on the wooden floor I glared at my sister in law, not in the mood for her snarky joking at the moment.  “Bethany, I’m in no mood.  My daughter hasn’t called me back yet and she said she would after she checked on her boyfriend in the hospital.” 

“Are you sure she isn’t occupied with sharing his bed?” She raised a glass of whiskey while taking a drink. 

Gagging at the thought I felt immediately uncomfortable at the thought.  “That’s disgusting, Beth.  And my daughter wouldn’t immediately lose her virginity to that boy like you did to your husband.” 

“Kayce got you pregnant on the first go-around.” She smirked in my direction before the front door opened and my husband walked into the living room holding up his phone.

Rushing over to his side I clasped my hands together hoping he had some good news.  “Have they heard anything about our girl?” 

“Nope.  The whole Bunkhouse gang has tried calling her.  Dad, your mom, your sister have too and got nothing back.  We’re starting to run out of options here.” 

Running my hands through my hair I paced back and forth in the living room in front of the grand fireplace.  I know it had only been 24 hours but it was still too long for her to not tell us if she was okay and give us an update on her boyfriend.  “We gotta call our dude in Texas.  He can go to Tech and see if she’s there.  Because we know it would be hours before we ever get off the plane if we left right now.” 

“Jimmy?” Kayce raised a brow hearing me say the great state of Texas. 

Shaking my head, I slumped my shoulders, taking my phone off the coffee table.  “Call him.  But he’s not the only guy we know in Texas.” 

“Please not that childish horse trainer, Lissa.” Beth put a hand to her forehead groaning at the memory of when she had to go ask for his help and he nearly had her play strip poker with him. 

Looking over at her I switched my focus to my husband who was waiting for an answer.  “Travis.” 

“Oh geez.  I guess we don’t have another option do we.” Kayce removed his hat, running his fingers through his hair, taking out his phone searching for his number.  He put the phone to his ear dialing the Texan.  “Travis, this is Kayce Dutton. I need you to go to Tech and see if my daughter is there.  She’s not answering any of our calls here.  Give me a call when you find her.” He put the phone away draping his arm around my waist when I walked over laying my head on his chest hoping she would be okay. 

Kayce, Tate, Madeline and I were sitting in the stands in the arena with John getting ready to watch our oldest daughter perform in her segment of the rodeo show today in Texas.   Ever since she was in middle school we had started letting her practice with Travis Wheatley.  

John had bought horses from him and he had shown them on the road to provide our ranch with some extra money if we ever needed it.  Now he's been teaching my daughter the rodeo life ever since.  Currently in her sophomore year of homeschool she had begun making a title for herself on how good she performed ‘County Rodeo Queen’. 

I could see Travis talking to our daughter who was sitting on her horse inside the shoot waiting for the buzzer to go off.  I could imagine he was telling her what he told her the first time she was really nervous.  “It’s just you and a horse doing a job tryin’ like hell to not let the other down.” 

The buzzer went off and at the same time a caff and my daughter bolted out into the dirt arena.  She chased after the small animal reaching down with her freehand to twirl her lasco, throwing it out and having it wrap around the cattle’s back legs.  “That’s another impressive time slot for Faith Dutton from Montana.” The announcer declares and the crowd cheers proudly. 

“That’s our girl.” Kayce grinned in my direction while holding up Madeline so she could see over the crowd. 

Madeline clapped her hands at the age of six. “Sissy.” 

Tate and John were talking about the rest of the show while I made my way down to the shoots seeing my daughter talking with Travis until he saw me coming up to them.  “Alissa, hey.  Have you talked with her about what she wants to do once she’s done with school?” 

“Not really.  We’ve just been letting her try out new experiences.  Why do you ask?” I crossed my arms over my chest. 

The horse trainer chuckled looking over at my daughter posing with a little girl who wanted to pet her horse.  “She’s got a future in this business.  I mean she’s literally becoming Queen Rodeo from Montana.” 

“That’s a big compliment coming from you.  I’ll talk with her about it if she mentions it.  But Kayce and I agreed we’re going to let our kids choose their paths in life.” 

Travis nodded in understanding.  “Well I’ll be here if she ever needs anything.” 

“I’ll remember that. Thank you.” 

Texas Tech 

Caroline was sitting on her bed inside her dorm room until the door was suddenly kicked opened where it nearly broke from the hinges by the force of the impact.  She jumped up into the air with a shriek, grabbing her lamp off her desk ready to hit someone with it.  “Ahh! What the fuck?” 

“Where is she.  Where’s Faith Dutton?” She watched an older guy stomp into her room completely dressed in cowboy clothing and his hands clenched into fists. 

Caroline held the lamp tightly in her hands.  “Uh hello.  I’m not answering any questions until you tell me who the hell you are.” 

“Travis Wheatley, I’m a family friend of the Dutton’s.” He introduces himself seeing the lamp in her hands.  “I’m not here to hurt you. I just need to know where my little Rodeo Queen is at.” 

Caroline lowered the lamp.  “Um…she left with an older guy at 8am yesterday morning.  But she hasn’t come back yet.  I assumed she'd just been in class all day.  Why did something happen to her?” 

“How old was this mystery guy?” 

She ran a hand through her hair.  “Elderly looking age.” 

“Thank you, young lady.” Travis took out his phone shutting the dorm door behind him taking his phone call out into the hallway.  “I need to put out a missing person report on an eighteen year old girl that has brown hair and green eyes.  Her name is Faith Rae Dutton and she was last scene with an elderly guy leaving Texas Tech at 8am.” 

“We’ll start the investigation, sir.” A 911 operator responded back to him. 

The door behind him got flung opened causing Travis to shift his attention to the teenage girl.  “Hey! Are you going to look for her?” 

“Yeah.  I am.  Why the fuck do you want to know?” 

Caroline snapped back at him.  “I wanna go with you to look for her.” 

“You just told me the description of the guy.  I think I can handle this on my own.”

Caroline crossed her arms over her chest glaring at the taller cowboy in front of her.  “I know some guy who is related to the guy I gave you a description for.  My roommate is dating a boy named Cooper Norris and his father works on the oil rigs.”

“What’s this guys name?” Travis asked. 

She scratched her head thinking quickly.  “Tommy Norris, I think.”

 

“Okay then let’s go.  Find me his address cause we’re driving to his fucking house to make sure he ain’t hurting my little rodeo buddy.” Caroline grab her keys chasing after the cowboy who was stomping out of the building, clearly on a mission. 

[asirensrage]

Saudade - Chapter 40

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Mikey x OC, Hanma x OC, Ran x OC, Mikey x OC x Draken Fandom: Tokyo Revengers Warnings: swearing, violence, threats of violence, murder, smoking, sex, consensual sex between teenagers, alcohol, recreational drug use, mention of trafficking, torture, family neglect, mentions of sexual violence. isekai OC. memory loss. unbeta’d **warnings are not exhaustive** Summary: No one seems to realize she doesn’t belong until she finally runs into her “new” brother, Hanagaki Takemichi. Now, hearing his story, Takara makes the choice to help him and hopefully find her way home, but faking it til you make it only lasts so long when you start losing the memories of the life you had before. As Takemichi becomes the only family she’s ever known, how far will she go to protect him?

notes: I'm currently working on another Bonten series...basically about different ocs getting involved with the different men of Bonten (including Hanma). The first is a oneshot about Hanma and his girl. It's on here and titled 'Cursed'. Once I find a beta for the second one (it involves both Haitanis) then it's all over for you. hahaha I'm kidding. I have to finish the other ones I have planned too lol. (I have a dozen wips for this fandom.) This is a great chapter because it sets up some of my favourite things in this fic. I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think! <3 As always, expect spoilers for the manga from here on out.

also on ao3 fic masterlist - prev chapter

The atmosphere grows more tense as the days pass and Kanto responds to Rokuhara’s declaration. Enough that Takara takes a leave from her work to ensure that her location is known at all times. She keeps weapons on her, even with the bodyguards that Mikey sends, some in disguise some not. She’s not allowed to go anywhere alone anymore.

Mikey only truly relaxes when they’re together, when he can touch her to ensure she’s safe and at his side. It allows her access to meetings that she thinks if she was a regular girlfriend she wouldn’t have access to. But she’s not just a girlfriend. She’s helped form this gang. She recruited men who promised her loyalty, just as she promised Mikey hers.

“You ever think what we’re doing is wrong?”

She’s sitting in the room, lounging on the couch as she waits to hear back from Yuzuha, when Kokonoi asks her that. They haven’t really talked too much, outside of the meetings and other gang related things.

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

He leans forward, resting his elbow on the desk in front of him. He looks tired and Takara makes a mental note to make him get some rest. She’ll have Mikey order it if she has to.

“Do you ever think what we’re doing is wrong?” he asks again. The two of them are alone but Mikey doesn’t have as much of a problem with her alone with Kokonoi as he does with others.

Takara sits up and thinks about it. “Yes.” He blinks in surprise and she continues. “I know it’s wrong. We’re selling drugs, protection and now going into prostituition. No matter how well we frame it, it’s still making money off of people who might be in these situations because of circumstances they can’t control. We can easily be making it worse but…” She takes a deep breath as the realization sits heavy in her stomach. “I can’t regret it. I can’t say no or that we shouldn’t do that because it’s the only way we can realistically make the money we need, the only way we can gain the power we need to take over the city. I want to protect my friends and my family from anyone who could hurt them and that…that involves being in control. We need do to this shit to gain that control, as much as we don’t like as dark as it gets.”

Kokonoi sighs. “We bloody our hands to keep theirs clean.”

“Exactly,” Takara nods. “It’s the only option.”

“How do we keep ourselves from going too far?”

Takara pauses and thinks about it. “I don’t know,” she admits softly. “I don’t know if we can. But maybe that’s why we’re a team. We have to support each other, be that voice of reason for each other. We might be blinded to our own actions, but maybe we can look at others and point out when it’s time to stop.”

“That doesn’t work if we’re all blinded in the dark.”

“No,” she nods mostly to herself, “…then I guess we just don’t get caught.”

🛼

Takara tugs at the skirt of the dress Yuzuha put her in. It’s not about the length, but she’s not entirely used to not wearing shorts under it. It’s fine. She’s not alone in line at the club. Yuzuha is talking to Ran about the area and why they chose this club specifically. She can’t really hear them with the noise around them and the way the music leaks out every time the door opens. Rindou has his back to her, looking like he’s keeping an eye on the people around them but she’s pretty sure he just doesn’t want to talk to her. That’s fine.

Mikey is behind her, arm wrapped around her waist as he stares down anyone looking towards her. He’s not supposed to be here but the moment she told him of her intention of going out with Yuzuha and sneaking into a club, Mikey invited himself along. Especially when Ran and Rindou suggested the club in their area.

They’re trying to use it to their advantage, hoping that the reveal of the two of them being out in public will draw out Rokuhara, tempting them to do something stupid while Draken and Sanzu act on their own. It’s also something that’s going to permanently tie Yuzuha to them. The girl said it was fine, but Takara’s already mentally shopping for knives. Besides, estranged or not, she doesn’t doubt that if anything happened to Yuzuha, her crazy eyed giant of a brother would show up demanding retribution.

They get in with ease. Ran and Rindou are both recognized and the girls aren’t IDed before the bouncer waves them in. It’s not as packed as it could be and Takara lets herself be led to the bar first.

She doesn’t know what Mikey orders for her, but she takes it regardless. It’s something sweet and bubbly. Takara kisses his cheek in thanks before she grabs Yuzuha’s hand and heads for the dance floor. She’s never been clubbing before, but it’s easy to get lost in the music. She doesn’t have to worry about who’s around her because while Ran and Rindou scope the place out, Mikey is watching.

The two of them dance, pressing together as they move. It’s a little strange dancing with another girl, but it’s nice in the way that Takara can trust Yuzuha isn’t going to attempt to feel her up. They can look out for each other like this.

She’s soft in comparison to any of the other men she’s been this close with. Part of Takara wonders if she’d always be soft, if kissing her, or any girl really, would be a complete contrast to how kissing Mikey is. She’d never try though. She doesn’t want to ruin her friendship and more importantly, she can’t ruin her own plans. She’s Mikey’s for a reason.

