#(even though he’s technically not a clown...) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

genericpuff · 4 months

Text

All That Glitters is Not Feminism - An Analysis of LO's Brand of "Feminism" and What Remains of its Fanbase (The Twist)

Alright y'all, I've been waiting a hot minute to talk about this because I wanted to see how it fully panned out before saying anything about it. And it's not even specifically about LO, but I do think it's very adjacent to it in a way that I'm sure you'll be shocked to hear. Much of it speaks to how we prop up white writers even at the expense of POC.

This is 'the twist' attached to my first post that I made just a couple hours ago that concerns an entirely other topic but I feel ties into this subject very well.

If you haven't heard, there's this author who recently fucked around in the Del Rey publishing scene.

Her name is Cait Corrain.

In the original tweet calling this person out, names were not dropped, but it was made very clear that what Cait did was unacceptable behavior.

You can read the entire thread that started it all from Xiran here:

There's also a GREAT recap thread from one of the affected authors, Bethany Baptiste:

I want to make it clear that Cait Corrain isn't just a debut author.

Cait Corrain is - or now, was (foreshadowing is a literary device that-) - a debut author who had an agent, a publishing deal with Del Rey (an imprint of Random House which is a MAJOR publisher) and even an upcoming Illumicrate deal - meaning, her book was going to be packaged in a monthly loot crate subscription shipped directly to people's doors, quite possibly one of the best marketing deals a debut author could ever get, usually unheard of in this industry. All the pre-reviews were strong and positive.

Cait's book was literally set up for success. All she had to do was sit back, relax, and watch the fruits of her labors roll in. She had written the book. It was ready for release. The hard part was technically over.

But I guess the racism brainrot got to her because as it turns out, since April - for EIGHT MONTHS - she's been making alternate accounts on GoodReads to review bomb the indie and debut works of her friends and peers, most of whom were POC and did not have the same opportunities set up for them as she did. There are loads of receipts to back this up that you can find in those above threads ^^^

To say that this is appalling is an understatement. This was an intentional and deliberate act of racism by a white queer writer who claimed to be "jealous" - of what, I can't imagine - so much so that she deliberately sabotaged her peers, people who had supported her and her book.

And then when she got caught? She doubled down on it and claimed it was a "friend", also an alternate account she made up.

The exchange between her and this made-up person is actually the funniest shit out of this entire thing, it's so poorly written and as soon as people noticed the time stamps were out of order, that was when it truly cemented her newfound clown status.

"oooooh he's standing right behind me, isn't he?" energy right here LMAO

yes keep expositing cait, that's really selling the "this is a genuine conversation that really happened with a real person" bit 🤡

Anyways, it became abundantly clear that Cait was just going to continue to dig her heels in over something she caused.

This has been a hot topic in the UnpopularLO Discord, not just because of how crazy of a situation it is that we had to talk about it - and we have people within the community who work in the literature and media sector - but because we noticed one very telling thing in the list of series that she had review bombed in her very own personal act of wrath.

You see, Cait made one fundamental mistake that led to her undoing - she didn't just review bomb the works of her peers, she positively reviewed her own book and others.

What's her book about though?

It's an Ariadne x Dionysus retelling set in space.

It's literally another "modern retelling" of Greek myth.

And wouldn't you know it, guess who else created a modern retelling of Greek myth that she included in her positive review raiding while she was sabotaging the work of her actual peers?

Now, I think it goes without saying that what I'm about to say should be taken with MOUNTAINS of salt, I'm sure a lot of you are reading the headline and going, "Ugh, really? You're gonna make this about LO? Could you give it a rest already???"

I need you to understand, with the current state of Rachel's fanbase and 'modern' Greek myth literature as a whole, at this point Lore Olympus - and the works that are literally inspired by it such as A Touch of Darkness - has basically become the shopping cart litmus test of basic decency. It's like when someone says they like Harry Potter - you can't take it automatically at good faith anymore, because there isn't a whole lot separating someone who simply liked Harry Potter as a kid and still rewatches the movies from time to time from someone who fully supports the politics and agenda of J.K. Rowling. No, not everyone who still watches the movies or reads the books fondly is a TERF by default, but it's justifiably a reason for suspicion when the consequences are often too dire to risk.

There's this thing that's been happening in the LO fanbase that I frankly saw coming, but has really recently started to hit its peak. It's what I call the "Kanye Effect", where the comic has become so absurd and backwards in its misogyny and white feminism that the only people who seem to be left supporting LO are the people who are legitimate white feminists and misogynists - because all the normal level-headed people fell off the comic ages ago (or transitioned into the critical side of the community).

I mentioned it in my last post, but it bears repeating - Rachel's fanbase has literally been shipping Hera, a victim of abuse, with her abuser, Kronos. I'm really hoping a lot of them realize how fucked up that is now that Hera herself has called it what it is - abuse - within the comic, but I also can't count on the LO fanbase picking up on that or even noticing it with how quickly people swipe through it each week, it's very apparent at this point that most of LO's readers don't know how to chew their food and don't pay attention when Persephone and Hades aren't onscreen.

But I'm digressing. Or am I? We're talking about Crown of Starlight after all. The debut Dionysus x Ariadne sci-fi/fantasy romance that was quite literally advertised using Lore Olympus as its baseline-

This. This is what the ongoing cultural erasure and white feminist uwu-fication of Greek myth is doing to the literary zeitgeist surrounding Greek myth as a whole. This is why we criticize Lore Olympus and works like it that are created by disingenuous people who only seek to use the assets of Greek myth material as a way to shoot themselves up into fame and stardom. This is why we demand better standards in the literature and webcomic industry, so that people like Rachel and Cait can't use their privileges to quite literally erase the source material that they used to make themselves famous in the first place.

If anything, Cait's actions didn't just affect the people she negatively review bombed, or the people she was affiliated with, but also the people she positively reviewed. While I don't support what Rachel creates, she wasn't the only one who Cait went out of her way to review positively from her alt accounts, there were many others as evident in the Google Doc - but all this really does is tarnish the legitimacy of these books and their ratings by artificially jacking up their numbers that are advertised to others.

Making Greek myth fanfiction or fun creative retellings was never the problem, but it's now being sabotaged alongside so many other genres and mediums by toxic white individuals who can't even keep themselves from committing hate crimes, let alone create something purely for entertainment that's transparent in its illegitimacy, lest it destroy the illusion that these people are qualified to speak over those whose voices are being stifled, often by these very same people. Many of these writers get caught and are still allowed to continue what they're doing - that was certainly what we feared with Cait.

Until today.

It was revealed today that Cait's book will no longer be featured in the Illumicrate May 2024 box.

Del Rey has dropped Crown of Starlight from their publishing schedule.

Daphne Press will be hopefully following suit.

And, most telling of all, Cait's own agent has severed ties with her.

For anyone not familiar with the inner workings of the publishing industry, Cait has essentially been blacklisted. Without an agent or a publishing house, she'll have to entirely rely on her own resources through self-publishing. Unless she manages to sneak her way back in under an alias (which I wouldn't put it past her to try) she no longer has access to the mainstream publishing industry that was already guaranteed for her before she let her 'jealousy' get the better of her.

Her career was already made for her. She had a red carpet laid out for her debut. Her book was getting good pre-reviews and she had quite literally nothing keeping her from her success. The best thing she could have done was nothing. Somewhere in her head, she made up a threat that didn't exist, and sealed her fate in acting on it, a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I think in these situations such as with Cait Corrain, Rachel Smythe, and - also recently and relevant - James Somerton, we need to become increasingly aware of how white voices are still overpowering POC voices, not just in their actions, but in the opportunities they're given over others which they then use to further stifle the voices of those they feel "threatened" by or feel entitled to speak over. While neither James nor Rachel have used sock puppet accounts to "take out the competition" (at least as far as we know lmao) James did quite literally steal the words and voices of queer writers who were deserving of their time in the spotlight, and Rachel's work is being quoted as "rewriting Greek myth" as if its blatant gentrification and appropriation should be marketed as some sort of positive.

It's all too common for these deeply-rooted prejudices to rear their ugly heads and for the people who carry them to act out in this way while justifying it as "jealousy" or "a mistake". This isn't jealousy. This isn't a mistake. This isn't someone "starting drama". This is genuine, targeted hate, with the intention of snuffing out the voices of others who should be empowered, not silenced.

All that time and effort, and for what? Racism and petty jealousy? It just goes to show, it doesn't matter how many opportunities you're given, how high up on the ladder you already are - it won't fix the deeply-rooted insecurity and racial pettiness that spurs people on to do such horrible things.

I've spent enough of my time and words today talking about Cait, and James, and Rachel. So to end this off, I want to join in with all the others who have highlighted the books that were review-bombed by Cait, and help in uplifting them so they can have successful debuts. I'll be pre-ordering a few of them, so I'll be happy to make dedicated posts for them in the future after they release. Please consider purchasing them for yourself if you want some new reading material <3

The Poisons We Drink by Bethany Baptiste:

So Let Them Burn by Kamilah Cole:

To Gaze Upon Wicked Gods by Molly X Chang:

Mistress of Lies by K.M. Enright

Voyage of the Damned by Frances White:

(I'm sure there are plenty others so if I missed any here, please let me know so I can add them here and check out their books!)

If there's any silver lining to this, I hope that it makes people aware of the media they consume and who it's being created by. I hope it makes people more willing to seek out the books that aren't getting the same opportunities as Cait Corrain and Rachel Smythe. I hope it's a wake-up call to the industry that matters like this need to be taken seriously and that POC writers are still being silenced under their own noses. And most of all, I hope it's a reminder that we shouldn't even need at this point that this behavior is not okay, no matter what level a person climbs to - that just because someone is part of one minority doesn't mean they're not capable of sabotaging another. It sucks that that has to be said, it sucks that despite these groups being so intersectional there are still people within them who submit to their deeply-rooted insecurities and find ways to feel threatened that they use to justify hateful behavior.

Having a platform is a privilege. It should never be weaponized against your own peers or those who you simply feel "threatened" by for no reason beyond your own imposter syndrome or doubts or internal struggles. Because as much as you may feel like you've earned where you are, that never gives you the right to weaponize your opportunities against others who were never given those same opportunities in the first place. "Feminism" is not using your power to crush "other women". "Progressiveness" is not exclusive to the progress that only benefits you.

I wish only the best to those who were affected by the actions of Cait Corrain. You deserve to be heard and seen and appreciated for the work you do and the abuse you've had to tolerate. I look forward to your debuts in 2024 <3

#cait corrain #support POC writers #crown of starlight #the poisons we drink #so let them burn #the voyage of the damned #mistress of lies #say isn't it funny how all the debut books cait tried to sabotage accurately describe her and her actions LOL #that's what we call irony #debut authors 2024 #booktok #webtoon critical #lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus

586 notes · View notes

my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 2 months

Text

I Didn't Know You Smoked

Steven Grant x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: Steven has a secret habit.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: Everytime I write something I feel myself putting on the clown make up more and more.