It doesn’t take long before someone tries their luck. Takara doesn’t know if it’s because she’s short or she looks nicer than she is, but they aim for her over Yuzuha. She feels the touch first, the hesitancy in it that none of the boys she knows would have. It’s light against her waist before the body presses up against her back. Yuzuha’s eyes go wide as Takara turns with a snarl, ready to shove them off. She doesn’t get the chance. Before she’s fully around, the hand is pried off of her and Ran moves himself between her and the person touching her.

“Trust me, I’m helping you,” he tells the other man. “Leave and don’t touch her again. You won’t like the consequences.”

She doesn’t know if the older man is stupid or drunk, but he laughs. “From you?”

“I’m not the one you need to worry about.” He motions to the side where she left Mikey and she looks to see his eyes blank, glass broken in his hand as he drops it on the bar and heads towards them.

“Shit,” she moves without thinking, going to him. If the man didn’t think Ran was a threat, he wouldn’t assume Mikey is and she doesn’t want to get kicked out already because Mikey broke some guy who didn’t know better. Not yet at least.

Takara puts her hands on Mikey’s chest, trying to stop him from going further. “Hey, it’s fine.”

Mikey looks down, eyes glancing over her. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” she says. “Don’t get into it. I was about to tell him to fuck off.” She wraps an arm around Mikey’s neck and kisses him. He pulls her closer, arm around her waist as he attempts to brand himself into her.

Her head falls back, leaning to give him more access when he moves his mouth to her neck. She doesn’t see the way Mikey watches the others as he sucks a new mark into her neck or how Ran’s jaw clenches before he drags the guy who tried to dance with her out.

“Hey, Mikey.”

He pulls back, a mix of satisfaction and irritation in his expression before he looks at the new voice, tugging Takara closer to him. “Takeomi.”

She doesn’t recognize the taller man. She knows she would. Not just because he’s clearly older but the scar on his face and the way he greets Mikey with familiarity. She stays silent, turning herself so her chest is pressed against Mikey’s side and her chin rests on his shoulder. It makes her look like an airhead, as if she’s not fully invested in the conversation but it lets her watch his back better.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you in a place like this. How’d you get in?” The guy laughs lightly. He pulls out a cigarette and lights it. “Stupid question I guess. You gonna introduce me?” He asks, nodding towards her. Takara glances at him and looks away, paying more attention to Mikey and the unimpressed look in his eyes.

“Takara, this is Akashi Takeomi. He was a friend of my brother’s.” His brother who was murdered by his friend.

Takara nods. “Hi.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says, nodding back. “I’m surprised. Didn’t think Mikey was actually into girls.”

Takara straightens as Mikey stiffens. “Why’s that?” she asks lightly.

“He’s never shown interest,” he says. “Not as a kid.”

“Hmm,” Takara smiles. “Guess he was just waiting for me.” She leans forward and kisses his cheek. Mikey’s grip tightens slightly on her, a silent sign of appreciation. She grins, playing into the role of his girlfriend more than his partner in crime. Literally.

“Well, it’s nice. Shin would be ecstatic. You definitely beat him,” he laughs. He looks at Takara. “His brother was hopeless with women.”

“What do you want, Takeomi?” Mikey cuts in.

“I can’t come say hi?”

“You’re second in command of Brahman. I doubt you’re here just to say hi.”

Takeomi takes a drag of his cigarette. “So Kanto Manji knows of Brahman. Good.” He grins at him. “I am just here to say hi. Nothing more or less.”

“You should go,” Takara says, smiling gently despite the way her entire skin prickles and she shifts as to prepare to move if she has to. “You’re in Roppongi, y’know? That’s Haitani territory and the Haitanis are Kanto Manji.”

Takeomi barely glances at her. “We should meet, Mikey. Talk. It’s been awhile.”

“It has,” Mikey agrees. “I’ll have someone reach out to you. But not if you don’t leave. You’re ruining my girl’s night.”

“Alright,” Takeomi raises his hands and steps back. “I’ll leave. Nice to meet you,” he tells Takara. “It was good to see you.” He leaves without another word and Takara waits until he’s out of sight before she looks at Mikey.

“Brahman?”

“Yeah, the one led by the girl. Senju. She’s his sister.” She remembers the others talking about it, how they were growing as a powerhouse alongside Kanto. Takara had been fascinated by the idea of a woman outwardly leading a gang, but it was Sanzu who said that she was just a figurehead, likely being used. Takara has met too many people in this place who fail at being a sibling. She wouldn’t be surprised if she learned he was the one using her.

“We need to go?”

“No,” Mikey shakes his head. “It’s fine. He probably just wants to talk. My brother used to call him the God of War, saying Takeomi was the strategist of Black Dragons. He wasn’t one to start the fight right on the front line.”

“Hmm..” that is interesting news to her. She makes a mental note to dig in more. She doesn’t get the chance to ask anything else because Mikey turns before kissing her again.

When he finally pulls back, looking a little more satisfied than before he nods towards the floor. “Go.”

“You’re okay with that?”

“You’re enjoying it. I like watching you. Anyone touches you again, I’ll deal with them.”

She smiles and kisses him quickly, remembering Draken’s words when they left Kakucho. “Thank you.” She leaves him, darting back to her friend and getting back in the groove of the music. Mikey’s eyes never leave her.

🛼

They make it through maybe five more songs, and more than a few breaks which has Takara stumbling into Mikey as she laughs, a little drunk. He keeps her upright and steady, hand on her waist. Ran does the same for Yuzuha, keeping her between them.

It feels like nearly a perfect night. They’re having fun, Rokuhara hasn’t shown their face and Takara is at the perfect balance of feeling happy and a little high from second hand smoke. She’s surprised whoever was smoking weed wasn’t kicked out but it’s enough to make her want to try it herself.

Rindou shoves his way through the crowd, brows furrowed as he looks at them when he approaches. Mikey straightens.

“Draken was shot.”

Just like that, her night is ruined.

🛼

tag list: @raith-way @zeleniafic @veetlegeuse @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse

@themaradwrites @kingsmakers @thatmagickjuju @awkwardchick87 @hayatoseyepatch

tr tag: @mitsuwuyaa @blackfire2013 @bleach-your-panties @reiners-milkbiddies @tenjikusstuff4

saudade tag: @thisbicc @scythegal @bontenxo

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[allzelemonz]

Sitting Still: Kieran Duffy X Male Reader

Pronouns: None Mentioned, Reader referred to as ‘lad’ and ‘boy’ Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: M/Implied sex, violence Warnings: Sean is an ass, implied anal sex, implied bottom reader and top Kieran, Kieran isn’t here, robbery Summary: The morning after still holds a lingering pain from an eventful night with Kieran, Sean notices and won’t let it go.

It’s a hard thing to hide when you have a job that requires waiting while mounted on a horse. You asked Dutch if you could sit this one out, claiming to be sick. He didn’t believe the fake cough and made a speech about the gang needing the money and not letting the boys down. You and Sean are paired together, waiting on one side of the road, while Javier and Micah wait on the other. Sean isn’t one to miss a detail like your occasional wincing and the shifting in your saddle.

“Ya got somethin’ in yer pants, lad?” Sean laughs. “I thought I couldn’t sit still.”

“It’s nothing.” You say.

Sean leans forward in his saddle with a smirk on his face. “Nothin’? That means it’s somethin’.”

He raises his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

“If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”

He laughs. “I didn’t know the little O’Driscoll had it in ‘em!”

“Shut up, Sean.”

“Is that why you’re with the little rat?” Sean muses. “He’s got somethin’ ta show?”

“Shut up, Sean.”

“I always thought O’Driscolls were a’ the growin’ type.”

“Sean! Shut. Up.”

“I can’t help it, lad.” He laughs. “Is tha’ why you was walkin’ with a limp last week?”

“We’re on a job, Sean.”

“Stagecoach ain’t comin’ for a while.” He waves it off. “I got lots more questions.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands.

“He rough, is he? Your O’Driscoll?” Sean asks. “He doesn’t seem the rough kind.”

A whistle from Micah makes Sean shut up, signaling the early arrival of your target. You ready your guns and wait for Javier to shoot the explosives he set. When they go off, you ride in and take out the guards so Micah can get to the lock box. The smoke fades quickly and you ride off to a small clearing in the woods to divide the take. It’s a relief to slide out of the saddle, but a different area of pain settles when you stand.

Sean has a wicked smile on his face. “You lads won’t believe this.”

“Sean.” You warn.

Micah and Javier look between you.

“You’re the one that had such an eventful night ya can’t sit still, ain’t my fault!”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“Wait…” Javier says, a smile spreading over his face. “I knew you were acting weird when we rode out.”

“I’m going to kill you, Sean.”

Micah chuckles to himself as he walks back to Baylock. “Let me know if ya want help with that, cowpoke.”

“It’s just a bit a’ fun, boys!” Sean laughs. “Just honest fun!”

You take a few steps towards him and he runs to his horse.

“I know where you sleep, Sean!”

“The O’Driscoll really do that?” Javier asks.

You glare at Javier and he puts his hands up, slowly backing away towards his horse.

“Dutch’ll have a lot a’ questions for ya.” Micah chuckles, leaning forward in his saddle. “Best hide your sweetheart, cowpoke.”

“Or catch Sean and throw him in the river.” Javier says. “That’s always an option.”

You sigh. “Help me throw him in the river?”

Javier smiles, mounting his horse. “My pleasure.”

Micah grins wickedly. “Nothin’ would please me more.”

[spinachandhoney]

SnakeFace episode 14 script

[prone to change]

[script under cut]

  The five rushed through the rain to the York manor, which was the closest option though it was still a far way to run. Kim unlocked the front and ushered everyone inside before slamming the door against the wind.

  “Mom!” Ivan shouted as he hung his coat up. “You home?”

  “I’m upstairs!” Jamie replied. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Kim gathered some towels for the five of them to dry off in the den. Joey fixed a fire while Kim left to make some hot cocoa.

  “Hey, kids,” Jamie smiled. “Who’s this?”

  “This is Hans,” Ivan said, towelling his hair dry. “His mom runs the cafe.”

  “Well, hello, Hans. I’m Ivan’s mother.”

  “Hello,” Hans smiled, hanging his letterman up in front of the fire. 

  “It doesn’t look like the storm is going to let up until later tonight,” Kim said, coming back with a bundle of steaming cups. “Hans, do you want to let your parents know you’ll be home late?”

  “That’s probably a good idea- as long as it’s okay with your parents?”

  “It’s fine with me,” Jamie said. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, Hans.”

  The wolf smiled.

  “Oh!” Val sat up. “My stuff should be coming in tomorrow, so there’ll probably be some packages delivered here.”

  “Oh, rad?” Joey looked up. “What theme are you going for?”

  “Probably something similar to my room at home.”

  “Laaaaame.”

  “I mean, I like how my room looks. It’s always dark because of the blackout curtains, so I like to have a lot of candles for a more subtle light source.”

  “Look at you caring about room decor,” Ivan said. “I just threw stuff on the shelves and called it good.”

  “Why would anyone ever let you decorate your own room.”

  “You’re the one with sconces and dead roses as your choice of decoration.”

  “Don’t have to worry about watering the roses if they’re already dead.”

  “He has a point,” Joey admitted.

  “Says the guy who panics at the sight of a wilting leaf.”

  “I pride myself in my gardening skills.”

  There was a pause. “So how long have you all known each other?” Hans asked.

  “Well, I’ve known Ivan and Kim for about two weeks now,” Val said. “And Joey joined the gang on- was it Monday?”

  “Yeah, about two days ago, then,” Joey confirmed.

  “You guys act like you’ve known each other for years,” Hans chuckled.

  “I think that might just be because of Joey’s sarcasm,” Val muttered.

  “It’s a gift,” Joey said confidently.

  Kim let Hans pick a room to stay the night in, bringing out some of the inflatable mattresses for him and Val. The wolf happened to choose the room next to Val’s, which shared one of the master bathrooms. Two sinks, a large bathtub, and a double-wide shower. The rooms were direct across the building from Ivan and Kim’s rooms, which were on either side of the second bathroom on the same floor. Joey’s room was on the adjacent wall with its own balcony. Kim made sure to cover Val’s window with the closest thing to blackout curtains in case the sun happened to be out the next morning.

  “The storm isn’t supposed to let up until around eight in the morning,” Kim said as she covered the window. “But it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

  “Yeah, I’d hate to wake up to third-degree sunburns,” Val joked. Kim rolled her eyes.

  “I still think it’s amazing how well you all get along not even in two weeks of knowing each other.”

  “You’re relevant to that comment too, you know. I mean, I’ve known you not even twenty-four hours and we’re practically sharing a room.”

  “There are worse ways to get to know someone.”

  “Alright, that should be good,” Kim stepped away from the window. “Sorry, it isn’t much, but it’ll keep you safe.”

  “That’s all that really matters right now. If worse comes to worst, your parents are literal witch doctors.”

  Kim laughed. “This is true.”

<bonus comic>

Literally just Joey crying over a wilted plant (Shinji pose)

[lexallisonthailandtrip]

Happy Christmas! One day ahead in Thailand, and discovered last night it’s the year 2566 in Thailand. The Buddhist calendar is observed here which started year 1 when Buddha reached nirvana, pretty neat!

We woke up today and exchanged the gifts we got for each other at the market yesterday, had another perfect breakfast, and decided to try to hike to the “Big Tree” today. The largest tree in Thailand, a 500 year old sapung tree, is at the northern most end of Koh Yao Noi. We took our scooter on a long road up the center of the island that twisted and turned through the jungle, then turned to dirt. It was about a 10km ride on this out and back, dead-end road. There were some big hills, rocks, potholes and puddles and it gave my new scooter skills a run for their money. Allison had to hop off a few times because I was not confident getting around/up/down some of the ruts in the road with both of us onboard. But, we made it!

The road dead ends into a fancy exclusive resort with a guard at the entrance that stopped us and directed us toward the trail to the big tree. We walked for a while, and realized that we actually hiked the last part of the road when we saw two bikes parked at the trailhead. Now we had the option: hike through rubber trees or go down to the beach. There were no signs or markings, but we knew the direction of the tree was through the rubber tree farm. We went through the trees for a bit, but lost the trail and decided to turned back for the beach to look for someone that could point us in the right direction. We had the beach almost completely to ourselves, and eventually another couple walked up to us - we asked them about the big tree and they said they intended to ask us the same thing! We decided we’d give it one more shot - hiking through the rubber trees - and started back up the trail. We kept going, a little further this time, and found some string lights along a rock wall. After following the lights as far as they went, we (again) ran out of trail. We could see the top of the tree, but decided getting to the base wasn’t happening on the route we discovered. Bummer!

We hiked out, took the bike down the long difficult road, and then cruised to the west side of the island. It started raining, but was fun going through the rural parts of the island with rubber trees, coconut farms, and rice paddies. At one point, we saw a gang of monkeys hiking through some rubber trees and we’re grateful they weren’t on the “trail” to the Big tree. When we got to the restaurant, we ordered sushi, vegetables, fried crab and shrimp, and fruit smoothies for Christmas dinner! Afterwards we walked to the end of the long pier that cut through the mangrove forest, then headed back out on the roads cruising on the scooter. We stopped along the way for drinks, and coffees, and then arrived home. We walked down the hill for one more drink, and some waffles, by the beach while the sun set. Then walked up to the restaurant for egg rolls, Tom Yum soup, and hung out on our porch with our black cat that’s been visiting - that I named Santa (he showed up on Christmas Eve)!

A perfect Christmas in Thailand!

[activatebutterflyshield]

Day 5! Okay, this WIP is really hecking long (5000+ words and counting) so I’m splitting it up into a few posts over the next few days. It was a response to a @/writing-prompt-s’ prompt, but I lost the original post. Again. Whoops!

-

Debt (Part 1)

-

Albatross got up to answer the desperate rapping at the safehouse door. Everyone but Magpie was sleeping off the training, but the right-hand man was too worked up to rest. Pulling on his peaked hood, he looked through the peephole Magpie had installed, and saw… Lily of the Valley?

She was certainly the plant-powered heroine, but the ragged figure looked almost nothing like the fearless super they had time and time again faced in open battle and negotiations alike. Lily’s long hair was limp and soaked in the rain, framing a face of running makeup and eyes red from crying. She wore plainclothes, jeans and a t-shirt, but they were muddy and torn and maybe even scorched besides being fully soaked through. Her arms were covered in bruises and a few hastily bandaged cuts. She was also barefoot, her feet swollen and red from running across the Los Angeles concrete.

Without hesitating, Albatross threw open the door as fast as his clawed hands could undo the four locks and two deadbolts. It slammed against the wall, and Lily flinched at the noise before looking up. Though the hero was nowhere near Albatross’ six foot four inches, she had always projected confidence and power to equal every member of the Murder of Crows. But now she was far tinier than her five foot two frame, hunched and shivering in the storm.

“A-Albat-t-tross?” Lily stammered, stumbling forward slowly, “I-I-I didn’t know where else to—“

Her words cut off as she fell into the warehouse, caught safely by Albatross’ waiting arms. He supported her with one wing and one arm as he re-bolted the door, before picking her up easily and striding into the common area.

Magpie looked up, his never-still fingers still clacking the keys of his computer. “What was that no— Lily?”

Albatross nodded. “Soaked through, beat up, and robbed blind, I reckon. Wake up the Murder. I gotta lay her out somewhere…”

The techie was up and off to the resting rooms before Albatross had finished speaking, computer station abandoned. He laid Lily out on the second-hand dining table the Murder used for meals and planning, carefully inspecting her injuries.

Four sets of running feet hammered down the hallway as the rest of the Murder burst into the common area. Swallowtail came first, her arms full of spare clothes and first aid equipment. Magpie and Harpy entered next, followed by their leader, Midnight Raven. All of them came to Albatross’ side at the table.

“Oh, Lily,” Swallowtail muttered, wringing her hands as Harpy began first aid, “What happened to you?”

Magpie had broken out his camera, taking detailed photos of the heroine’s injuries. “A super must’ve done this, no way could some punk burn Lily in the middle of a storm with a Zippo.”

“What do you make of this, Raven?” Albatross asked him.

“Well,” the leader of the Murder responded, casting his eyes over the unconscious Lily, “She either trusts us, or was in such a bad position that we were the best option. But I agree with Magpie; those burns were made by a super. The shape’s around the size of a hand, and they’re where a mugger would grab someone, on the arm and around the torso.”

Harpy looked up from applying a new bandage to a large, rough cut on Lily’s forearm, not even pausing while he spoke. “I think one of the gangs is responsible for this one, boss. Claw marks, burns, bruises, and mud? We’re nowhere near a park, so that’s at least three different powers, possibly more.”

Raven nodded. “How long ago do you think this happened, Harpy?”

“Not more than an hour ago, I’d say. If she ran straight here and collapsed, and given her condition, I’d bet on no more than thirty minutes ago.”

Raven nodded again. “Alright then. It’s what, nine-thirty? Get some rest. We’re up and moving as soon as Lily tells us more.”

-

Lily came too around twelve hours later, laid out on a slightly threadbare couch and under a well-worn blanket. She felt her arms, wincing as she grasped new gauze bandages over where the masked attackers had clawed and burned and stabbed at her.

A familiar deep voice and a strong hand on her shoulder interrupted her. “Don’t, it’ll just break the scabs.”

Lily jerked around, instinctively trying to pull out seeds from pockets that didn’t exist, nearly falling over in the process. Harpy reached out to steady her.

“Careful. I don’t want to have to dress them again, Lily of the Valley.”

She righted herself with some difficulty before staring in disbelief at the villain who had apparently treated her wounds. “W-What? You… dressed my wounds?”

Harpy nodded. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I? Never mind, Raven would like to hear about what happened to you last night.”

Lily only became more confused. “Why would he want to know? A-And why would I tell him, anyway?”

Another deep voice answered her from somewhere else in the room. “So that we may uphold the golden rule in your place, Lily London.”

The heroine spun around again, managing to keep her balance as she took in the figure of the Midnight Raven, flanked by Albatross and Swallowtail, each of them familiar adversaries. The Raven was tall, but shorter than Albatross, and even without his mask on, his face still seemed shrouded in shadow.

“Why would you ever do anything for me, Shadowpinner?” She hissed, trying to wriggle out of Harpy’s firm grip on her shoulder.

Swallowtail cocked her head at the heroine. “She isn’t acting like the Lily who I remember.”

Raven nodded. “Indeed. Magpie?”

A shorter man stuck his head from around the doorframe the other villains had exited from, long bangs covering his eyes and slightly glowing circles slowly spinning around his head. “Yeah?”

“What exact injuries did you see on Lily last night?”

“Uhmmmm…” Magpie trailed off as he worked to recall the memory, “three claw-like cuts, two burns, more than ten distinct bruises, several mud smears, and what looked like a needle injection site.”

“A-An injection site?” Lily stammered, stopping her struggle, “Like a vaccine?”

“Or a drug,” Albatross realized.

Raven’s nod confirmed his suspicions. “Magpie, are there any drugs that require injection and can cause confusion in the victim out there on the streets?”

His head ducked back behind the doorframe for a few seconds filled with the clacking of keys before it came back out.

“Indeed there is, boss. A little liquid called Syrup, aka Honey, aka Simple Stuff, aka a lot of other names that reference its viscosity and supposed sweetness. Created by one of the family gangs, the Golden Hornets, whose power has something to do with intensifying the strength of already available drugs. It makes people drowsy, then confused and overly paranoid when injected, but taken orally, it’s basically a painkiller.”

“That would explain Miss Of the Valley’s behavior,” Harpy said, “But not why she got beat up. Who has access to this Syrup?”

More key clacking preceded the response. “A decent number of people. It seems the Golden Hornets are just the producers, and they sell it to other gangs, most notably the Dog Whistles, the Sawsharks, and the Quicksilvers, who then sell them on the street. But… there has been some, er, disagreements over the right to distribute Syrup. Mainly between the Dog Whistles and the Lion Queens.”

“Never heard of the Queens before,” Swallow commented, “are they upstarts?”

“Yes. All the police reports have them as being no larger than 20 members, not a proper gang yet, and wanting to carve a place for themselves.”

“You got any photos?” Raven asked.

Keys clacked again, longer this time, before Magpie’s head returned. “Some. Not very quality, just security footage and some lucky newsie’s action shots.”

He turned to Lily, still frozen in Harpy’s grip. “Could you describe what your attackers looked like? What they were wearing and such?”

“If you stop manhandling me, Cloudjumper.”

Harpy let her go.

Rubbing her shoulder and suspiciously eyeing each of the villains in sight, Lily sighed as she sat up. “There were seven I could see, but only four attacked me. Every one wore a standard kerchief mask, yellowish-brown and shiny. They wore some kinda uniform, but all I can remember is that they had coattails and high boots, and that they were colored dark brown. The four who attacked me were all as bald as Golden Lighting and African-American, but the three who didn’t had lots of hair, dark in color.”

Her hands hovered over her bandages as she continued.

“The one with claws was tall with a furry tail, and their eyes were hazel. The one with earth powers was shorter and had armor of some kind on their arms, with brown eyes. The one who punched me was medium height with a short mantle of sorts, and had really dark eyes. And the one who injected me had blue eyes. I couldn’t tell if they had other powers before I got away. And at least one of the long haired ones had wings, not feathered.”

Magpie had ducked back behind the doorframe in the middle of Lily’s account, his keyboard noises ceaseless for thirty seconds after she finished. Harpy gently patted her shoulder as they waited for the techie.