Warnings: Use of ‘fag’ as the British and Australian slang for cigarette, reader doesn’t smoke, blow job, fingering, p in v sex, cream pie, maybe kind of a cream pie kink from Steven if you look closely, swearing, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 2741

The scent of smoke caused you to pause midstep. You shrugged off your backpack and hung it up on the side as you walked to the kitchen and put down your shopping bag. You’d been able to start cooking when you realised you were missing a few key ingredients and had made a quick dash to the corner shop.

The smell of smoke hit you again, and even though it was very clearly cigarette smoke your mind quickly spiralled to smoke from a fire. Shit. Had you left a candle on in the bathroom?

You’d lit one when you had a bath after work, the image of the flame somehow catching the towels and running up the walls burst into your head.

You rushed to the bathroom, yanking open the door with such a force that the hinges groaned under your exertion.

Steven practically jumped out of his skin, whipping his head around to look around at you, his eyes wide. “What the fuck?” He yelps.

“Shit, Steven, sorry, I thought I’d left a cand…” You pause, and truly take in the scene before you.

He’s stood on the toilet, crouched a little so that he can reach the tiny top part of the window that actually opens. There’s a cigarette in his left hand. You can just see it from your angle. Steven’s hand outside in the cool evening air.

“You’re smoking?” There isn’t any judgement in your voice, just surprise.

“Yeah, fuck, sorry,” he turns to hastily blow smoke out of the window, practically trying to shove his whole face outside before he grabs the old jar from were he had propped it on the window sill and stubs out his cigarette hastily. He puts the butt in there after and screws on the lid.

You’d seen that old jar on his desk plenty of times. Just assumed it was filled with odds and ends. You didn’t realise it was his secret ashtray.

The sight of him blowing out the billow of smoke is kind of… nice actually. Despite his obvious panic there’s something about it you can’t quite put your finger on. You shake your head.

“No, don’t worry, I just… didn’t know you smoked?”

Jake smoked, you could set your watch to his cigarette breaks; they were so precise. But he would always, without fail, go outside. Rain or shine, freezing cold or oppressive heat. He didn’t seem to mind if the lift was broken or not, outside he would go and the butt would go in the bin on the street after. Never on the floor. Jake was a stickler for that, had got into more than one verbal (and physical) fight with strangers who just flicked their fag onto the pavement.

Marc had smoked, several years ago. But had quit and never touched another one since. It always used to puzzle him when he had the craving for one after not smoking for over a decade.

Most other ex-smokers he spoke to talked about being revolted by cigarettes once they had fully stopped for a few years. Now that he knew about Jake, and his continuing habit, whenever the urge got too strong he just tapped out and let Jake go for a cigarette. (Marc still argued that smoking was bad for them, while Jake countered that technically Khonshu’s suit healed any damage every time they wore it. Which had led to a very lengthy debate over if Jake’s true reasoning for serving the moon god was so that he didn’t have to quit his nicotine fix.)

They didn’t smoke often, and Jake went more than out of his way to minimise any smell that clung to them. But it meant that you never found it puzzling if they smelt like smoke. It just meant Jake had had one.

Steven had never mentioned smoking himself, in fact he often scolded Jake for it.

“I don’t smoke, I mean,” Steven blushed a little, his shoulder slumping. “Well, that’s a lie, innit? I smoke… sometimes?”

“Sometimes?” You repeat with a small smile.

“Sometimes… just sort of,” he shrugs. “Feel the urge sometimes. I used to… before I met Marc and Jake, once or twice a month, just one fag, you know? I hid a packet under the sink.”

“Under the sink?” You laugh kindly and Steven smiles and nods.

“Yeah, here,” he gets down off the toilet and points at a little space under the taps. “And then I’d smoke out the window so I didn’t set the alarm off or stink out the place. I tell you, I used to always get confused because sometimes I would smell a bit like smoke, even though I hadn’t touched them in weeks.” He shrugs again. “I thought that’s just what happened.”

You chuckle. “And you still sneakily have a fag every now and then.”

He nods and grins bashfully, “every now and then… I know I should be good and go outside like Jake does but… it’s like, part of the ritual now. You know? Stand at an awkward angle and half hang my head out of the window. Wouldn’t feel right otherwise… plus sometimes I just can’t be fucked.”

You laugh loudly and he smiles, glad that his little joke amused you.

“Marc and Jake don’t know…” He says shyly.

You nod and mime zipping your lips and he grins again.

“Thank you, love.”

You lean to give him a quick kiss but he pulls back a little.

“Sorry, I mean, I definitely taste like smoke, disgusting, you don’t want that do you? No.” He shakes his head. “I’ll brush my teeth.”

You screw your face up a little in what Steven at first assumes is agreement at not wanting to kiss him while he tasted of cigarettes.

You let out a little grumble and take hold of his cheeks, holding him firmly as you place a kiss on his lips.

Even though the action is brief he does taste like smoke. And it’s kind of… nice again. A strange little spark of heat begins to grow in your belly and suddenly you can’t get the idea of fucking Steven with a cigarette dangling between his lips out of your mind.

The way you know he would writhe and whimper, biting down on the butt to try his hardest to stop it from slipping out of his mouth.

He moans low against you as you slide your tongue against his, spreading that smokey flavour across your taste buds.

“Hmm,” he pulls back just a fraction to speak, even though his hands slide to your hips to pull you closer. “What’s gotten into you, love?” He grins.

“Nothing,” you mumble and kiss down his jaw, running your teeth over his neck and leaving sloppy bites.

Steven shivers, a little gasp of air hitching in his throat as he urges you even closer. You bump against his quickly hardening cock and he groans, bucking his hips forward to rut against you. Kissing his neck was always his weak spot. Practically guaranteed to get him hot under the collar at a second's notice.

He whines a little as you move away from him for a momentarily, his fingers tighten instantly against you, trying to keep the space between your bodies to a minimum.

“Here,” you grab at the cigarette packet on top of the cistern, and pull one out before you offer it to him.

Steven raises his eyebrow at you.

“Just, erm, can you put it in your mouth?”

He pauses for a second, chewing at his bottom lip nervously. “I don’t want to smoke in front of you love, if I’m messing up my own lungs then-”

“No, no, you don’t have to light it… just…”

His eyes widen ever so slightly and a small smile pulls at his lips. “You like it, huh?” He teases softly.

“No.” Heat burns at your skin but you can’t help but laugh lightly. “...yeah.”

He chuckles and takes the cigarette, nuzzling into your cheek. “Alright, but… let’s not tell Jake about this, yeah?”

You raise your eyebrow at him this time. “And why is that?”

“Oh,” Steven shrugs, moving the cigarette between his fingers in an almost hypnotic pattern, “no real reason.”

“Really?” You grin.

“Hmm,” he smiles playfully, “Jake gets lots of things.”

“Does he?”

“Yeah… and maybe I want this to be my thing.” He kisses you quickly before he puts the cigarette in his mouth and leans close to your ear. “I bet if I stuck my hand down your trousers my fingers would come back soaking, wouldn’t they?”

“Steven,” you try to chastise but your voice comes out all whiney and desperate. You can’t take your eyes off the way the cigarette just hangs from the corner of his mouth, bobbing with every word.

He chuckles, taking it from between his lips so he can kiss you roughly, and hold the back of your neck with his other hand.

You lick hungrily into his mouth and push him back against the wall, trying to regain some control over yourself and the situation.

He lets you, in all honesty he always lets you do whatever you wanted, smiling the whole time when you pull back like the cat that got the cream. “Never thought you’d have a smoking kink, love.” He puts the cigarette back in his mouth.

“It’s not a smoking kink,” you scowl playfully and drop to your knees.

“No?” He teases lightly, pretending to take a long drag.

“No.” You unbuckle his jeans, pulling down the zip and relishing the sound of his contented sigh as you palm his cock.

There’s a little wet patch of precum already soaking into his boxers from the tip, a visual cue of how desperate he is despite his quite commendable effort at seeming calm. His dick twitches as you touch him, as you languidly push his trousers and underwear down his hips and take his length in hand.

“No,” you repeat, “I have a you smoking kink.” You give him a little smile as you look up at him before you run the tip of your tongue along his velvet warm length.

He shivers, letting out a small cry of satisfaction as his eyes close and eyebrows pinch together. The sight of him pressing his head back against the tiles with the cigarette at the edge of his mouth sends a sharp thrill down your spine.

You lap at his slit, board, flat licks that have him shaking and squirming in no time as you lightly squeeze and pump him from the base.

He tries to stay still, to let you play and tease at your own pace for as long as possible. But his self control is rapidly dissolving.

By the time you suck his bulbous head into your mouth he’s practically crawling up the walls. He groans low in his chest, glancing down so he can watch you slowly bob your head back and forth, taking him deeper and deeper each time.

You moan around him, trying to open your jaw and take him further but he’s so thick it’s nearly impossible.

Heat burns distractingly at your core and you can’t sit still, shifting on your knees to rub your legs together to try to relieve a fraction of that maddening ache.

He wants to grab you by the back of the neck and force his cock down your throat, wants to buck and trust and cum so deeply until he spills from your lips.

Instead he bites his teeth together, almost severing the cigarette in two and claws at the tiles as bliss twists and grows in his stomach.

You manage to take him a fraction deeper, your throat aching as you pick up the pace, squeezing his thighs and swirling your tongue around his tip as if your life depended on it, as if his pleasure was the only way for you to breathe.

His stomach muscles clench, balls contract and you can tell he’s painfully close by the little whimpered moans that slip past his lips with every breath. You’re about to-

Suddenly he grabs hold of your chin, pulling you back off him and groaning at the trail of salvia that connects him to your mouth. He pulls you up and into his arms with a rare show of his strength and kisses you deeply, the cigarette falling to the floor.

“Steven,” you moan, the sound muffled by his lips.

“Off, off, off,” he mutters, undoing your trousers and pulling off your top and bra. He strips you so fast it makes your head spin, and then he’s sitting on the toilet lid and pulling you down onto his lap to straddle his thighs.

Your hands fly to his shoulders and you have just enough time to tug his t-shirt over his head before he presses two thick fingers into your entrance.

You moan, keening as he curls them, the sensation like lightening along your nerves and Steven swears.

“Oh god, you’re so fucking ready for me,” he mumbles, salivating as he sticks his fingers in his mouth and pushes you down onto his needy, weeping cock. His hips instinctively buck up as his tip notches in your entrance, sheathing himself halfway.