“Jackpot!” Magpie’s head re-emerged, and his crosshairs were spinning like tops. “I got an ID on everyone you described! Long-Wings is probably Melody Mitchel, a commander among the Lion Queens. And the four toughs are definitely some of her known lackeys; Terryl Tyson is Tail-Claws, Renell Rose is the Earth-Armor, Stefan Smith is Ten-Punches, and Violet Victorson is Blue-Injector. All have been arrested, but not charged, as members of the Queen Lions gang, save Melody. This is the clearest picture I could find.”

He shoved a bulky laptop out on a swivel chair, its screen showing a gory blown-up newspaper photo of ten figures dressed in the coattailed uniforms fighting with ten other figures dressed in the silver and grey trench coats of the Dog Whistles.

One had a full head of frizzy hair and bat-like wings, leaping from a rooftop with shoeless feet baring clawed paws. One had a furry tail and was but a streak as they shoved a hand into the chest of a Dog Whistle, blood flying. One was far shorter than their opponent, guarding their head from a heavy tail’s descent with their oversized rock gauntlets. One had a short mantle over their uniform and was fist fighting a Dog Whistle with curly horns. And one was just a shadow in an alleyway, holding something and standing over a slumped form.

Lily backed away from the photo as the Murder crowded close.

“T-Thats them, for sure. They’re the ones who… got me.” The last two words came after a pause; the heroine was still denying that she had been bested.

Raven nodded. “I assume that you already know where these Lions hunt, Magpie?”

“Yup.”

“Well then.” The villain turned to Lily, who was eyeing him with suspicion again. “What would you do, Lily London, if you were able, and if the Wild and Free were by your side?”

There was no hesitation in her answer. “Get them. Get even with my attackers, and knock the whole of the Lion Queens down a few pegs.”

“Then that is what we shall do.”

[talenlee]

Bloodwork — Abstraction

Hey, we’re talking more about Bloodwork, the card game about building a network of vampires in the context of a 90s aesthetic representing new and interesting ways the society we live in is parasitic and we’re going whoosh okay.

Bloodwork wants to represent vampires operating in communities centered around the intention of a single entity creating an organisation to take advantage of opportunities. The player is a vampire of different types building organisations out of the available pieces that express themselves in different ways.

And y’know, the fact I’m calling them ‘organisations’ is part of the trick here, when we talk about the fiction. The language you use for a game is part of how the game feels and that’s part of what anchors detail. I got thinking about what I want to call a group of vampires, the way I want a group of vampires to feel. There’s a lot of different terms available… and I like a lot of them. I like how different terms for vampires create different vibes, like:

Sabbbat

Masquerade

Cathar

Brood

Coven

Circle

Band

Gang

Order

Family

Now, I thought about these terms a lot in the context of which one to use for the vampires in this game, but now, I think, the solution is to use as many of them as I can. Each type carries its own vibe for the vampire and its type. A brood feels like a sort of organic, packlike structure (Pack is another title option, huh). An Order feels more like a religious group, and a Band feels more aggressive.

But okay, so if each type describes a different type of vampire, then mechanically those need to feel different, and this means delving into what vampires mean in this situation. I’m a little torn here because I kind of like the idea of vampires as representing sorts of ‘wrong’ consumption, which can be either forms of modern horror and parisitism or the idea of the way that we have communities of people who are subsisting on capitalism’s surface the ‘wrong’ way.’

It’s the ‘queers or corporations’ dichotomy.

Another thing is like what surface do I have to convey this fiction? It needs to exist and explain the world, but also, importantly for the game, I don’t want there to be any element of the game rules that doesn’t connect to the fiction and I don’t want any fiction to be present that asks ‘hey, where are the rules for this?’

The main way I have to convey information about stuff in this game the faces of the cards. That’s front face and card back. There’s tokens, counters, and currency, box, rulebook, but the thing players are going to look at and are going to form the texture of what players build is the cards. Dice are probably going to act more, but that’s it.

This means that anything on the face of the card is going to need to be important. And now we’re running into a space where the abstraction and stuffness interleave. Because every thing that I need to convey fictionally demands space to do it. And things that the fiction needs and the cards can’t convey presents a potential problem.

These are vampires! What about day/night cycles? How do I represent them feeding? What don’t I need on the card, and if it’s on the card, do I have a fiction reason for it?

How specific do rules need to be on the cards? Do I need text boxes?

Cards can have names? But do they need them?

What about the numbers? You know, the numbers you roll?

What kind of thing can these abstractions represent on the limited space of a card?

And here’s an example of how the abstraction and the entanglement of the game design get snared with one another, and with the stuffness. The idea of a cost is something I assumed a card needs to convey, because it’s a resource and you’re acquiring resources. But that also suggests that people have, in the context of this fiction, that people have a price and that price is consistent. People are, you know, really good at accurately gauging their value, right?

If we strip away the cost function on a card, we need to find some other way to make it cost something. I tried a few versions of this idea, with a line representing value but now I’m liking a 3×3 grid. hen you pick a card, you have to put a blood counter on every card adjacent to it orthogonally. This means the card in the middle needs to be really good for you to bother taking it, but also, it will, over time, accumulate blood counters. When you take a card, you get all the blood counters on it. This means that cards become valuable just because of being left alone for long enough to accumulate value.

This creates a bunch of knock-on effects in the fiction:

A thing is harder to obtain because of its relationship to other things

Recruiting someone or something requires creating opportunities that others benefit from

People don’t have a fixed price, it changes over time

That’s one element of the design shifting space and it lets me get rid of the costs.

Another thing to consider is the problem of the day-night cycle. The vampires shouldn’t be active all the time, so how do I want to handle day? Should there be human cards that can operate during an off-cycle part of the day?

When the game design started part of the point was that you were going to roll a dice and bluff it – either lie about what it showed or not – and that if everyone lied, and you didn’t, it meant you had a chance to get a sort of special artifact. There was a Prisoner’s Dilemma part of the game, about raiding an ancient tomb for the bodies of ancient vampires to claim power. That element isn’t really as important any more and I feel like it would involve adding another centralising element to the game – something that sits in the middle of the board and everyone needs to pay attention to it.

I think what I want is for the market to be central and maybe have a trench on a side where there’s another thing to track. Not super important, but something there, there’s room for a little bit extra.

But without that lying/truth element (since the dice are drafted), what does the night/day cycle look like? I think there should be cards that do things ‘during the day,’ which might mean they do things at the end of each turn? Or should half the turns be day turns?

Another thing is, there’s a lot of different ways to organise these differently flavoured vampire groups. Particularly, while a MLM scam looks like a pyramid, I want to also add crypto bro vampires, and they’d be decentralised, but also constantly cycling thralls as suckers, and quietly eating suckers discretely.

That means that suddenly, I have this new idea and direction based on the flavour: Each vampire type is building something different. The cryptobros are limited to six vampires, but they’re decentralised. Damaging one of them doesn’t damage all of them. My thinking there is they’re kind of ‘space base’ like – stacking effects on numbers, knowing that each vampire can be icked.

Another type, maybe a gang, is like a deck builder, their ‘night’ phase being when the card is in the discard.

Another type I’m thinking is a blackjack style. The dice roll represents how many vampires you can flip, and each extra card you flip can risk ‘busting.’

For six players, I need six game modes and I need to reconsider what demands they put on the cards. Is it possible that thralls aren’t cards, but are tokens, and you can cash them in when you turn them for Young Vampires in the marketplace?

Anyway, notes.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Games #Making

[pseudomonacarriea]

WHAT NOT TO DO WHEN INTERACTING WITH MY BLOG - Customizable Edition

BASICS !

Name / Alias: Carrie. Some folks know me as Arria, Ice, or Intern Aoba.

Pronouns: I don’t care. Usually she/her but you can use whatever

Blog type: single muse | Multi-muse | non selective | semi selective | selective | mutuals only | private | other

Type of muses: canon | OCs | both | other (specify)

GENERALITIES !

Triggers people MUST tag: NSFW and general triggers be tagged. While I don’t have triggers, I can’t risk NSFW while I’m at work. And it’s just a good practice to have, considering not everyone lists their triggers or what they don’t want to see. 

Interest tracker / checker: I have it and it’s mandatory | I have it, it’s not mandatory but I’m more likely to follow back / interact with the people who fill it | I have one and I prefer it if people fill it in | I have it but it’s up to people whether to fill it or not | I don’t have one | other (specify)

I want people to fill it out. It’s there for that reason, and helps me narrow down fandoms/muses that people have interest in.

Reblog karma: I practice it | I practice it sometimes | I don’t practice it | I always reblog memes from the source | indifferent | other (specify)

Rule passwords: I have one and it’s mandatory | I have one and it’s optional | I don’t have one | I send passwords | don’t sent passwords

If I follow you, I’ve read your rules. That should be enough for me, but I also know that’s not everyone’s cup or tea. Or actually reads the rules page. 

3-5 ESSENTIAL RULES PEOPLE HAVE TO RESPECT

I’m a university student and work long hours. I do not have energy to always be here. While I keep OOC posts down, I do what I can to avoid burnout. So some days, you’ll see me hella active; Others I’m a ghost.

Mutuals mean mutuals only. There’s a few ways to check to this. It’s a comfort thing for me.

Don’t! Be afraid! To reach out! I’m nice and you can ask Kae and the RRG gang - I only give my energy to people who I think deserve it or I can handle. I’m just tired 24/7 (like Silver, but man I wis I could sleep whenever) so I tend to keep to myself.

My attention span is horrid. Like I jump around because I don’t get of a break from life and I have a lot running through my mind. An occasional poke if I take more than a few weeks on a thread is appreciated, but don’t send me something a few hours or a day after. Patience is key.

TLDR: I’m a penguin with a coffee addiction. Give me coffee and we’re fine. Or plants. Or craft stuff bUT YOU GET MY POINT.

3-5 IMPORTANT PET PEEVES TO KEEP IN MIND

Talk to me as an adult and not a child. This is, by far, my BIGGEST pet peeve when it comes to people as a whole. Yes, I have a childish side of me and can be goofy, but if you constantly look down at me I’m going to ignore you or tell you to back off. If I’m doing something you’re not a fan of, just send me a message polietly. I’m more than happy to talk but I like to be talked TO, not AT.

Keep drama off the dash. We’re all adults here, and we can work thinks out, or attempt to. Vaguing and openly airing drama will earn you a strike in my book. 

I don’t mind formatted text, but when I can’t tell where a sentence starts and when it ends, I’m not going to interact with you. I’m talking super stylized and extreme forms of purple prose (unless a character is like that, then it’s fine. An example would be L.ing from AK and the way she talks is fine with me). I don’t want to do gymnastics trying to figure out your post.

You write with really tiny icons or SUPER tiny text. I’m talking this text. I have a hard time reading it in paragraph form because of my bad eyesight. Small is the best I can do. 

Super tiny icons is a pet peeve because, again, I have bad eyesight. If I can’t see the icon, then why use it? Smallest I’m able to do is uh, mAYBE 70x70 or 65x65 but that’s it. Anything smaller and I’m just, wh-- what am I seeing???? And that’s without a bunch of filters and effects. As a graphic designer, I want my things to be seen, not covered. So if I can’t see your muse reacting I’m gonna keep my distance. I shouldn’t have to hop on mobile or smth to see what expression you’re using.

2-5 THINGS THAT WILL LEAD TO INSTANT (SOFT)BLOCKING

Lack of respect. I’m not here to be a bootycall and I’m not here to just please you as you want. This also goes for others, and if you constantly cross boundaries, I’m out. 

Constantly vauging how you’re not getting interactions while not putting in any effort. People make starter calls, have interest checkers, and offer multiple ways to get interactions. Hit them up! Go outside of your comfort zone! You can’t stand by the water’s edge and expect the waves part around you while you want to jump in. You have to move yourself.

You bash on my muses or the muses that I’m having threads with. Don’t project your feelings if the muse you’re writing doesn’t feel that way. If you don’t like a muse or a ship, filter it. Blacklist it. Your dash and how it flows is up to you.

2-5 THINGS THAT LEAD ME TO UNFOLLOW / SOFTBLOCK A MUTUAL / SOMEONE I INTERACT WITH

Stealing or using my OCs and ship dynamics as your own. The stealing is self-explanatory, but will also come with a message. The other is using my OCs as inspo for your own without talking to me about it. Not going to lie, it fucking sucks.