You moan, high pitched and throwing your head back as he stretches you deliciously. You barely have a second to adjust before he grabs your hips and forces you all the way down and it’s perfect. So full and hitting so wonderfully deep that you gasp. You can feel your slick gushing out of you, making a mess of him as he bounces you on his cock.

He groans, eyes glazed over, blurting out fragments of sentences with every thrust. “Can’t believe you like me smokin’ that much, fucking amazing, so wet, squeezing me so tight, ah,” he moans loudly, pushing his forehead against yours and kissing you messily, so hungry for every part of you.

You gasp against him, meeting his powerful thrusts with your own and chasing that sweet release so desperately.

“Gonna fucking smoke everyday, become a chain smoker just so I can always have you whining on my cock, every single second, just keep you filled up and- oh shit!” Pleasure cracks into his being, surprising him with its suddenness and intensity. He moans loudly, rutting against you as he pumps you full of his spend. His skin sweaty, his hair clingy to his forehead as his hips slow and he comes down from his high.

Steven looks up at you with dark eyes, “fuck, sorry.” He kisses you sweetly, still breathing hard.

“It’s okay,” you stroke his head and he preens up into your touch. Your thighs twitch, your need still thudding hard and making you squirm ever so slightly.

Steven hisses softly at the movement, overstimulation flooding his mind with both pain and pleasure.

“Sorry, I-”

“Keep moving,” he groans, pressinging his face against your shoulder and lightly biting your skin. “Cum on me.” He mutters, keeping his left arm wrapped around your waist while he snakes his right hand down between your bodies and rolls your clit between his nimble fingers.

You gasp and whine lightly. Rocking yourself up and into his touch.

Steven moans again, mouthing at your skin and the wet mess between your legs as you move. He thrusts upwards shallowly, rubbing you in perfect time.

“Steven,” you pant, squirming as your legs start to spasm, the pleasure so close it’s on the tip of your tongue.

“That’s it love,” he whispers so softly, “that’s it.” He looks up at you with his large doe eyes, completely enraptured with you in that moment. “You can do it.”

You cry out, so, so close it’s driving you mad. The pull of his fingers, the rock of his hips, the fact that he’s still hard inside of you and pushing so deep.

“You can cum for me,” he bites his bottom lip, his voice like silk. “Can’t you?”

Pleasure spikes up and overtakes you, blossoming out and hitting every nerve. You moan, quieting yourself ever so slightly by pressing your lips to his and kissing him messily.

Steven echoes the sound as you cum, your walls squeezing him so tightly and sending an aftershock of deep satisfaction through his veins.

You breathe heavily as you calm, and he hugs you tightly, grinning and still looking up at you with those beautiful eyes.

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @romanarose @pimosworld @jake-g-lockley @saturn-rings-writes @boredzillenial @lonelyisamyw-0love @melodygatesauthor @steven-grants-world @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @queerponcho

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

#moon knight events #moon knight bingo 2024 #steven grant #moon knight #moon knight mcu #steven grant x reader #x reader #steven grant x you #x you #steven grant x female reader #x female reader #steven grant x f!reader #x f!reader #steven grant x fem!reader #x fem!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

312 notes · View notes

yukidragon · 4 months

Text

Sunny Day Jack - Drunk Headcanons

First ramble of the new year. Whoo! I was considering what would be fitting, then I wound up thinking about all the drinking that happens at New Years’ parties and figured, why not go with some drunken headcanons?

Content warning: this post contains talk of drinking, negative experiences with drinking, being drunk, and maybe some smut as well.

Talking about drunk headcanons also gives me the excuse to break out the drunk Jack art drawn by the ever awesome Sauce, since it’s very relevant. Credit as always goes to them for their amazing work and for being cool with me using their art in my rambles about the awesome characters they’ve created.

Isn’t Jack such a cute drunk? Funny how he’s only drunk when MC is though… possibly. After all, pictures like these don’t technically count as canon unless they’re in the game or on one of the official Sunny Day Jack pages, which you can find conveniently listed here.

Speaking of, why not consider supporting the SnaccPop Studios Patreon? If you sign up, you’ll get to see all sorts of exclusive pieces of art and sneak peeks at the lore, as well as amazing audio dramas. It’s well worth joining, in my humble opinion. Just remember to please not share anything privately posted on the patreon. Reposting paid content only hurts the team.

Anyway, back to the topic of drunk Jack, and specifically the teaser art by Sauce that may or may not be canon still.

I’ve talked about this picture before, particularly what it suggests for Jack’s powers, how it probably means he can be influenced by MC’s hormones, and how much he might be affected by MC’s state of being and vice-versa. To summarize, I believe that Jack and MC can sense how the other is feeling, both physically and emotionally, but it’s not quite as strong as the other is experiencing it, and it can be blocked out or minimized. I’ve alluded to it in Sunshine in Hell, as well as some of my short stories, especially the one where Alice is in a lot of pain.

So, as this picture suggests, if MC gets drunk, Jack does too. It makes me wonder though if he broke character and drank alcohol, he could be the one to get both of them drunk instead? The possibilities of these implications, canon to the game or not, are quite intriguing.

Of course, we can’t talk about drunk headcanons without considering what kind of drunk Jack and the rest of the crew might be. As they say, drunk words are sober thoughts, and alcohol does lower inhibitions…

Naturally, it’s kind of dangerous for a yandere character to be drunk. Self-control would be lessened, if not thrown out the window entirely if he’s totally hammered. I think Jack would be a clingy sort of drunk, hanging off his sunshine, shamelessly needing their warmth and reassurance that they love him and need him just as badly. He’s also a possessive and protective drunk, not wanting anyone else near MC. He’d probably insist on carrying them around everywhere even while he’s stumbling, though it’d take one near fall for him to decide that sitting with them in his lap is the better option. He needs to keep them safe, keep them close.

If you think Jack can be clingy normally, he is like glue when drunk, or at least I think so. Even if he was dutifully staying home like MC wanted them, once the drinks hit him through their connection, he’s got to be with them, no matter where they are. Suddenly there’s a clown in the club or party checking to see if they’re okay and wanting to take them home, hanging off them like a big warm blanket while trying to convince them to go and keep them safe from anyone that might take advantage of them.

Once agreeing to leave, Jack would probably forget about any implications or issues that might arise from carrying MC in a crowd of people. Hopefully no one is sober enough to film anything that might complicate things when he’s whisking MC away off into the night. He’s certainly not in any state to really consider consequences.

Well, maybe if they’re lucky any such videos would be assumed to be hoaxes. There’s certainly no shortage of fake “ghost” videos online. Maybe Shaun could use it to promote an upcoming movie…

Of course, if the relationship between MC and Jack is rocky, his desperation is cranked up while drunk. He needs them so, so badly.

Worse, if MC is getting physical with someone else, showing them love instead of him… Jack might not be able to hold back his yandere impulses to make sure that no one steals his sunshine away. He’d certainly have a lot of work to do once sober to convince his sunshine that he was just protecting them from being taken advantage of while drunk, especially if things escalated to outright violence. The level of intoxication, and the intensity of the moment would likely decide how far things might spiral.

Of course, you know me and how much of a sucker I am for my OTP being happy, so let’s swing back around to the fluffier extreme. If MC and Jack are in a relationship, that’s when Jack is drunkenly telling them how much he loves them, and that they should just go home together. There’s not even a token resistance to hold back his true feelings for them. He’s already got them whisked up in his arms, kissing and murmuring sweet words of love. MC is going to have a pretty hard time talking Jack into letting them stay, especially when they’d be more drunk than he is.

Naturally, the type of drunk MC becomes would affect things. Since there are way too many variables there, let’s use that as a segue to how my MC Alice is like when drunk. She’s not the biggest fan of alcohol, disliking beer, and only drinking sweet flavored mixed drinks socially before the breakup with Ian. Even then, it was rare that she got drunk at all.

After the breakup, the idea of drinking scares Alice, especially to the point of being drunk. She almost died after all. As such, the only way she’s getting sloshed in the present day is if she’s unaware that what she’s consuming has alcohol in it until it’s too late.

It’s kind of a shame, as Alice is a giggly, affectionate drunk. She stops caring about people around them and just wants to cling to her partner, giggling between kisses, occasionally gnawing on them or licking them playfully and saying silly things. Ian got quite embarrassed by how overly affectionate she was the few times she got tipsy when they were out with friends, though he certainly enjoyed the attention.

Needless to say, when Alice got drunk after finding out Ian cheated, she was anything but giggly or affectionate. Though the less said about that the better for now. Let’s keep this to fun headcanons, shall we?

Alice is also affectionate to her friends when drunk, telling them that she loves them, giving big hugs and saying what she loves about them. It was very hard on Shaun’s heart the one time he was around when Alice was drunk. She glomped onto him and told him she loved him soooooooooooo much while giggling happily~!

Of course, it was cut into by Ian crying because he was also drunk and thus more sensitive to things, so Alice went over to reassure him that she loved him mostest of all. It was a hard night for Shaun to be the sober driver.

Jack would sadly not get to experience this side of Alice. At least, not under normal circumstances. Knowing she doesn’t drink and isn’t comfortable even drinking a little bit, the moment he felt her get drunk, his protective instincts would kick into overdrive. What if someone spiked her drink? What if they had awful intentions? Even if he found out it was an innocent mistake, probably even a mixup, he would still be very concerned about her.

Well… until Alice latches onto Jack, squeezing him tight in a big hug as she tells him that she loves him. Oh how his heart would feel ready to burst, especially if they’re not together yet at the time. He longed to hear those words from her for so long… it’s just a shame that she’s saying them while drunk. Still, you better believe that his tipsy butt is going to tell her he loves her too. That would send Alice into a fit of happy giggles as she snuggles into his chest, since, let’s face it, her guilty impulses are on full display and his chest has always felt so nice and soft to cuddle.

Jack would be struggling to hold himself back and retain some sense of sobriety, to not ruin things, but it’s so hard when Alice is being so affectionate with him. Yet, he worries that her love for him isn’t the same as the love he feels for her. This is especially true if she was hugging and loving on other friends when he showed up.

Of course, even while drunk, Alice wouldn’t be open to physical contact with just anybody, only those she trusts. Being touched by someone she doesn’t know/trust would result in her fleeing to her nearest trusted friend/loved one to hide behind them, maybe even insisting they protect herrrr, and telling the person who tried to touch her to go away! Shoo! Shoo!

Naturally, if Alice was drunk while she and Jack were a couple, it would be a very strange sight for anyone else there to see her cuddling up to thin air, kissing, licking, gnawing, etc. It’d be even more outrageous to see her scooped up into the air! Hopefully Shaun isn’t there to see it and have his heart broken further. Though if he was around while Alice was drunk, and he was still sober, he would be getting her to drink water and getting her out of there since he knows she doesn’t want to drink alcohol anymore. So he’d be stepping in to help her out until Jack swooped in to steal Alice away from him… again.

Speaking of Shaun, he strikes me as a giggly drunk as well. Though he turns it more into a performance. He’s talking about stories he knows to anyone who will listen. Or anyone who is not listening, since he’d be drunk off his butt. I’m talking grand gestures, booming voice, passion thrown into it as he cries over touching moments in a movie he saw, or what he was directing. Oh, his actors killed it in the beach scene! He’ll tell you all about it, then get interrupted by a different thought halfway through the story, probably something he thinks will be a good idea for another film that he has to scribble onto a napkin. Of course, it becomes a weird scrawl that’s barely legible and makes no sense, but it was certainly exciting to him in the moment!

Of course, Shaun enjoys a good buzz. It makes him want to purr, so it’s a good tell for when he’s getting tipsy. He’s very responsible when he’s the designated sober person, but when he’s ready to cut loose, he’s a tomcat ready to play!

While Shaun is a more bubbly and fun drunk, I think that Ian is the opposite. When he has a nice buzz, he feels pretty good, but when it goes too far and he starts getting drunk… that’s when everything goes downhill. This cropped picture drawn by Sauce makes me think that when Ian gets drunk, that’s when his guilt and self-loathing hits him hard.

Poor guy needs therapy. Also, if you want to see the full picture, which is very NSFW, check it out over on Sauce’s twitter. While you’re there, send them some love for all their amazing art and characters!

I think Ian needs constant reassurance while drunk, especially from his partner. He clings to MC and feels lonely even if they’re a foot away from him. He cries at the drop of a hat, even for silly things like how tragic that is that snakes don’t have legs. Why don't they have legs? It's unfair! He’s going to be needing help not to get dehydrated from all the crying and the alcohol, and his hangover the next day is a bitch.

Needless to say, when Ian and Alice were drunk together, it was a very mushy scene. Ian would be down on himself, then Alice would smoosh his cheeks and tell him to listen to her because he is a prince. Prince Charming! No one else is better. That’d get the waterworks going, and he’d cling to her, crying. She would then start kissing his tears away.

I figure this too also happened when Shaun was around because I’m very mean with the guy and his unrequited crush. Sorry, Shaun, but it’s just too much fun teasing you, haha. Don’t worry though, he’s going to find his own happy ending in Sunshine in Hell with a partner or two who love him more than anything else in the world. Eventually.

On that note, let’s move on to the final love interest, Nick. Nick strikes me as someone who is very smooth when tipsy, but an absolute mess when sloshed. The filter is gone. He’s got opinions, and by God is he going to give them, even if they don’t really make sense. He especially has strong opinions about bad BDSM. That popular book series they made a movie about called, what was it again, 500 shades of fucked up or something? That is not BDSM. That’s abuse pretending to be BDSM. Do you have any idea what that mess has done to the BDSM community and how many people have done stupid things because of it? And don’t get him started on what an awful idea it is to tie someone up with rope from a hardware store of all places!

I see Nick as the type to start recording himself once his inhibitions are dropped. The people need to know! His thoughts have to get out there! His followers need to know the truth! This is why he makes sure that he has to put in several passwords before he can actually upload anything. He learned his lesson that he can’t trust drunk Nick with his socials the hard way. The fans are still making memes and using clips out of context from that embarrassing old video. At least he bounced back from it by joking about it even if inside he’s still dying of mortification.

Speaking of a drunk with complaints, I had the image of Barry really unloading all his grievances when he’s drunk. Fortunately, he knows better than to get sloshed with any of his employees, but if he did, they’d have a hard time escaping from him insisting that he knows what’s wrong with the service industry and customers and how the hell did his latest marketing gimmick fail?! Can’t they see how cute the new mascot is? He paid way too much to the graphic designer! Do you know what artists charge nowadays? It’s highway robbery!

Since we’re going into employees of Yogurtopia, why don’t I touch real quick on the other people on staff who I expanded upon a little in my earliest headcanon posts? Things have changed since then of course, such as the boss having an actual name now. Needless to say, I’m not going with what I came up with for that post, but let’s do a little rapid fire mode with the rest of the employees I want to use for Sunshine in Hell.

Carol is a flirty drunk, which is a big problem if she’s actually in a committed relationship at the time and the person she’s flirting with isn’t her partner. Though I’m sure she’d give her partner permission ahead of time to have sloppy drunken makeouts and sex with her.

Liz isn’t really a drinker so much as a stoner. Though if drunk they would be doodling on napkins and finding the ceiling tiles fascinating.

Susan is underage and isn’t much for breaking the rules, so it’ll be a few years yet before she’d have to worry about how she’d be as a drunk.

I know I haven’t touched on these characters a lot, but I figured why not expand on them when I can, even in small ways. If nothing else, it should make it easier for me to come up with more ideas of what parts they could play in the bigger picture of Sunshine in Hell.

Speaking of my OCs, why don’t I touch on the rest of the King family while I’m at it?

Mama Lycoris enjoys herself a nice glass of wine with good company, most notably her husband, whose name is still undecided. (I’ve narrowed it down to Eden, Seb, Luan, Yuri, or Heliotrope. Picking character names is hard sometimes.) It’s rare for her to get drunk, but when she does, she seeks out her husband, even if she just lost track of him for being out of sight. She’s the type to do the meme where she’s crying while texting them that she misses them while he was just in the bathroom. Once she finds them, she’s crawling in his lap telling them how much she loves him~

Papa King usually is the sober one at a party, embarrassed by his wife loving on them when she’s tipsy. Sometimes Lycoris pretends to be tipsy just to get him flustered. They do occasionally have a glass for a special occasion, like toasting at his anniversary or a special holiday. When drunk, they’re a sleepy sort of drunk, pretty out of it and just off in his own little happy world. They haven’t yet been drunk before though, or even gotten tipsy, as he drinks very responsibly.

Barbie isn’t one for drinking, even socially. Though that’s probably not surprising considering she’s not a very social person. If she did get drunk though, she’d be a mean drunk, eyeballing anyone who looks at her funny and ready to jump into any excuse to fight. It’s probably a good thing she doesn’t drink!

Though, I suppose if Barbie was drunk around Bo, she’ll probably let her dom side out more, ordering him around and getting a bit rough with him. Good thing Bo is a big strong alpha and can’t get drunk due to being an AI, so he’ll be able to take care of his puppy even when she’s gone a bit feral due to alcohol.

Coraline also doesn’t drink, but that’s because she can’t due to medical reasons. It interferes with her prescription medications, so it’s probably best if she sticks with non-alcoholic beverages. If she did get drunk, however, she would probably be similar to her father, being off in her own little world, looking at things as if they were fascinating. She would probably be very keenly interested in holding Elias’ head and examining his neck stump up close, which I’m sure her poor groom wouldn’t quite be comfortable with. He would have to make sure to redirect her focus elsewhere until she sobered up.

Of course, I can’t just end things there. I haven’t gushed nearly enough about Jack and Alice having some drunk shenanigans in a more specific sort of scenario. It might turn into some writing, or it might not, but it’s my post, and I can ramble on longer about my OTP if I want to.

As I said earlier, Jack would be very concerned upon noticing that he’s starting to get tipsy. At first he would probably be confused as to how lightheaded he is, until he realizes that it’s because of his sunshine’s influence. The immediate order of business after that is to find Alice and check to see if she’s okay. With lower inhibitions, it would be hard for him not to worry that someone spiked her drink or something.

While someone spiking Alice’s drink would make for some interesting drama, and a target for Jack to go yandere on for taking advantage of his sunshine… I think I’ll stick with something more innocent for this post and say that there was a mixup with her drink or Alice was unaware something someone brought at the party’s potluck had a high alcohol content until it was too late.

Though if y’all want me to chase that darker and more dramatic plot bunny of Alice getting her drink spiked by some unscrupulous character, and Jack has to save her, do let me know~ ;3

Back to the lighter scenario. While it is intriguing to imagine how torn Jack would be if Alice is loving on him while they’re not together, and she means tells him she loves him in a clearly platonic way, which wrenches his heart… At the moment, I’m more drawn to how much of a cock block it’d be for him if Alice was getting frisky with her affection and turning Jack on, forcing him to hold back his urges and stay responsible even though what he wants to do is take her and fill her with his love until her legs are too wobbly to allow her to stand anymore. He might be tipsy too, but she’s outright drunk, and he’s not going to take advantage of his sunshine in an inebriated state!

Of course, Jack’s first order of business is to get Alice home. It doesn’t matter if they’re in the middle of a party full of people, he’s carrying his sunshine home. Alice doesn’t protest being scooped up by her boyfriend, just giggling in delight before peppering his cheek and neck with kisses now that she’s in range. She also makes sure to tell Jack how she just loves him so, so, so, so, soooooo much~!

Jack does try to be discreet in getting Alice away from the party. He might be pretty tipsy, and his steps a little unsteady, but he needs to protect his sunshine. He needs to take care of her, be responsible. It’s what he’s there for after all.

It’s just a little hard for Jack to focus on walking straight when Alice keeps nipping at his skin. Her giggling tickles his ear too, and it’s hard for him not to melt when she tells him she loves him and that he tastes so sweet.

Having a hardon would also make it difficult for Jack to focus on walking straight. Poor guy. Alice doesn’t think about what she’s doing as she keeps kissing, licking, and nibbling on him, her hands wandering and squeezing his chest despite him trying to gently redirect her attention. He needs her to stop, since he can’t focus, but at the same time he really wants her to continue.

The first order of business once they get back home is to make sure Alice sobers up with some water and food. By the time they’re home, Jack feels like he’s going to go crazy. Like her drunkenness affected him, his horniness affects her, and those playful affections become more lusty as her inhibitions are lowered and the idea of teasing Jack and making him feel good becomes more and more appealing. Eventually it gets to the point that she’s being much more blatant in her teasing, such as tracing his nipples through his shirt with her fingers. Maybe even copping a feel lower down when they’re at the apartment and teasing him about the bulge in his pants.

Needless to say, Jack would be having a very hard time holding himself back. It’d almost be a relief when Alice abruptly nods off due to the alcohol. Of course, he’d have to give himself some real relief, imagining what it would’ve been like if she had sobered up so they could continue. All the while, he’s also swearing to himself that in the morning - provided Alice wasn’t in pain from a hangover - he was going to pay her back for all the love and affection she showed him tonight in spades.

The next morning, Alice is indeed hungover, though not quite as bad as she would’ve been if Jack didn’t have her eat and drink something last night. Of course, Jack is kind and cheerful, endlessly gentle and supportive of her, giving her some painkillers and making her a nice, mild breakfast. She remembers what she did last night and is too embarrassed to talk about it, just thanking Jack for helping her get home.