Forcing a ship onto me. Done. I’m tired of people seeing me as a booty call for their muses and not wanting to do other things other than smut or fluff. I love building dynamics. Don’t shove a ship down my throat that I’m not interested in. Don’t “uwu they’re so cute together!!! I wanna write it with you!!! Carrie give me this ship because-” well you see where my ire comes from and why I’d softblock. 

IN ADDITION: If you force a ship because you don’t like seeing my muse interact with another, and we’re developing a ship. I don’t think I have to explain why this grinds my gears but I can explain if needed.

IN ADDITOIN: If you whine, complain, or come up to me saying “I hope you’re having fun with ___.. Hope things go well” OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT. Bye. That’s guilt tripping and I’m giving you the boot. It’s fucking rude.

I’m a tolerant person, but if you treat your rp blog like a personal, I’m gonna leave. If you’re going through a tough time and just need somewhere to vent, that’s fine. But if you don’t rp and are doing ooc after ooc post, that’s it for me. 

Writing certain ships I’m not a fan and spamming it on the dash. One such example is Doctor x Amiya from Arknights, or Kaeya x Diluc from Genshin Impact. I will never write them nor support them. Unless you’re someone I’m super close with, I’ll softblock. If you’re someone I’m close with, I’ll black list it for my own comfort.

You try to start shit with a friend because you don’t want me to talk to anyone else. Do not. Do that. To me. I’ve had it happen before (with a close friend back in my Ma.gi days) and let me tell you. No. That’s not cool and especially if I don’t know you, that’s creepy.

2-5 REASON YOU DON’T FOLLOW (BACK) SOMEONE

I don’t know your muse, our styles wouldn’t click, or I’m not a fan of a lot of the content you post. I like to keep my dash clean with people I know and those I can see myself writing with.

I know you from before and you’re someone I haven’t had good interactions with. There are some people I don’t want to find me or some people I’m, frankly, scared of coming across again. Rather not put myself into a bad spot and be scared to come here, y’know?

I didn’t see you follow since I don’t check my followers often. I’m not here for numbers and you may need to poke me in some fashion to get my attention.

tagged by: @pseudomonarkaerenea​ tagging: @duunswitch​ @pulseofthestars​

[phoenixyfriend]

Fake Sith TCW Trio

I have another fucked up time-travel AU! Who’s surprised? (Nobody.)

So like. Have you guys read that one fic where Luke and his students go back in time and pretend to be Sith Lords and are super hammy about it? (Sith Lord Swell by AMournfulHowlInTheNight)

This AU has contributions by @atagotiak, @the-lunar-system, @purronronner, @gelpenss, @creepingthroughthistidalwave, and @thisarenotarealblog.

I want TCW trio (plus Rex and Cody) to go back to several years pre-TPM and, since the Council DEFINITELY won't believe them about the Sith being back... they'll force the issue.

Anakin is weirdly excited about things and building up their backstory.

Anakin: Okay so I can definitely be a Maul type, with the unhinged ranting and manic laughter, Obi-Wan can be the whole Refined Rich Guy type like Dooku, where you can't even tell he's evil until he starts talking about getting out the eyeball scoops, maybe toss in a bit of mad science stuff? Ahsoka could play up like Ventress OR, oh oh, she can be the Light Side Child we need to PROTECT who's publicly begging us to return to the Light after our big dramatic Falls where we murdered like eighty people to save her, and-- Obi-Wan: Why are you never this enthusiastic about actual undercover missions. Ahsoka: Did you just have all this ready to go, or...? Anakin: WE COULD GET YELLOW CONTACT LENSES FOR ME.

Obi-Wan: How's my evil laugh?

Anakin going “Okay.. so if any of us need to murder someone to sell the bit it should be me, I think I could handle it the best. Why? No reason.”

Obi-Wan: I'm not sure a complete Fall could come from protecting Ahsoka, really-- Anakin: No, no, it could.

Obi-Wan: Surely you’d hold back because you realize neither of us want that for you. Anakin: Uh. Sure. Definitely.

Obi-Wan points out that none of them can channel the dark side to Prove they're Sith and Anakin just goes "Okay, give me like two seconds to stew in my negativity and--right, you can stop staring in horror, please."

Anakin rambles on that they can TOTALLY make the galaxy a better place while playing at being Sith! He's got a whole LIST of slave empires to "take over" and disassemble!

Anakin has a whole excited spiel about how EVIL soldiers and assistants are minions, in this case partly because Cody and Rex are too good at what they do to be mooks. Cody could pull off evil minion very well. Facial scar? Looks good in black? Quietly competent and sarcastic?

He also pushes for Obi-Wan to lounge in a fancy throne with a glass of wine while Anakin stalks the shadows and Ahsoka hangs out on the window ledge. The disaster lineage is dramatic, okay, Anakin’s just leaning into it, he’d appreciate it if everyone stopped looking at him like that.

Qui-Gon, surprisingly, ends up a skeptic about all of this. Everyone is freaking out about the Sith and he’s like “y’know I’m not even sure they’re darksiders.”

Some Jedi, possibly Qui-Gon for his conspiracy board, gets in a real risky situation and one of the Fake Sith saves them, but also panics and kinda drops character for a bit.

Jedi: You saved me! Why’d you do that? Anakin: I uh... just wanted the pleasure of killing you myself?

"You saved me. Why?" "Mmmm. Jedi." [walks away]

Qui-Gon: [trying to figure out what is up with these people semi-competently (from his perspective) pretending to be Sith] Dooku: [trying to protect Qui-Gon from Sith influence]

The gang is the most successful at pretending to be Sith to Dooku. Sure, they’re not gonna punish him for something he hasn’t done, but it’s not hard to act menacing and angry around him.

(They really do have so much fun irritating the heck out of Dooku. He hasn’t Fallen yet, but they want to keep an eye out.)

At some point, future Obi-Wan definitely drops that little tidbit of "What, you didn't think the Banites were the only Sith running around did you? You... didn't even know about the Banites. How... disappointing."

They REGULARLY use Ahsoka as an excuse to be marginally less terrible. They claim that if Ahsoka pouts, they stop. ‘Soka also uses them as an excuse for why she’s a lil feral. (To be fair, that one is accurate. She was already a lil feral before but it’s not like they did anything to stop it.) Ahsoka gets her "breaking into people's offices" jollies by bugging Nute Gunray's office.

The Jedi keep trying to Rescue Ahsoka.

Rex and Cody end up in real beskar, there's a whole Thing with Mandalore and Jango and Satine.

Obi-Wan is CONSISTENTLY worried about Anakin Falling for real, which... hey, at least he knows to be worried about Anakin Falling. Step up from canon, really.

Anakin is WAY too into killing the Hutts but like. It does... technically sell the bit.

Obi-Wan: Sure, I’m not sad that they’re dead, especially because we’re not connected to the Republic, so we don’t need to worry about starting a war and all that. But. Anakin is disturbingly cheerful about this. Rex: Wasn't he a Hutt slave? Obi-Wan: Well yes, but-- Rex: I'd kill Nala Se if I could get away with it.

Cody and Rex are very supportive of Anakin's murderous intentions.

Obi-Wan does understand anger, even killing someone in anger. Like Maul (the first time at least) and D’nar and a few others. All the same, like... y’know. The level of bloodthirst from the others is a little off-putting.

At one point, Anakin accidentally addresses young Obi-Wan by name, despite never having met before, and to cover it up, he... panic-flirts. He panics, and so he flirts, with young Obi-Wan.

(He will later blame this on old Obi-Wan, because he had to pick up the habit of flirting with the enemy from somewhere.)

Anakin vaguely implies that he's a wee bit obsessed with young Obi, and that the padawan should "get used to being the target of a dark-sider's interests," because he’s scrambling for Ominous Shit and, well, future Obi-Wan was pretty frequently a fixation point for darksiders, right?

The second he gets out, he just starts screaming into a bucket while Rex pats him on the back.

For the next however many terrible months, possibly years, he has to keep up the act while having an ongoing meltdown about how That's My Dad As A Twenty-Something.

(It doesn't help that young Obi-Wan reflexively flirted back.)

Old Obi-Wan, meanwhile, is just very "you dug this hole yourself, padawan."

There is an argument at the beginning about Obi-Wan’s outfit. If he’s gonna be a Sith, he can’t just go around in beige, but he’s like “I like this and it’s comfy.” Sure, he’s changed clothes for undercover stuff, but that’s always been temporary, y’know? He likes his beige.

We have a number of options.

My first instinct? Beige linen three piece suit, like a southern lawyer. "Now I may just be a simple Outer Rim force adept--"

And, of course, you can TOTALLY make the beige sinister: he’s impersonating a Jedi! Jedi impersonation would also explain why nobody has a red saber.

“Sure is good that the Jedi don’t seem to realize most of the galaxy doesn’t know red sabers are different and bad.” “Shhhh, stop poking holes in our story where a Jedi might overhear.”

Like.... if you do enough doublethink, it works! How would a Sith hide? In plain sight. Also, it’s a GREAT way (if they were actually assholes) to try to slander the Jedi name.

(Anakin and Ahsoka still think he could stand to put a little more effort in. Add a splash of color, for pity's sake!)

Though tbh part of me is like “What if Old Obi wore, like... a split skirt suit...” Victorian womenswear inspired because he misses his robes, but he has to look Professional, and like he's MOCKING Jedi instead of BEING one, so he wears a vintage-y split skirt thing over his leggings. Ends up looking a lot like what Ventress had for a while, but Beige. I also keep wanting to put him regency menswear.

Anyway. Obi-Wan’s wardrobe aside...

Anakin builds up his Tatoo accent again. It helps him with the (mostly true) "slavery helped me fall" backstory.

Either Cody or Rex offhandedly mentions being made to serve them (the Fake Sith) and now the Jedi are somewhat concerned about brainwashing. Are these Mandos the victims here?

“No like. Literally made for this. In a lab.” This is even more horrifying. So...

On the one hand good! The Jedi should be scared about Sith! On the other hand... it makes the Jedi more determined to stop them, specifically. They keep on getting in the way, just, all the time, and they’re not investigating the actual Sith problem, which is decidedly not great since the Team doesn’t actually know who’s a real Sith right now, except Maul, and who even knows where that guy is.

Obi-Wan, at some point: Do you think we've succeeded at this ruse... a little TOO well? Anakin: I don't follow. Obi-Wan, gesturing at the truly obnoxious amount of wealth they've collected, including "trophies" of their kills: Really? Because I'm a little worried! Anakin, planning out a battle to take on Nar Shadda: ...I'm not.

"How many people do we realistically we need to take over Hutt Space? Apparently... five."

(Mostly because Anakin is ridiculously op.)

ANAKIN AND YOUNG OBI GET KIDNAPPED BY PIRATES TOGETHER. It's tradition.

Anakin: Okay, so, I need to get really angry about something to pass as a Sith... time to think about my WIFE and how I'll NEVER SEE HER AGAIN.

Since Anakin’s life never goes as planned... this does not work. Instead of getting properly angry, he makes himself sad. There are tears. There is wailing. There’s a distraught rant or two. Young Obi ends up awkwardly trying to comfort him.

“Oh no, this… Sith?? Is crying on me. What do I do???”

Later on, when the Council wants intel: "So... one of the Sith cried on me about his wife. I think she's dead? He wasn't very clear about it but it, uh... it sounded like it might have contributed to his Fall. Also the relationship was a little unhealthy? He basically worshiped the ground she walked on and kept ranting about how he would have given her the galaxy on a platinum platter of she'd only asked, but that might be new and inspired by the Dark."

One of the random Jedi is REALLY good at detecting the truth Through The Force, and asks Anakin how he Fell...

Anakin just. Tells the Tuskens story.

They don't get pinged as lying, but oh boy does old Obi have a LOT of questions for Anakin once they're in private.

There are other things happening to help sell the ruse. Some of them are necessary! Some of them are... not.