Though past the embarrassment, fear would slowly build as Alice woke up more and it sunk in how easy it was for her to accidentally get drunk at the party. It was so easy for her to lose control… for something to happen… Jack picks up on her worries right away and reassures her that he’ll always be there to take care of her and keep her safe. He’ll always protect her and make sure nothing bad happens to her. He made sure she got home safely last night, after all.

Jack won’t ever let Alice suffer through anything as awful as the night Ian broke her heart ever again.

Some reassurance and cuddles goes a long way, and Alice is able to let go of her fear and embarrassment to just appreciate how much Jack cares for her and takes care of her, even when the unexpected happens. She melts into his soft and reassuring kisses that soon turn hot and steamy. Suddenly the breakfast dishes are off the table, and she’s the one getting eaten by her very pent up boyfriend.

You better believe that Jack planned to feed Alice then do the deed with her as soon as possible. The moment she shows that she’s receptive to his affection, he starts enacting all the naughty fantasies that he had while giving himself relief the night before, making sure that Alice is the one being driven crazy this time. He won’t rest until she’s begging for him to make love to her. Repeatedly.

Needless to say, if Alice has work that day, she’s missing it. Jack would’ve turned her phone off after sending a text that she’s sick, just in case. There’s no way Jack is letting Barry cockblock him again. Not after he spent a night getting blueballed by a too sexy sunshine that was too drunk to make love to.

Fortunately, in the light of day and fully sober enough to consent, Jack gets to enjoy every inch of Alice, as well as a nice memory of just how fun and affectionate she gets when her inhibitions are lowered. He also has a goal to strive for, to encourage his sunshine to feel freer with him like that when they’re both fully sober so that they can enjoy every second of their lovemaking.

Well, I think that’s a good place to wrap up these drunken headcanons for now. I hope you enjoyed the silliness. It seemed like a good way to start off the year, and it certainly would be a fun start of the new year for these two!

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur

#Sunny Day Jack #Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #SunnyDayJack #sdj #swwsdj #Headcanon Ramblings #Sauce-y Art

318 notes · View notes

toournextadventure · 11 months

Text

our little secret ii

Summary: You're never one to turn down a weekend with Lorraine. But everyone seems to think it's the perfect time to remind you of the reality of the situation. At least the rodeo clowns get paid for what they do; you seem to do the job for free. At least you get to have some fun with Lorraine before resuming your Good Girl act.

Word Count: 8.5k Warnings: 18+ smut, swearing, religious trauma, religious homophobia, blasphemy Pairing: Lorraine Day x Fem!Reader (our little secret i) (our little secret ii) (our little secret iii) (our little secret iv)

"Mornin', darlin'."

You kept your eyes trained on Beau in the corral when you felt Huck's arm brush against your own before he slung it over your shoulder. Instinct had you leaning into him. He smelled like fresh sawdust and hay. Smelled like comfort.

"Mornin'," you replied softly.

"Where's your better half?" He asked. That did have you tilting your head to look up into his sparkling eyes and kind smile.

"Which one?" You asked. "RJ's?" You turned to look back at the corral. "Or ours?"

"That idjit ain't nobody's better half." You felt his body shake with a laughter that you couldn't quite hear.

"Ain't that God's honest truth," you said when his fella, bless his heart, tried to wave to the both of you and was toppled over by a stray calf.

"I meant Lorraine," Huck said once you both made sure Beau was on his feet and safe again. "She at another shoot?"

"Yeah," you sighed. Lorraine's smile flashed in your mind's eye. "Guess they're gettin' good at it cause they're gone all the time now."

"Ain't that a good thing though?" He asked. The bell rang, making you jump. You hated when they tested the damn bell. "Means they're doin' somethin' right."

"Guess so," you mumbled to yourself.

You did hope they were doing something right. Lorraine mentioned that she genuinely loved making the films; not always being in them, but the behind-the-scenes, technical side of it. Her face always lit up when she talked about it and you would never wish for her to fail even if it meant RJ had to succeed with her.

But you missed her. You missed having more than two or three days together at a time before she had to leave again. It wasn’t her fault, and you wanted her to have the successful film career she wanted, and you honestly trusted Jackson more than you trusted RJ. None of it really meant much when you couldn’t even talk to her though.

Another calf ran in front of you, beating out the wrangler once again and pulling you back to the present. Seemed they would be the winners over the weekend if they kept it up. It always made for a less than exciting rodeo if the calves kept winning. What fun was there in no one even qualifying? It wasn't like there was any real compet-

"-What the hell is he doin'?" You asked, pointing to where Beau was donning a very specific vest.

"Better not be what I think it is," Huck mumbled before putting his fingers to his lips and whistling.

Beau turned instantly, eyes landing on the both of you for only a moment before he started jogging over. His boots left the smallest cloud of dust behind him until he hopped onto the fence you were both leaning against. He instinctively went to kiss Huck before remembering where he was, redirecting the kiss to your cheek.

"What on God's green earth do you think you're doin' with that on?" You asked as you pulled him by the top of his vest.

“One of the bullfighters got hurt,” he said. “I offered to help since we don’t compete this weekend.”

“Like hell you did,” you said. Just the mere thought of him being in that corral with the bulls had your pulse racing in your ears.

“It’s one weekend, darlin’,” he said with that stupid smile that always got him into trouble. “It’ll be fun-”

“-Beauregard Callaway, you march back over there right this instant and tell them no.”

“You just got full-named,” Huck said quietly enough for only the three of you to hear.

“I can’t just quit-”

“-Huck,” you scolded, turning to look at him next. “Tell him,” you gestured your head to Beau and raised your brows, “before I full-name you next.”

Huck looked between you and Beau as if he was caught between two lions. Which he was, but he better be more afraid of you. Beau was his lover, sure, but you were the scary one. Out of your whole friend group when you were all little, you were the one capable of instilling the fear of god into anyone.

Now was no exception.

“I’d tell ‘em no, baby,” he said to Beau with a shrug.

“That the best you can do?” You scolded again.

“Darlin’, you know he don’t listen to me-”

“-That’s enough, the both of you,” Beau interrupted. “I done said yes already and it’s only one weekend.” He looked you each in the eye before he smiled. “Ain’t never been hurt before.”

“And you ain’t gonna get hurt, right Beauregard?” You asked with a raised brow.

“If the crick don’t rise,” he said with a wink at Huck before hopping off the fence and starting his walk back to the gate.

“You get hurt and I’ll kill you myself!” You shouted after him. He didn’t look back, but flipped his hand up in a half-hearted wave of acknowledgment. Huck laughed beside you and you turned to glare at him next. “You too, Hucksley.”

“Well shit, darlin’, no need to drag me into it,” he grumbled as his smile fell. “I ain’t even the one in trouble.”

“Not yet,” you said quietly before looking back out at the corral once again.

It was mid-afternoon by the time they let Beau go for the rest of the evening, convinced he was good enough for the actual rodeo over the weekend. You made sure to slap him upside the head when he came back around just as an added threat. If he got hurt, you would make it a dozen times worse without hesitation.

“We headin’ to your daddy’s again?” Huck asked when he started the truck up.

“Think so,” you said as you leaned forward between the two front seats. “Momma was s’posed to make supper.” You took note of their linked hands near the center console and smiled to yourself.

Would you ever be able to hold Lorraine’s hand out in the open like that? To just drive around, laughing and singing to the radio without a care in the world? It was finally the ‘80s, surely that had to count for something. Not that the year had anything to do with the many other reasons you weren’t with her.

You’re going to hell, your mind reminded you. It’s a sin. Right. There was a much bigger reason. It continued to eat you from the inside out, picking you apart like a kid feeding bread to the ducks at the pond. Or, what was that old story you heard back in school… Prometheus, that Greek god. The one who had his liver pecked out day after day.

Yeah. Yeah, that’s how it felt.

“Seems your favourite family came over too,” Beau said when he parked the car in front of your house beside the Days’ van. Well, RJ’s van.

“Fantastic,” you mumbled and rolled your eyes.

You didn’t wait for them as you stormed out, slamming the door so hard it shook the truck. No waiting as you stomped up the porch steps, standing outside with your hand on the door handle and taking the moment to just breathe. Daddy couldn’t see you losing it, because what could you possibly say to explain it?

Hey daddy, sorry I’m upset, I’m just tired of seeing the girl I love be with a man that can help her achieve her dreams. Yeah, because that would go over so well.

The moment your breathing had evened out enough to be considered normal, you entered the house to hear excessive talking and laughter. Typical for your household, and it actually brought a smile to your lips. You could hear your parents, and the Days, and the dogs were yappin’ and it was a wonderful atmosphere.

But when you stepped through the kitchen doorway and saw Lorraine sitting on RJ's lap, that sinking feeling settled in your stomach again. He's her boyfriend, you tried to reason, Huck has to watch Beau do the same thing. But that didn't ease the ache from every breath.

"Evenin', y'all," Huck said when he and Beau creeped up behind you. He patted your shoulder lightly before squeezing by you to make his rounds.

"How was setup?" Your daddy asked when Beau shook his hand.

"Smooth as ever," Beau answered with a grin that made your daddy smile.

It made you sick.

"Momma, can I help?" You asked as you walked over to where she was cooking. You didn't want to listen to everyone's conversations.

It was impossible to stop yourself from cocking your head to listen whenever Lorraine spoke. You wished she would speak louder; she was always far too quiet even when she was the most comfortable. A soft voice for a soft girl, your momma had said one day before Lorraine went off to college.

She still tried to hide her face, but not quite so much in your house. Maybe it was the atmosphere everyone created, or just the fact everyone knew it to be a “house of God himself,” thanks to your daddy. You didn’t know, all you knew was you preferred to be in either yours or her house; at least she let you see all of her that way.

Jimmy, Liz, and Roy came in from the back door while you were helping your momma set the food on the table. Jimmy and Liz were all over each other, which was no surprise, and he got a nice smack to the head with momma’s dish towel. Roy on the other hand looked utterly exhausted. Something which was also no surprise.

When your momma announced dinner was ready, everyone took their seats at the large table in the dining room. Huck and Beau sat together, of course, and so did all the other couples. Leaving you to sit with Roy, who gave you a small, reserved smile with a far away look in his eyes.

“Hey, bubba,” you said quietly while everyone else was still talking far too loud.

“Alright y’all,” your daddy said in his booming preacher’s voice, “join hands so we can pray.”

You all did exactly that. Beau gently grasped your left hand while Roy held your right in a vice grip. As your daddy prayed, you could feel the little bones in your hand shift when Roy gripped you tighter, and you knew it would be bruised tomorrow morning. But it seemed to help even his breathing, so you kept your mouth shut until daddy was done.

“Amen,” your daddy said, and everyone mumbled their own amens to follow suit.

Everyone started serving themselves, conversations flowing steadily and easily over the sound of utensils against plates. The dogs were smart, they stayed under the table in between yours and Roy’s legs. They knew you two were most likely to feed them, and what do you know, you always did. You tried to be sneaky about it, hushing them up when they smacked too loud.

Roy didn’t care, he just shamelessly gave them whatever he didn’t want.

“How’s the film business goin’, RJ?” Your daddy asked. You nearly choked on your food at the question.

“Good,” RJ answered with a slow nod as he finished chewing. “I’m hopin’ to have another one finished in a few weeks.”

“Am I ever gonna get to see one of them films?” Your daddy asked.

“Absolutely not,” you said quickly. Far too quickly. Everyone turned to look at you with a mix of emotions. “It just- it ain’t your style,” you tried to explain; a bead of sweat dripped down the back of your neck. “Not a Western, you know?”

“Hmm,” your daddy hummed. “You’re right then, I’ll pass.”

Everyone in the younger group sighed in relief, more than happy that your daddy had agreed with you. Conversation flowed again, going from the rodeo to Lorraine’s college to Jimmy’s seminary. Never to you or Roy, who everyone had determined over the last few weeks was going to stay put. You were no longer going to seminary because someone had to lead the church, and Roy was staying because he had lost his mind.

A typical situation.

“All I know is y’all better be careful out there,” your daddy said. He always seemed to be the voice that brought you out of your own thoughts. It probably meant something deeper that you didn’t want to think too hard about. “The world is turnin’ into a dangerous place.”

“It’s always been dangerous, Pap,” Jimmy chuckled. “We just got more TV and radio to tell us about it.”

“I’m serious, Jim,” your daddy said. “I don’t want none of y’all to get mixed up with those crowds out there.”

“And what crowds would that be, daddy?” You asked. All of you had half-hidden smiles because he usually had something ridiculous to say that you would all agree to and then laugh about later.

“Those damn homosexuals, for one,” he said with a grimace. Everyone around the table froze.

Your eyes stayed glued to the fork you had just stabbed into a potato. The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you felt everyone staring, looking around at each other in uncomfortable silence. With your pulse rushing in your ears and your heart threatening to jump out of your chest, you swore everyone else could hear it too.

“Gonna be infectin’ us with their disease if we don’t watch out,” he continued as if he didn’t care how everyone had stopped moving. “Y’all better stay away.”

“They’re just people, Pap,” Jimmy said in a small voice. A blackness started to encroach on your vision.

“Dangerous, Godless people,” your daddy said. “Which is why y’all have to stick together.”

“They’re still kids Robert-”

“-Stay right by God,” he interrupted your momma. "All of y'all are in good, Godly relationships,” you could feel him looking at you but you still couldn’t look up. It felt like the room was closing in on you. "Stay that way."

“We’ll be careful,” RJ said, his voice putting a lump in your throat that you couldn’t swallow.

“Keep him around, Lorraine,” your daddy said. “He’ll take care of you-”

-you slammed your hands on the table and stood up. The ringing in your ears was drowning everything out and that blackness was covering more and more ground. You could feel each individual grain of the wooden table underneath your fingertips.

He’ll take care of you.

“I ain’t feelin’ too good,” you said around the invisible ball of cotton in your mouth. “May I be excused?”

“Sure, honey-”

-you didn’t wait for your momma to finish talking before you left the kitchen through the back door, your feet taking you straight to the barn. He’ll take care of you. Why did he have to say that? Why did he have to say that in front of you? Wasn’t it enough that you had to break bread with RJ without getting it thrown in your face?

He'll take care of you.

You bit back the scream threatening to claw up your throat until you tasted blood. It filled your mouth until you swore you would choke on it. Part of you hoped you would; give you an excuse to end the mental anguish that constantly flooded your thoughts.

He’ll take care of you.

Like hell he would. Like hell. He couldn’t even take care of himself, how could anyone even possibly think he could take care of Lorraine? All he was was a wannabe filmmaker that wouldn’t even dare show y’all his films. So how on god’s green earth would he take care of Lorraine? Your Lorraine?

The dull thud of your boots on the dirt transitioned to the whispered slap of concrete when you walked through the barn doors and everything stopped. Stepping into the barn was like stepping into another world; all the noise and troubles from the outside ceased to exist, even if just for a few moments.

It was replaced by the smell of gravel, dirt, and oil. Occasionally sawdust depending on the time of year. The separation was in the temperature drop, thanks to the partial concrete floor and huge space. There was something hypnotising about the sound of the metal walls creaking in the wind outside, yet everything was painfully still inside.

Something brushed up against your jean-clad leg and you nearly jumped from the intrusion to your thoughts. But then you took notice of the black and white tail curling around your calf and your heart rate started to lower again.

“Hey, Miss Kitty,” you mumbled as you bent down and held your hand out to the grumpy old barn cat. “You get locked in?”

She didn’t even dignify your question with a meow before walking off, her tail slinking away from your leg slowly until she was heading out the barn door. Not even a glance back to say goodbye. The complete nerve of that cat.

“I hope you done get ‘et by a coyote,” you called after her as she continued to sashay away. “Then we can finally quit pickin’ up strays.”

“Be nice to her,” Lorraine said softly, though the barn amplified it. “After all, we picked you up.”

“No, you picked RJ up,” you shot back while you straightened back up. “He just proves my point.”

“It isn’t his fault,” she said just as softly as she stepped closer to you. You took a single step back.

“No it ain’t,” you said. Stay right by God. “Clearly it’s God's.”

“Don’t go down that rabbit hole,” Lorraine warned, stepping forward again and placing a hand on your cheek before you could run away.

Her hand was soft, far too soft to be touching you. Why would she be so gentle with you when you were nothing but hidden anger and blasphemous words? And yet you wouldn’t push her away to spare her from your own sins. You wanted to pull her closer, feel her skin under your touch, have her name fall from your lips like a prayer.

“Please stay,” you whispered when you finally dared to meet her eyes.

The short nails on her fingers scratched lightly against your cheek. It was a little too light, hypnotising in the wrong way. There was nothing grounding about it, you felt like you were in a daze. You needed something more, something to drag you back down to earth where you belonged.

“Please,” you whispered again in a broken voice.

“I can’t,” Lorraine whispered back before leaning up and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Everyone is waiting.”

And that right there? That killed you.

—---

At the rate you were going, you might as well start getting paid to be the rodeo clown.

You didn’t know which one of those pea-pickin bastards had done the deed, but someone had invited Lorraine and RJ to the rodeo for the weekend. Part of you highly suspected your mother, but the bashful look on Huck’s face almost made you think it was him. Regardless of who it was, you hadn’t been prepared to deal with the both of them over the weekend.

Was getting rejected in your own barn not punishment enough? Now you had to get publicly humiliated too? Not that anyone knew of your little secret, but it still rubbed salt in the wound. At least you could be down near the corral while RJ and Lorraine were in the stands behind the safety railing. Kept them far enough away from you to relax.

And maybe gave you the perfect position to look at Lorraine, but that was just an added bonus to the situation. It was no less than you deserved for having to put up with all of them for the weekend. You could be forgiven for wanting something pretty to look at while you were having your heart ripped out.

“He looks mighty handsome today, don’t he?” Huck asked, his eyes glued to where Beau was standing around with some of the other volunteers.

“No he don’t,” you said without even looking. “Looks like he needs his ass whooped.”

“You ain’t even lookin’,” he huffed.

You turned your head to finally look where Beau was standing and, you hated to admit, he did look mighty handsome in his new jeans and shirt.

“I looked,” you said, doing your best not to smile. “Still needs his ass whooped.”

"You're so grumpy,” Huck grumbled. You turned your head back to where Lorraine was sitting and felt an icy grip enclose around your heart. "You need to get laid."

“Ain’t that the truth,” you whispered.

The rodeo continued on.

You could tell Huck was getting anxious when the team roping started. Unlike Beau, he actually used the sport in the real world on his neighbour’s ranch. A skill that Beau considered recreational, yet to Huck it was necessary. It made for a fun dynamic, you wouldn’t deny it, especially when they got into arguments about the rules and regulations. Always did make for an exciting night.

But now you could tell he just missed it. He was never one to enjoy sitting on the sidelines, even when it wasn’t his own sport. It was sweet, truly it was, but if he didn’t quit bouncing his leg on the railing and forcing you to suffer with him, you were going to throw him to the bulls. And not the sexy ones.

“I’m beggin’ you to stay still,” you groaned. You reached your hand out and pressed down on his shoulder to ground him into the dirt. “You’re worse than Jim on Christmas.”

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’,” Huck said even as you could practically feel his body vibrating from the effort to stay still. “But you are awful pretty when you beg.”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that,” you said as you did your best not to laugh at the ridiculous smile on his face.

"You askin' Lorraine to the hoedown tonight?" Huck asked once the roping was done. Now that you both had a bit of time to look away, it was the perfect time to keep talking.

"Course not," you said with a scrunch of your nose. "She's with RJ."

"Not tonight," he said with a shake of his head and a sniffle; it must have been from the dust. "He's leavin' now."

You turned when Huck gestured his head and saw he was right; RJ was in the process of packing his stuff up. He never had been one for rodeo life. Hell, he didn't even enjoy the events to begin with. All he ever wanted was to try and make a good film out of it and that just wasn't easy enough for him. It'd be a shame if someone finally told him you had to know the sport to film it well.

A damn shame, that was for sure.

"Hurry up before she leaves too," Huck said, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You opened your mouth to argue, but he pushed you forward off the railing. The dirt flew into a small cloud around your boots when you landed, and you sent him a quick glare before jogging over to where Lorraine and RJ were standing up. She seemed much more eager to stay, but you knew she wouldn't if she felt she was alone. That damn shotgun had done a number to her, physically and mentally.

"Leavin' already?" You asked as you quickly hopped up on the railing to be face-to-face with the lovely couple.

"Tryin' to," RJ said with a polite smile that said mind your business. "But we'll be back tomorrow."

"There's a hoedown tonight," you said before he could drag Lorraine away. "Me and the boys were wantin' Lorraine to join us." She turned to look at you with the slightest sparkle in her eye. "Like old times."

"Alright," RJ said without hesitation. It was evident he just wanted to get out of the stadium. Rodeos really weren't his cup of tea. "Need a ride home?"

"She can stay with me," you said before Lorraine could even open her mouth. "Also like old times."

Even though you weren't looking at her, you could feel Lorraine's eyes boring holes into the side of your head. She wasn't stupid; she knew exactly what you were doing. "Old times" just meant Huck and Beau ran off while you and Lorraine had your own fun. But there was the catch; only y'all knew what "old times" meant. Everyone else just thought you were acting like kids all over again.