Obi-Wan: What's the best way to show we're rich and kind of evil, but like... classy about it? Anakin, immediately: I sit on the floor next to the throne, leaning against it, and you call me pet names while stroking my hair, and then when you need something killed I get to do it for you and then I go back to the floor and you thank me for the directed violence, and then you go back to Negotiations with criminals while I’m sitting there covered in blood. Obi-Wan: ...is there something you want to TELL us, or...?

"You're all going to get a glimpse of something normally kept hidden about me." "Anakin, you don't have to do that." "No, I'm gonna."

(Anakin has decided hes going to peel his kink tomato to sell this ruse, and the others are slightly uncomfortable with that.)

Anakin: Okay, I cannot keep flirting with you. Young Obi: Wait, what? But that's the best part of any time we run into you! Anakin: You look WAY too much like my Master did when I met him. Obi: O...kay? If someone looked like my master when HE was young, I'd-- Anakin: My Sith Master half-raised me. He's basically my dad. Obi: ... Anakin: What's that look for? Obi: I mean, you spend a lot of time lounging at his feet, and, like, given how much you hate slavery, I... kind of assumed it was a kink thing? Anakin, brightly: Oh no, I just have a LOT of trauma. And neuroses. Snips says they’re neuroses.

Young Obi is a little upset because he was actually getting REALLY into Flirting With The Enemy and was hoping it would go somewhere. He mopes to Qui-Gon about it. Qui-Gon isn't sure whether to be proud about Obi breaking rules, or worried over Obi-Wan falling for a Fake Sith.

(As Tia put it: "You enjoy making young Obi-Wan have a completely unrequited crush on Anakin, don’t you?")

Fortunately, one of those attractive Young Mando boys very kindly helped him tape up his ribs this one time, and has thus caught his eye...

I feel like having Cody date Young Obi would court an entirely different kind of (internet) drama because clone ages, but whatever.

Also please imagine an element of "so I'm dating the genetic identical of my boss... who's dating the man I'm a genetic identical of..."

(It's probably not actually Jangobi but man would that be funny and also stupid.)

Somehow Young Obi figures out that the "Sith Master" is a future him before he realizes that they're not actually dark. In his defense, Anakin was pretty convincing. Especially with the wife rant. It makes HIM more obsessed with Anakin, in a reversal of the implied earlier dynamic, which is all kinds of weird. Less romantic but like. Still weird.

"Future Me Scares Me" with Extra stupid. "Future Me Annoys Me." "Future Me acts like grandmaster Dooku, but more sass." "Future Me raised a really hot evil guy that refuses to bang Present Me." "Future Me might be a Sith, but I'm getting more and more convinced he's just fucking with us all." "Future Me is really rocking that beard, and I can't BELIEVE we figured out a way around the babyface."

"I’m kinda concerned about the whole evil thing, but I’m also glad that I know I’ll stay hot as I get older."

Quinlan approves of the priorities.

Also a lot of interactions with older Obi are very Anakin: [does/says something deeply unhinged] Obi-Wan: So, do you want to…. Talk about that? Maybe? Anakin: What’s there to talk about?? I’m fine, everything’s fine! Anyways how about those plans for tracking down Maul?

Anakin later, like way after the ruse is lifted, just blankly tells everyone that he did Fall, once, and Older Obi made him get therapy about it after the truth came out between the two of them a few months into the Fake Sith thing.

Where'd they find a therapist? I'm sure there's one SOMEWHERE around. Denon and Herdessa are close enough, and they've done enough "your criminal empire now belongs to me" that they can pay well. They make sure to find one that takes confidentiality real seriously.

It's all very "we need some more time to unpack all that."

Therapy helps get Anakin to figure out Sheev’s whole deal. They don't necessarily figure out he’s a Sith from it, but they figure out he’s sketchy and they need to look into that more. Obi-Wan probably already thought he was sketchy, but the whole active gaslighting campaign was a little surprising. They realize that he kinda benefited a lot from a lot of Sith plots and they still probably don’t think he’s a Sith but Obi-Wan is definitely starting to think he’s working with one.

"Okay, we're already bugging Gunray, should we bug Palpatine just to be safe?"

They get away with a lot of slicing because Anakin is a technical genius from twenty years in the future.

The reasons they're so good at Taking Over Hutt Space: 1. They know parts of the future. 2. They have superpowers and FAR less reason to not use them, now that their actions aren't going to reflect on the Republic. 3. They have Cody and Rex, who are two of the greatest military minds in the galaxy, and know EXACTLY how to wage a war that covers a solid third of the galaxy, starting from a position of relative weakness. 4. Anakin's charisma is scary high, and his knowledge of slave culture means they gain a lot of trust from the people they free, and they just... keep acquiring volunteers for the army they didn't plan to have. Obi-Wan doesn't know what to do. He thinks they might have started a cult?

In his defense, Dooku sort of started a cult, and Komari got kidnapped by a cult, brainwashed into joining it properly, and then took it over as head figure of said cult. It's practically tradition!

Comics Vader is the central figure of like three different cults, it was really just inevitable.

Anakin: Aw, don't worry master, it's not a cult, it's a revolution! Ahsoka: They're worshiping him, though. Anakin: ...it's still a revolution! Just... with some misunderstandings.

Also, if they got wind of people trying to keep people from being able to leave and other culty stuff like that, they’d probably put a stop to it pretty damn quick.

Names! Time for names. As per usual, it's easiest to keep track of Obi-Wan's alternate Older Self by just calling him Ben.

Darth Ben.

Ahsoka: You should be Darth Boring. Obi-Wan: I can still make you run laps, you know.

Anakin: The Force is telling me to call myself Darth Vader. Obi-Wan: ...why? Anakin: I dunno, but it sounds cool, I'll run with it.

Someone: Ben has all the answers; we shouldn’t question him, ever. Ben: One time I lost a planet, and a five-year-old found it for me.

More options: Going with the "evil word with the prefix 'in' chopped off" that we get with Sidious and Vader: Darth Surrectus (as in insurrection) Just random Latin words: Darth Temporus (time) Darth Commenticius (fake)

Anyway, back to Nonsense:

Maul goes after young Obi early, because the Fake Sith are really invested in this one random Padawan (Sidious is saying he might be a cousin of the false Sith Master? They do look similar enough) so someone needs to investigate. Naturally, Anakin shows up with some wild screeching to fight Maul, and when someone questions why he got involved it gets very "Kenobi is MINE!" and like. Okay. So.

Anakin means it in a very Sith "to toy with" and "to torture" way, or the ‘my chosen opponent!’ way, just the same kind of Obsession as Maul had with Obi-Wan in the original timeline. Unfortunately, Anakin’s a weird-ass person who flirts with Young Obi against his own better judgement, so there's some awkward "Like... your boyfriend?" from young Obi. Anakin just screeches in SOME emotion that nobody wants to interpret, and couldn't even if they wanted to, and starts whacking away at Maul again.

(Anakin hasn't explained the "you look exactly like my dad, sorry, it's just too weird" thing yet, and he is HAVING MANY REGRETS.)

There's definitely at least one instance where a person asks Anakin if he's planning on dating That One Jedi Twink, or at least banging out the tension. At that point in time, Anakin doesn't actually know who the fuck they're talking about, because "Obi-Wan + Twink = Does Not Compute" for dear, dense Ani, and instead he just ends up ranting about how he is LOYAL TO THE MEMORY OF HIS LATE WIFE, how DARE anyone so much as INSINUATE that he would TARNISH HER PERFECT MEMORY and UNWAVERING KINDNESS and WHOLESOME BEING, and the person who asked doesn't end up lightsabered but they do end up with a LOT to tell whoever they're reporting to.

Young Obi-Wan definitely hears Anakin mutter the phrase “something to discuss with my therapist later” a few times, and he’s a little bewildered because darksiders definitely don’t seem like the type of people to go to therapy. They’re the type of people to need therapy, sure, but not the type to go to therapy.

I think it would be very fun for Young Obi to continue sighing over Anakin (who's pretending to be fine with it and even flirting back because he's in too deep to stop and hasn't worked up the courage to explain the elephant in the room) while Anakin is covered in grease and infodumping while having a slightly manic hyperfocus on engine repairs while the two of them Somehow got stranded together in the middle of bumfuck nowhere (it's Plagueis's doing, he finds the interactions between THESE two in particular to be the most informative regarding the fake Sith).

Anakin, at some point while stranded with young Obi-Wan, and having actually started unpacking some stuff in therapy, though he’s def still got a ways to go: I’m pretty sure Ben cares about me. He acts like he cares, like he’ll do stuff like put extra blankets in my quarters in the spaceship because I get cold real easily or track down those droid parts I need for a project and he always has my back in a fight but y’know it’d be nice to hear him say he loves me once in a while. Especially because we kinda had a rough start and idk I don’t think he wanted me around at first.

And uh. Obi-Wan definitely relates to that a bit too much, y’know?

I want to say that Young Obi ends up mentioning All That to one of the clones or Ahsoka later, because they seem probably invested in Anakin's well-being, even if Ben is, well, a Sith, so Obi-Wan's a little worried the man's affection really is fake, but at least Ahsoka...

(Ironic, given what Anakin's actual eventual Sith would-be-Master was like.)

Young Obi mentions Anakin’s most recent rant to Ahsoka, and she just goes "Wait, is that why Skyguy likes to sit by the throne and get called pet names?" "Uh... I don't... know... but it sounds like all of you have a LOT to unpack there, Miss Apprentice."

Later on: "Master Kenobi, you need to tell Skyguy you love him 'cause apparently he's been having a lot of emotions about you not telling him you care and he's been talking to mini-you about it whenever they get stuck together and--"

Young Obi-Wan is just constantly the "Now we don't have time to unpack all of that" John Mulaney gif. Anakin in particular is a mess, and young Obi-Wan slowly goes from "I want to date that" to "I want to study that" about him.

Obi-Wan gets stuck somewhere with Ben, tries to small talk, gets on the topic of Vader, and spills the drama. He gets an awkward “Thank you for bringing that to my attention.”

It’s followed by a fairly frustrated “I try, but Anakin refuses to communicate his needs to me, and it feels like I’m always falling short.”

At least one member of the group is in therapy, probably all of them, but they’re still using young Obi as a sounding board for all this stuff. On the bright side, this is probably good for impressing the importance of good communication on Obi-Wan.

Good for Obi-Wan! And... whatever Padawan he eventually has.

As for baby Anakin, who is approximately age four, I want to go with "Anakin decides to be his own uncle, and Shmi just rolls with it because fuck it, she’s not a slave anymore, and a Fake Sith is a solid defense against anyone trying to re-enslave them."

[This is a backstory I've had them use before (see here and here).]

Seeing Big Ani and Little Ani in the same space might be what finally pings the "oh shit, that's future me" thing for Obi-Wan... you know, if he’s ever allowed close enough to see Little Ani in the first place.

Little Ani stays with the fake-Sith and is sorta jointly trained by all of them, and young Obi-Wan teaches little 'Soka at the Temple. Ani and 'Soka still end up friends somehow, but it is fairly different.

Every time little Ani addresses Old Obi as "Dad," it's just like ten kinds of awkward. The one time someone tried to explain that Ben wasn't his new dad, Shmi glared them down. She is of the opinion that, all the gods be damned, Ani deserves to refer to the most mature man in his life, who raised another him in another timeline already, as a father.

Ani doesn't NEED a father, Shmi herself is more than enough, but he does deserve to have this if he wants it.

An alternative conclusion to the time travel is uh. So the Mandalorians are genetically identical (give or take a hair gene) and really resemble Jango Fett, though whether anyone notices that is up in the air. Then the three ‘Sith’ (two fake Sith and their morality chain tag-along) have three younger, identical copies show up….

It could be really weird cloning shenanigans. Now, it makes no sense that they’d make clones, and stagger their production like that, and leave them as babies on various planets for Jedi to find. IDK what reasons Obi-Wan would come up with for that, but it’s a fun little detour before he gets to time travel.

There's a really painful moment (for the audience, who know about canon Vader) where someone tries to convince Ahsoka to leave the Sith and she's just like "no way, they'd never hurt me!” Then she clarifies that “someone has to keep them from doing stupid Sith shit whenever they get bored, you know?"