Oh how sweet.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow, Raine," RJ said, leaning over to give her one more kiss. You quickly wiped the instinctive snarl off your face when he pulled away. "Y'all have fun."

"We will," you and Lorraine said at the same time.

You both watched and waited until he was out of sight before you pulled her over the railing. She yelped out in surprise before her feet hit the dirt and you could take her hand, leading her to where Huck was still waiting. He gave her his best smile and pulled her into a hug when you both got close enough.

"So we've successfully kidnapped you for the night?" Huck asked.

"Seems so," Lorraine said with a raised brow. "Would've been nice to have a warnin’ first."

"Keep your watchdog away for more than two seconds and I'll warn you next time," you said.

"He's not a watchdog," Lorraine said as you both climbed up on the railing, her in between you and Huck.

"Oh, my apologies," you said softly, "I meant your parasite."

"Oh hush up,” she mumbled as she slapped both you and Huck, who weren’t even trying to stifle your laughter. “You need to be nicer to him.”

“Actually, the Lord told me personally that I can be mean,” you said after you managed to calm your laughter down. “I ain’t one to disobey the Big Man.”

“You are a blasphemer that’s goin’ to hell,” Lorraine retorted. But the smile on her face was enough to show her intentions.

“You two are disgustin’,” Huck grumbled; he also had a smile. “Just go make out in a stall already and spare me the tension.”

“Oh hush up,” you and Lorraine said in unison.

“As if you and Beau aren’t makin’ kissy faces at each other all the time,” Lorraine continued.

“You have no idea,” you said, loving the light in her eyes when she looked at you. “You should see ‘em when we go out to eat, you’d think I was nothin’ more than last week’s sermon.”

“Laugh it up,” Huck said with a nod as he looked out at the corral. You hadn’t paid attention to the event and noticed it was finally coming to an end. About time, you thought with a smile. “Once you two get some alone time then we’ll talk.”

“We can handle ourselves much better than you two,” you said quickly, the timer going off immediately after and making you jump. Lorraine’s hand on your arm helped you settle rather quickly.

Huck opened his mouth to say something else but was soon distracted by something in the corral. You and Lorraine shared a smile when you noticed Beau was on his way over. Tease as much as you did, they were rather adorable. It was a genuine love and admiration, one that you didn’t even see in your own parents, one that you wished you could have a little more easily.

“Hey, Rainey,” Beau said as he jumped onto the fence and planted a sloppy kiss on Lorraine’s cheek. “Nice to see you unshackled for once.”

“Is this all y’all ever talk about?” Lorraine asked.

All three of you looked at each other before giving a few nods. “Yeah.”

“I changed my mind,” she said with a nod to herself, “you’re all goin’ to hell.”

“You love us,” Beau said with a grin and another kiss to her forehead. She tried to push him away halfheartedly before leaning into his touch. “What were y’all talkin’ about before I came over?”

“These fine ladies think they can keep their hands to themselves better than we can,” Huck said with a raised brow.

“That so?” Beau asked.

“God’s truth,” you said with as much attitude as you could muster. Around you, the rodeo fell into controlled chaos as everyone started setting up for tomorrow’s events.

“Then how about we have ourselves a little wager,” Beau said as he locked eyes with you.

“Lay it on me, stud,” you shot back.

“If you beautiful ladies give in first, you,” he pointed at you, “have to go watch Lorraine film her next film.”

“Wait, hang on-”

“-and if you lose?” Lorraine asked, interrupting you quickly. The competitiveness was building behind her eyes, you could see it.

“We’ll go with Lorraine,” Beau said, “and we’ll even film a scene.”

“Hold up, baby-”

“-you’re on,” Lorraine interrupted Huck. She reached her hand out to shake Beau’s. “Y’all are gonna look so pretty on camera.”

“I don’t like this game anymore,” you said, looking at each of them hoping to see mercy in someone’s eyes.

“Me either,” Huck whispered.

You both looked at each other and sighed softly. What had the two of you done to fall for such competitive people? And how come Lorraine was the only one in this situation who had nothing to lose? You were starting to get the sneaking suspicion that they all just wanted to watch you squirm.

It was going to be a very long night.

—---

“Hey Huck?” You said when you brought the next round of beers over to the small table the four of you had commandeered.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m in love,” you said with a sigh as you both looked out at the dancefloor where Lorraine and Beau were two-stepping like it was their last night on earth.

“You and me both,” he said with his own dreamy sigh.

The music from the local band was loud, almost painfully so, but you didn’t entirely care. Not when you were warm from the alcohol and laughter echoing through the barn. RJ had once called the run-down bar a death trap, and you couldn’t disagree with him. The wooden roof and walls had holes that no one cared to fix up and dust constantly fell from the rafters. But it was home to most of you, a place where everyone could get away and have some fun on a Saturday night.

Hell, it was where you had first kissed Lorraine. Your eyes trailed up to look at the dilapidated loft. If you focused, you could see the exact spot where Lorraine had made the move, pushing you against the termite-eaten wall and kissed you as if she wouldn’t get another chance. Lucky for you both, you got plenty more chances.

Laughter from a very specific person brought you out of your memories, and you looked back at the dancefloor to see Beau twirling Lorraine around. Her face was lit up with a big, toothy, open mouthed smile that you couldn’t recall seeing since the accident. For once, she looked like she didn’t care when she twirled and exposed her scars. Like she was just that normal, carefree girl you had fallen in love with all those years ago.

“I think I wanna marry him,” Huck said softly.

“You and me both,” you repeated what he said earlier as you decided to chug the rest of your beer.

Don’t let anyone hear, your inner voice reminded you. Lest you get lynched. Right. Right, that was entirely a possibility. You looked around quickly, fully aware that no one would have heard Huck but still feeling that paranoia wash over you. Suddenly the beer and the atmosphere didn’t feel so homey.

“You look like someone spit in your cup,” Beau said, the sudden sound of his voice making you jump. “You alright?”

“Peachy,” you said with a smile, quickly finding Lorraine finding her seat beside you. “Just thinkin’, is all.”

“‘Bout what?” Lorraine asked as she grabbed the beer that was probably starting to turn warm. The snarl of her lips after that first sip confirmed it.

“How you better finish that beer whether it’s warm or not,” you said with a raised brow. “Paid good money for it.”

“You mean you didn’t flash a little smile and get ‘em for free?” Beau asked as he too took a sip of his now warm beer. He at least managed to play it off a little better than Lorraine.

“Most certainly not,” you said with a shake of your head. “I’ve gotta preach to most of these people in the mornin’, can’t have ‘em givin’ me free beer.”

“Wow,” Lorraine said with a quiet exhale as she leaned forward on the table, resting her chin in her hand. “Your life must be so tough.”

“It is,” you played along. “No good deed goes unpunished.”

“That in the Bible?” Huck asked.

“Not quite,” you said. “You’d know that if you went to church like you were s’posed to.”

“I fear I’d catch fire the second I stepped foot in that chapel,” he said with a laugh.

You’ll all catch fire.

Right.

You all continued talking, no longer interested in dancing as the music continued to drown out your conversations. Lorraine managed to scoot her stool a bit closer until her thigh was pressed against yours, and you very nearly rested your hand on her inner thigh. A cleared throat and a look from Huck was all it took to remind you of where you were, and you quickly placed your hand back in your own lap.

By the time you all started to get tired, most of the people had already gone home. The band was packing up and the makeshift bartender was officially out of alcohol. No doubt everyone would be ready to resume the hoedown tomorrow night after the rodeo finals, but for the night, everyone was done. The four of you followed suit, sending your goodnights to the few remaining stragglers as you all piled into Huck’s truck.

“Which home?” He asked; the most sober of you all, bless his little heart.

“We could all go back to mine,” you said as you leaned forward between the two front seats. “We’ve got the two lofts in the barn.”

“That work with y’all?” Huck asked, looking at Beau and Lorraine. They both nodded their agreement. “Then buckle up.”

You sat back in your seat and immediately felt Lorraine lay her head on your shoulder. If the amount of drinks she had gone through were any indication, she was properly buzzed. The warmth of her hand resting on your thigh, scratching lightly, was another perfect indication.

“Hands to yourself,” Beau said as you met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “I’d hate for you to lose the bet.”

“You still goin’ on about that?” Huck asked.

“You said we couldn’t fuck,” Lorraine said with a sleepy voice, “not that we couldn’t touch.”

“Language,” you scolded her lightly. She didn’t even seem fazed in the slightest.

“I’m watchin’ you,” Beau said even as he closed his eyes. “Bunch ‘a cheaters.”

“Did I tell you how unfair this bet is?” You asked before lifting your hand to scratch at Lorraine’s scalp. She practically purred under your touch.

“It’s plenty fair,” Beau said without looking back.

“All three of y’all can get indecent whenever you want,” you said, “I can’t.”

“We can fix that,” Lorraine mumbled.

“Hush and go to sleep,” you whispered before pressing a quick kiss to her head and sitting back up. “It ain’t fair.”

“She’s got a point, baby,” Huck said with a small shake of his head. “We got her at a disadvantage.”

“Shoulda thought about that before you let your girl agree to the bet,” Beau said anyway. “You can always admit defeat.”

“Go to hell, Beauregard,” you mumbled, to which both men up front laughed like hyenas.

Lorraine was thoroughly asleep by the time you all pulled up to the barn. Thankfully it was far enough away from the house that your arrival wouldn’t wake anyone up. The only potential issue would be if Roy was sleeping in the barn, but he had started hiding away in the shed a few hundred yards away, so you weren’t too worried. If anything, you would just let the boys sleep in the barn while you took Lorraine inside to your room.

“Come on, baby,” you whispered into Lorraine’s ear accompanied by a slight shake of her shoulders.

She grumbled once, not even saying any words, but slowly sat up. Her eyes were barely open and her hair was mused just enough to make her look like a little kid again. It reminded you of all your sleepovers, all those nights before you had realised your feelings for her. The good ole days.

You helped ease her out of the back of the truck. Without any hesitation, you turned slightly and squatted down until she wrapped her arms around your neck and you stood back up. Even though she was nearly asleep again, you couldn’t help but think of how light she was on your back. Sometimes you forgot just how small she was, how fragile she could be.

“You two on the right?” Huck asked as he guided his own partner around; it seemed Beau had drunk a bit too much too.

“Yeah,” you said with a nod, “y’all’s stuff should still be up on the left.”

“Sounds good,” he said. “Y’all get some sleep.”

“Night Huck,” you said with a smile before making the way up to the loft that you had claimed as yours as soon as it had been built.

It was a nice little spot, you wouldn’t try to hide it. There weren’t any real walls, but you had hung some curtains around the perimeter to create a sense of privacy. Tucked into the far corner was a single bed, something more reminisce of an army cot than anything else, with only an excess of blankets and a pillow on top. A few records scattered around, an old record player, and your grandpappy’s old guitar were the only remaining decorations.