A bunch of Jedi probably think she’s delusional, but the few that have seen her get into trouble that is legitimately too much for her, which isn't often, have then seen Anakin show up like the devil himself to save her, and it's like. Oh. This is why she isn't scared of them hurting her.

We’ve discussed how Anakin does get concerningly in character with the fake Sith thing. However, Anakin and Ahsoka are, just once in a while, surprised by how Ben gets sometimes when playing the bad guy.

After all, he stabbed a dude with a fork and threatened to eat him during his time as Hardeen…

He has the same dramatic streak as all the rest of the lineage. He can be vindictive and creepy and scary as fuck.

HOWEVER:

Obi-Wan: I know I'm supposed to be playing at evil right now, but how do we feel about me making that evil a little... fruity? Ahsoka: Fruity, master? Anakin, who knows where this is going: [buries face in hands] Obi-Wan: You know, the... [limp wrist] Ahsoka: ... Obi-Wan: I mean, I'm already bisexual and well-groomed, I can play it up.

What’s the point of being evil if you can’t be flamboyant?

Anyway, I had to put in a lot of thought for what to do with Rex and Cody, because there's a solid place for them in terms of strategy, but it doesn't do much to give them independent narrative arcs, and 'young Obi-Wan has a crush' isn't much of an arc, you know?

So, basic info first: Cody, Rex, and Anakin all hold the rank of General in this AU because, like... who else is gonna. Ahsoka remains a commander because everyone declares her Baby, and also to keep up the "I'm a morality chain" ruse.

Cody maintains a very stern and unyielding public persona, but the second they're behind closed doors, he's roughhousing with his little brother.

Rex has some fun pretending to be a sadist whenever he and Anakin have to team up, because hamming it up as an evil bastard in front of Jedi is actually really fun... but usually, he's a competent fucking professional.

Because here's the thing: someone has to be.

They both kind of hate the army they've gotten, because these people don't even have proper trigger discipline, let alone any actual discipline.

This army? Tragic. They hate it. Give them the clones.

They have to be drill sergeants for months before they have anything worth sending onto the field.

I think that might be how/when they end up reaching out to Jango. Like, the first inroad is absolutely "we're your clones from the future and you were a Shit Dad so you owe us," but then they actually talk him around into letting the Fake Sith hire him. He brings along all the Mandalorians he can get to answer his calls, and on suggestion from Those Mando Twins, joins the army Ben doesn't even want.

Darth Boring doesn't want an army! Unfortunately, Cody thinks that's stupid as hell, and is overruling Ben so they can actually work on this 'cleaning up the galaxy of slavery' thing with actual resources.

Cody and Rex are super competent, and it shows in their horrified disdain for the state of their troops.

Rex: Fucking natborns. Anyone who isn't in the know: What's a natborn? Rex: [leaves without answering] People: WHAT'S A NATBORN???

(I'm assuming that the word smush is harder to parse in Basic.)

I think young Obi-Wan's new crush on Cody should also be unrequited. Cody's just like... bemused. Very "Okay, then, that sure is an Affection you've decided on."

Cody and Anakin both: Sorry, it’d just be too weird. Obi-Wan: Why would it be too weird? Cody and Anakin: Reasons.

Rex has to deal with the "whyyyyy" from both his brother and his (former?) General.

Young Obi-Wan just likes cute boys that fight good! Is that so wrong???

Ahsoka: So since we're not officially Jedi anymore-- Obi-Wan: We're still Je-- Ahsoka: Can we date? Can I date now? I want to date someone before we go back to the Code. It's a classic life experience for most teenage girls, and I want to Have That Experience before we're back at the Temple. Obi-Wan: You're not... you can date, Ahsoka, that's not actually banned by the Code. I mean, you'd have to keep it casual, but-- Ahsoka: I CAN DATE!!!

(Great priorities, Ahsoka.)

An idea I'm toying with is that one of the clones ends up Legally Engaged to Satine for political reasons, and young Obi-Wan is just like ???? because not only can he not date the hot boys, but one of said hot boys has become Mr. Steal Yo Girl.

Young Obi-Wan is suffering, and Quinlan is the worst friend ever because Quinlan is laughing at him.

There is obviously the question of

"How would Satine ever end up agreeing to that, given what their public personas are like and all that? She puts duty ahead of personal feelings but all indications are that it’s a terrible decision both ways." (as stated by Tia)

Which, yes, I forgot to actually say that I was imagining Jango had declared "those twins" his heirs after telling people they were his younger* cousins. Because reasons.

* Jango is about 27 when they land in the past, and I’m going to say the accelerated aging ended after hitting physically twenty because no, I don’t want to deal with that. As far as anyone knows, Cody and Rex are about five years younger than Jango. They’re less than year apart, which isn’t very visible, and most people assume they’re identical twins (except Rex’s hair), and that Cody just looks slightly older because of the scar.

Darth Boring had convinced Satine that the way to keeping Mandalore peaceful was to work with Jango (because Darth Boring, which is not his actual title but it is what Ahsoka insists on calling him in private, has a vested interest in keeping Mandalore and all interested parties calm), and he... maybe accidentally set up a political marriage between her and one of the clones.

It wasn't on purpose! Satine never married in his timeline, okay, he didn't expect her to ever get married here, either! He didn't even suggest it! This just happened!

(I want to say that Cody would be more competent at having a political marriage? But IDK.)

Do I do the Satine thing? It has potential, but also it's a bit of a cop-out. Do I have Cody be a diplomatic representative for their pseudo-Sith empire? He could be, but I think he'd hate it. Do I have Rex date one the Chaos Entities (Anakin or Ahsoka), or is that too repetitive with my other works? THERE'S JUST TOO MUCH GOING ON.

Part of me wants Quinlan to get a crush on Cody, and the crush gets bigger specifically in response to the fact that Cody refuses to take him seriously and/or just doesn't give him the time of day.

Based on their one interaction in TCW, they probably let get along ok. Cody maybe likes him back, buuuuuuut internally he's just a little "you were tolerable at almost-forty; early twenties you is obnoxious."

Just imagine the absolutely puppyish attempts at gaining approval and Impressing The Hot Mando General. Quinlan keeps having vague daydreams of seducing someone to the side of the Light. He really leans into the bodice ripper fantasies of saving someone evil with the power of love! (And also the power of really good sex.)

Bant looks at Quin and Obi and wants to throw them both into the nearest pond because they're idiots, but on this topic they are the same flavor of idiot. She considers calling up Reeft and Garen to help her knock some sense into them.

Quinlan: Can I volunteer to go undercover to the Sith? The Council: No. Quinlan: ...what if I-- The Council: No.

Tholme tries to get Qui-Gon to commiserate over their Padawans getting obsessed with Hot Sith Boys, but Qui-Gon just finds the whole thing funny. He knows from the chats he has with Ben that Anakin feels so completely, utterly, incredibly awkward about all of this.

(Ben continues to hold to "Anakin brought this on himself.")

(Ben also “kidnaps” Qui-Gon a lot.)

Also, hey, at least Quinlan isn’t actually into hot Sith boys! He’s into hot Sith minions which is... probably a step up. At least Cody’s not a Sith himself!

It's a step in some direction but Tholme has no idea which one.

(Quinlan sees Cody in dress uniform once and just keeps the mental image for Ages. It’s in his dreams. Sometimes said dreams overflow to Tholme via Force Mind Magic and Quinlan wakes up to someone smacking his face with a pillow.)

Arguably, Quin's also a lot more romantic about his crush than Obi-Wan is, in this case. Quinlan: I want to save him... Obi-Wan: Hey, hey, cute boy. Look at me. Let’s bang.

Cody: There are currently two future Jedi generals having some form of absurd romantic fixation in my direction. I don't know how to feel about this. Rex: Bed them. Cody: ...I'm not saying that's not eventually an option, but one of them is the younger Kenobi, and I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that. Rex: Pat him on the head like a tooka and then bed his friend, it'll be funny.

I think the Quinlan thing and also general exasperation of leading an absolutely useless army can function pretty solidly as the basis for Cody, but I have another idea for Rex now.

Komari is currently brainwashed in a cult, yes? So.

I keep bouncing around back and forth on what to do with Rex, but part of me suddenly really likes the idea of, after Team Fake Sith finds and dissolves the cult (as one does), and takes Komari into custody (because she's dangerous and deeply unwell), Rex kind of ends up her touchstone to being a decent person. He’s not a morality chain, and it’s not really a redeemed-through-love thing, just This Is A Solid Dude who doesn't pity her or thinks she's irredeemable (however you choose to define such a thing), but actually relates to the kind of conditions living like that can involve, and just kind of...

I don’t know. I think Rex's arc in this AU could be very heavily grounded in something to the effect of "You're not the worst darksider I've met. You're not the only person who was in a cult. You're not even the only former Jedi I know that's committed awful, horrible crimes. My question is just this: What are you going to do moving forward?"

Later Anakin: Wait, who do we know that was in a cult? Rex: What did you think Kamino was?

(Rex isn't as chill as he'd like her to think, but he's trying, and she's fairly reliant on the Force to understand emotions, and is currently in nullifying cuffs, so he can bluff.)

Komari needs someone solid and dependable to rely on for at least conversation, and I think Rex needs to feel needed.

I’m not sure if it’d be romance or friendship, but I think there's a solid basis to work with, potentially.

Per Tia:

One thing about Rex and shipping is like. If you want to do Rexwalker again that's fine, but if you're worried about repetitiveness but still want to like. Ship him in a non-political-convenience way. Rexsoka here actually would be different than your other stuff.

I'm trying to figure out if I can make it work because Ahsoka thematically fits very much into a little sister shaped hole here? She feels younger than in other works, despite not actually being younger than she is in, say, Commander Buir. In those other fics, she has some time alone to function and prove herself independently of Anakin and Obi-Wan.

I usually pluck Ahsoka out at sixteen if I'm pulling her from TCW, so she's got most of her competence but hasn't gotten quite all the trauma yet. Commander Buir, in particular, also has baby-shaped Anakin for contrast.

That said, I can see a decent source of narrative conflict in her wanting to experiment with romance and all that, and Anakin trying to tell her she's too young.

A year into this whole time-travel mess, she wants to give the dating thing a shot, and it spirals into "You were only two years older than me when you got married!"

I think I could build a plot out of Ahsoka wanting to do these things, and Anakin as an audience insert not quite processing that she's old enough to make these decisions. If she's choosing to date Rex, whose age works out as being close to hers when one takes into account Kamino fuckery, and whom she trusts absolutely, it’s arguably extra weird for Anakin to be upset with it.

"Senator Amidala was five years older than you, and you married her when you were nineteen and had only really known her for a week! I can go on a date with a guy we both know is one of the most trustworthy people alive if I want, Skyguy!"

I can definitely see Ahsoka getting annoyed with Anakin being overbearing and controlling at some point before that unrelated to romance, too. It’s not exactly a new fault of his.

My god, just imagine someone snidely asking Anakin "where's your little shadow?" and Anakin, being Himself and also a Fake Sith, has an emotional breakdown about how Ahsoka yelled at him for micromanaging her and not trusting her to make her own decisions in life and so she got herself a multi-month solo mission from Ben that Anakin isn't allowed to know any details about, and--

It's another one of those "oh, you have PROBLEMS problems with your mental health" incidents for the Jedi to add to the file, because Anakin having emotionally charged rants about his issues at seemingly terrible times is how they get a lot of information.

Some of the rants are planned.

Many of them, actually.

They want the Jedi to know these things.

Just, well. Anakin.

He really is a little Like That.

On that note, I'm low-key imagining that Anakin gets put on mood stabilizers by the therapist in this context, and he's doing good! He's handling his issues! He's--been captured with Obi-Wan the Younger again and his medication was confiscated.

Anakin is... not great. He's a little out of practice managing his unmedicated self, and when adding withdrawal symptoms onto that... poor Anakin.

(Poor Obi-Wan.)

I think it would be best if Anakin makes a bunch of ominous blustery comments at their captors about how they won't like what's coming to them if they take his belongings (AKA the fanny pack that has his backup pills), and then Obi-Wan just gets to watch Anakin get more and more erratic, because like. Yes, Anakin is using the Force to compensate, but unfortunately he's mostly cut off, and the stress of the situation is pushing him away from depression and into the beginnings of a manic episode.

Anakin is aware of his issues to the point where he's mostly managing, and he keeps asking Obi-Wan "would it make sense for me to [slightly deranged, very impulsive action]," and Obi-Wan realizes he's being the morality sounding board for the Hot Sith because ??? reasons?????

Eventually, Anakin does flop back in bed and dramatically throws his arm over his eyes, and says he needs his meds back, he's absolutely going to lose it, and Obi-Wan tentatively asks what kind of medication. There are levels to worry about. Mild allergy medication is one thing, but heart medication that needs to be taken every four hours is another, you know? He wants to know how much panic is appropriate.

Anakin lets him know that it's Psychiatric In Nature. Obi-Wan suddenly realizes that he really, really, really doesn't want to know what a properly erratic, unmedicated Anakin is like.

(An unmedicated Anakin really isn't nearly as bad as Obi-Wan fears. Anakin's been dealing with this for a while, and knows what his issues are and some of how to deal with them. He'd need to be running on no sleep and higher levels of stress, or to have been drugged with something meant to increase his aggression, to really lose his shit and do something worthy of Vader. RotS levels of stress and sleep deprivation is required to pull RotS levels of manic paranoid delusion.)

Tia asked:

How long does it take the Jedi in general to catch on to how like. They have opportunities. But these Sith never seem to harm any Jedi. And it’s not just like, the past timeline parts of the disaster lineage. They probably get opportunities to hurt other Jedi. Ones that are less skilled at saber work. And more importantly ones that they don’t seem weirdly interested in."

I'm not sure, really. The Jedi don't spend as much time in the Outer Rim as they could, and that's where the Team operates, so actually running into them by accident is unlikely for anyone other than Shadows.

Fortunately, it's really easy to toy with Shadows with the excuse of "I want to see how long it takes before you Fall with us."

I do want like... okay. Here’s the mental image:

Qui-Gon calls them out on being Fake Sith pretty quickly, so Ben just sort of eyes him, dramatically, and orders out "Leave us" to all non-team people. The threat of torture is implied but not stated. He gestures with wine to keep in character. He definitely makes sure Young Obi-Wan is ushered out, so it's just five time travelers, Qui-Gon Jinn, and Ahsoka's immortal force birb.

"...so, what's the reason for the farce, Obi-Wan?" "How in all the hells did you figure it out so quickly?"

(Qui-Gon cheated a bit. He could feel the broken training bond that was never properly severed due to Traumatic Death Of A Master on Ben's end)

Ben didn't realize he'd feel it! Young Obi-Wan can't feel his older self or a training bond with Anakin or Ahsoka, so why could Qui-Gon?

IDK if there would be anything on the level of crying and hugging it out, but I think it would be very funny if, every time young Obi and Anakin are getting captured by pirates or something, Ben and Qui-Gon are just having a nice afternoon tea and checking their watches to see if their respective walking bundles of neuroses are done with their adventure yet.

The Council is So Done, because Qui-Gon continues to insist that they're Not That Bad, but every time anyone other than Qui-Gon brings up the friendship, Ben laughs and makes a comment about how absolutely gullible Master Jinn is.

Obi-Wan is skeptical of his own experiences with Anakin, at least, if only because he's skeptical about Anakin's everything.

"I don't know if Vader is telling me the truth. I don't know if he's telling himself the truth. I don't think he's a great source of information even when he thinks he's being honest."

Anakin could tell Obi-Wan the full and complete truth, and Obi-Wan would worriedly put a hand to his forehead and start doing tests for hallucinations and paranoid delusions. In his defense, this is a very reasonable assumption to make with an individual like Anakin. It's just also not accurate, this time. I don’t know if Anakin hallucinates in canon without a weird inciting incident like Force Nonsense or getting drugged by the enemy, but paranoid delusion is pretty much all of RotS.

"I’m your time-traveling padawan who’s pretending to be a Sith to catch some other Sith who’re going to start a galactic civil war and those Mandalorians you like are from a clone army based on a template of Jango Fett made to serve the Jedi (because that’s totally something he’d sign up for), and one of the Sith is your grandmaster but he doesn’t seem to have fallen yet, it’s probably fine," is hard to believe.

Honestly, even if he seemed stable before saying that, which he doesn’t, it’s all real far fetched. There's a lot going on and Obi-Wan wouldn't even begin to believe it without evidence.

I've had it in my head that he and Bant and Quinlan have been gossiping about the mess for months if not years about these idiots, and at one point it became common knowledge that Ben was a Kenobi, and Bant convinced them (since the two were among the most likely in the entire Order to encounter the Fake Sith) to get a DNA sample, probably hair or blood since that's easiest so they can figure out HOW these two are related, if they are, and then there's a whole big thing.

Bant: No, no, this must be contaminated, it's coming up as Obi-Wan! Are you sure you didn't accidentally grab some of your own hairs? I know it's a little long for most of your hair, but the braid-- Quinlan: Wait, they keep claiming stuff about cloning, right? Maybe someone's a clone? Check for artificial telomeres! Bant: ...okay, so, there aren't any artificial telomeres, but the ones from apparently-Ben are... a lot shorter... um... I don't know what to do with this. It's like I have two samples from the same person, twenty years apart. Quinlan: Obi-Wan, what's that face? Why are you-- Obi-Wan: Vader told me he was a time-traveler. I thought it was the fever talking, but...

That’s how he finds out that Ben is future-him before finding out about how he’s not evil!

"Master Jinn... I think... I think the Sith controlling the Outer Rim is me from the future." "Oh, you finally figured it out?" "I AM HAVING A CRISIS HERE."

Obi-Wan, after a few hours of dazed realization, runs screaming to Quinlan and Bant like 'GUYS GUYS THIS EXPLAINS WHY VADER KEPT SAYING IT WAS WEIRD AND THAT I LOOK LIKE HIS MASTER AND THAT IT WOULD BE LIKE DATING HIS DAD.'

You know, the important stuff.

I think Qui-Gon tells him that Ben isn't evil because, like, That Sure Is A Crisis Obi-Wan's Having. He could hold off for shits and giggles, sure, but Obi-Wan’s on the edge of something Really Concerning, mentally. Best help calm him down on at least one or two things.

Obi-Wan’s maybe still a little skeptical until he confronts them over it. Because their Sith act was real good and also like. Maybe Qui-Gon just wants to believe the best of his Padawan, y’know?

Quinlan runs into Ben before Obi-Wan does, after this whole mess, and gets to observe as money changes hands and people act like sore winners about bets made for When Does Obi-Wan Figure It Out.

Anakin was saying 'soon' because he really didn't think the fever-fueled rant would be discounted as easily as it was.

Cody was of the opinion that it would take at least a few more years since they're actually pretty damn good at this whole schtick.

Quinlan: Wow, he's... going to be really disappointed that you have such a low opinion of his intelligence. Cody, gesturing at Ben: Experience. Darth Ben: ಠ_ಠ

Cody just rattles off some of the Extremely Stupid Shit that Ben's done in their time working together.

Rex cheerily offers up "You didn't even realize General Skywalker was married, sir! And they weren't subtle!" "I knew they were together, I just didn--" "Everyone knew they were together, sir. Everyone."

(Rex had the lowest opinion of their deductive capabilities. He claims it would have taken until Baby Ahsoka showed up at the Jedi Temple.)

-Once Obi-Wan accepts that they're decent people after all- Obi-Wan: Wow, Anakin, you're real good at acting unhinged! Anakin: Haha. Yeah. Thanks?

[stopiteatpopcorn]

Christmas with the skater boys

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Fandom: SK8 The Infinity

Characters: Lee!Reki, Ler!Langa

⚠️THIS IS A TICKLE FIC SO IF YOU DON’T WANNA SEE THAT, 

YOU HAVE BEEN RANDO WARNED⚠️

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It was a dark cold night, snow was falling all around the houses and skate park. A particular blue and red duo were all huddled up in warm blankets, mugs filled with hot chocolate and a random Christmas movie playing on the tv. So far all was calm in the Hasegawa household, but occasionally the sound of quiet snickers could be heard from Reki, as he replayed a video on his phone over and over again. Langa glared at him with a playfully annoyed look and poked him in the side, to which the redhead responded with a jolt and dropped the device. 

“Reki- What’s so funny that you just have to interrupt the movie with it?” 

“Ihit’s nothing! You don’t need to worry about it!”

“Well whatever it is, you should put it down and focus on what we’re watching.” 

He said, accompanied by another few pokes to his friends side again.

“Hehey- Okahahay I’m puhutting it dohown!” 

“Thank you.”

And once again the room was silent…..Except the sound of the video playing again. Fine. If Reki wanted to laugh then Langa would give him a better reason to. He slowly and quietly crawled over before grabbing Rekis leg and scribbling under his trapped knee with his free hand. 

“EEEP- Lahahanga whahat the heheheck?! Lehehet gohoho!” Reki squealed out, trying to kick him away or free himself, but he was stuck. 

“What do you mean? I’m not doing anything- Could you maybe keep it down though- I mean I get the movie is funny- but I’m trying to watch it too!” Langa smirked, continuing the light scribbles although his eyes were still focused on the TV, as if to sell his façade. 

“Lahahanga I meahehehean it!” Reki held his hands over his mouth to try muffle his laughter, only for that to fail when Langas hands crawled up to his sides again. “EheheHEHE NahAHa Dohon’t!” Eventually Langa had enough pretending and just pounced, not even trying to hide the smirk on his face anymore. 

“Well then tell me what the video was and why it’s so funny? You clearly wanna laugh so I’m just giving you a better reason!” Langa mentioned, genuinely wanting to get an answer but still having fun turning Reki into a giggly mess. He decided to switch to his tummy as if to emphasize his point, which drove the boy up a wall.

“Ihehehehe-I-AHAHA FIHIHINE- IT WAHAHAS A VIHIDEO OF YOU FAHAHALLING WHEHEN YOU TRIED TO SKAHAHAHATE OHOHON THE IHIHICE! NOHOHOW STAHAHAHAHA-!” Suddenly Langa froze for a moment, to Rekis relief. But the feeling was short lived as Langa looked up with a face one could only describe as “utterly terrifying”. Reki decided his best option was to run, so he did, quickly followed by Langa of course.

“DELETE THAT!” 

“NEVER!! YOU’LL HAVE TO PRY IT FROM MY COLD HANDS!”

“FINE YOU ASKED FOR IT!”

And suddenly the house was filled with laughter once more. Maybe that video wasn’t that important or bad but who cares- to be honest, Langa doesn’t really mind it but he might as well have fun with this while it lasts. He was glad he could spend Christmas together with Reki and it were times like these that really stuck. Suddenly feeling so carefree and being more open and lively. Maybe it was just Rekis personality rubbing off on him, but every moment with him felt special. He didn’t know what he was getting into at the beginning of all this, but he knows one thing. He was happy he met Reki and the sk8 gang and he hoped the next year would be even better than the last. 

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A/N: HIHI IT”S RANDO HERE AGAIN COMING OUTTA HIS CAVE FOR SQUEALING SANTA 2022!! @artymiswritesfics I was your Secret squealing Santa this year!! I hope you enjoy reading this cause I definitely enjoyed writing it too!! Merry Christmas to you and anyone else reading this and I hope all your Christmas wishes come true!!  

EDIT: I KNEW I WAS FORGETTING SOMETHING- @squealing-santa THIS WAS SUCH A FUN EVENT AND I WILL DEF BE PARTICIPATING NEXT YEAR!! IT’S BOTH GOOD MOTIVATION TO CONTINUE WRITING AS WELL AS THE FACT IT’S JUST NICE TO WRITE FOR SOMEONE AS A SURPRISE >:D AND THANK YOU @hypahticklish FOR HOSTING :D