You were gentle when you placed Lorraine on the cot, being careful as she slid off and laid on her side. She looked peaceful, with her hair no longer hiding her face. When would she believe you when you told her she was the most beautiful girl in the world? Would she ever believe you? If not then you needed to make sure RJ told her, because she deserved to feel loved again.

“Come here,” Lorraine said in a sleepy voice, pulling you out of your own head. Her arms were lifted as she made grabby hands at you, and how could you possibly say no to that?

With practiced ease, you toed your boots off and left them at the foot of the bed before climbing in. You were still in jeans and your button up but that was alright. There was no way you were going to be able to get Lorraine into pyjamas, so you would sleep in your clothes as well in solidarity.

“I’ve missed you,” she said softly, immediately pulling you close until she could press her lips to your neck.

“I missed you too,” you said as you tilted your head back to give her a little more access.

“A lot,” she continued. With a bit of shuffling she finally settled again, and you felt the warmth of her hand sliding under your shirt to rest on your stomach.

“Raine, baby,” you said when her hand continued to move up to play with the strap of your bra, “I ain’t losin’ this bet.”

“Sure you are,” she said.

“I don’t care what you film,” you started even as she pushed you onto your back and rolled on top of you, “but I’m not too keen on watchin’.”

“How will they know?” Her lips started trailing up your neck, leaving an inferno behind with each kiss. “They won’t be comin’ with us.”

“Raine.”

But you couldn’t really argue when her hand finally slipped under your bra, just the mere feel of her skin on your breast enough to have you exhaling harshly. Paired with the warmth of her lips on your jaw? Clearly it had been far too long because you were almost ready to come undone right then and there.

“Lose the bet,” she whispered into your ear. You let out a shaky exhale when her thumb brushed lightly against your nipple. “For me?”

Well now, how could you say no to that? Without any ounce of care, you grabbed Lorraine’s face and pulled her to your lips. She tasted of cheap beer and tequila and you didn’t care. Her lips were soft and you could feel her breath tickling your face and you just wanted more of her.

In the privacy of the loft you had no shame in the both of you stripping. She was still buzzed and was fumbling around like a horny teenager, but you supposed you were too in the excitement. You weren’t even helping each other, you were too eager to rid yourselves of the confines of clothing. At one point Lorraine nearly fell off the bed in an attempt to get her pants off, and you both had to sit and recover from the laughter you couldn’t be bothered to contain.

She was still giggling by the time she crawled back on top of you, her skin blazing hot against your own. God, you couldn’t remember the last time you had not only had the time, but the privacy to see all of her again. She sat straddling you and even though you hadn’t done anything yet, you could feel her arousal coating your stomach.

Her hands fell right below your breasts, grabbing you by the ribs to steady herself. It was clear that she was still intoxicated enough to be a little clumsy, but very much sober enough to know what she was doing. Although you certainly weren’t going to take the initiative, more than happy to let her take the lead with whatever she was comfortable with.

You rested your hands on her hips and looked at her while her eyes were closed. The summer had done her skin well, leaving her a good deal darker than she had been only a few months ago. Even the scars across her neck and face were a bit darker, not quite so startling in contrast to the rest of her. Even her freckles had become more apparent, and you wished you had a night to just count each and every one of them.

“You’re starin’,” Lorraine said above you, her eyes finally open as she looked down at you. “Why?”

“I just think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life,” you whispered.

Even in the dark you could see the slight flush on her cheeks. She let her head fall until her hair covered her face. You sat up quickly, keeping your hands on her hips so she wouldn’t fall. Her legs wrapped around your waist as you let her readjust and you could feel her breath on your face once again.

“If you really thought that,” she started as she let her hands trail up the sides of your breasts and over your chest until they rested on either side of your neck, “then you would lose this bet for me.”

“You just wanna watch me squirm,” you said. She leaned closer until her chest was pressed lightly against yours.

“Yes I do,” she mumbled against your lips before kissing you once again.

Her grip on your neck tightened as she tried to pull you closer. You gasped when she nipped your bottom lip, sighing quickly after when you felt her tongue sooth it immediately after. God, what she could do to you with only the simplest of touches. The slightest scratch of her nails on the back of your neck sent a shiver down your spine.

You gave up on letting her take control the moment you felt her attempt to grind on you. There hadn’t been near enough teasing, but you could already feel how wet she was without even touching her. Not that you were complaining of course, you wanted nothing more than to show her how much you had missed her, how beautiful you really thought she was.

One of your thumbs rubbed circles on her hip while the other hand ran across her stomach and stopped on her pubic bone. She tried to grind again, whining into your mouth when she was met with nothing but air. Your thumb rubbing across her skin, almost touching her clit but not quite.

“Baby,” she whined.

“You gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” you whispered against her lips. “Can you do that for me?”

She nodded quickly, her hips moving just enough to catch your attention.

“I’ll stop if you’re too loud,” you continued even as you let your thumb fall a little lower. “Understand?”

“Yes,” she said.

That time when she moved her hips she was met with your thumb, and her breathy little moan sounded beautiful as her head fell to your shoulder. Oh she was so sensitive, and you hadn’t even properly touched her yet. Blame it on the alcohol, or RJ’s lack of ability, or both, but you wouldn’t complain. A needy Lorraine was a fun Lorraine.

“Touch me already,” Lorraine whined.

“So impatient,” you said as you leaned forward and pressed your lips to that space right below her ear. The one that always had her squirming whether it was intentional or not.

“You can love me later,” she continued. “Just fuck me.”

“That what you really want?” You asked, but she was already nodding her head against your shoulder before you finished the question. “Whatever you want, princess.”

Lorraine was so wet you didn’t even have to worry as you slid two fingers into her effortlessly. She bit your shoulder to keep herself quiet like the good girl she was. It took everything in you not to moan at how tight she was around you. No matter how many times you had her, it always caught you off guard in the best of ways.

“I ain’t losin’ for nothin’, sweetheart,” you said into Lorraine’s ear. “I wanna watch you make it up to me.”

“You’re an asshole,” she mumbled, yet it didn’t stop her from riding your fingers nice and slow. “That’s it, baby.”

She growled in frustration before sitting up again, placing her hands on your shoulders to use as leverage. You let her work herself up, refusing to move even a muscle to help her. If you were going to lose the bet, you were going to milk everything you could out of her as payback.

The rise and fall of her chest as she crawled to the edge was hypnotising. You knew she couldn’t get there quickly, let alone on her own, but you wanted to enjoy the view. The way she fucked herself on your fingers and let her mouth fall open when she angled her hips just right.

But when Lorraine’s head fell forward to rest against yours, you took mercy. Even at the extremely awkward angle that would leave your wrist sore in the morning, you thrust your fingers up to meet her, smiling to yourself at the guttural moan that left her mouth. Your free hand left her hip and moved around so you could rub her clit, her noises rising in pitch at the added sensation.

“Baby,” she exhaled. It almost sounded whiney, which meant she was close. She was oh so close.

“Let go, Rainey,” you said.

Even with her face so close to yours, you could still see the look on her face when she came. The silent scream, the way her eyes squeezed shut. It was a beautiful look that you didn’t think you would ever get tired of. Her nails dug into your shoulders and you could feel the intoxicating sting as they broke skin; you would need to be careful with your shirts for the next few days.

Her hips continued to stutter against your hands, erratic movements that you would have teased her for if you hadn’t been so entranced by her very being. You waited until her hips stilled before removing your fingers, making sure to be slow and gentle so as not to startle her. But then you pulled her closer again, feeling her arms wrap around your neck as you held her in your lap.

“There’s my good girl,” you whispered into her ear before kissing her temple. “You did so good.”

“I-”

-You both stopped talking quickly when you heard something. Something that sounded disgustingly familiar. Lorraine sat up in your lap and cocked her head to the side, listening intently. Maybe you had imagined it, surely it hadn’t been real. Right? There was no way.

Then you heard it again.

“Oh my god,” Lorraine groaned; you saw her smile before her head hit your shoulder again.

“Should I say something?” You asked. She opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted yet again.

“Don’t embarrass me,” she said.

“Never,” you whispered and kissed her head before shifting around. You placed your hands over both of her ears. “The Lord’s watchin’ y’all!”

“Fuck off, hypocrit,” Huck called back. His voice echoed off the walls of the barn. “Y’all ain’t so quiet either.”

“Sorry, can’t hear you.” Lorraine’s body shook above you with silent laughter. “I’m tryin’ to sleep like the Godly woman I am.”

“Shut the hell up,” Beau finally cut in, “you’re killin’ the mood.”

“Good night, heathens!” You called back. “Don’t wake the Devil.”

You and Lorraine both stifled your laughter as you laid back down in the cot. It was difficult to keep yourselves quiet. She shushed you and listened, but neither one of you could hear anything else.

“Either they’re more quiet, or you ruined their night,” Lorraine whispered.

“Hope I ruined it,” you grumbled. “If I have to lose, so do they.”

“And you call me competitive,” she said in her sleepy voice.

“You are,” you said with another kiss to her head. “It’s one of the things I love about you.”

“You just love me.” Her voice got softer with each word.

“Yeah I do,” you said just as softly.

She didn’t say another word, falling asleep quickly thanks to the alcohol and orgasm. Her arm stayed draped around your bare waist as you held her closer, feeling her skin sticking to yours with the mix of sweat. Your father’s voice condemned you in your head, doing its best to ruin the feeling of peace and security you felt with Lorraine in your arms.

But in that moment, you simply closed your eyes and held her tighter. You were going to enjoy every moment with her until the day you died. Heaven could keep its angels; you would keep yours.

#lorraine day x reader #lorraine day #lorraine day smut #jenna ortega x reader

643 notes · View notes

zepskies · 3 months

Text

Being Human – Part 1

Pairing: Alec McDowell x F. Reader

Summary: Your life made sense before Alec slipped his way in. He unravels your threads without even trying. He frustrates you as easily as he weasels back into your good graces. But you soon realize that this man is worth the challenge.

AN: This is technically my first Dark Angel story, since I wrote Part 1 of this before "Bullseye." It will be four parts. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Summary: You’ve managed to keep things playful and friendly with Alec so far, despite his flirtatious nature. But when he asks you for a favor that goes painfully awry, the transgenic has to figure out something that wasn’t in his training: how to apologize. [Set during 2.06]

Word Count: 5,000

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Tension, angst, spiciness, implied smut.

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 1: Training Day

As sad as it is, this is probably your favorite place in the world.

Crash is as divey as a dive bar can get. And yet, it still boasts the strongest, cheapest drinks in Seattle. The music is decent, and the company is good. At least tonight it is, because you’ve met up with Max, Original Cindy, and Sketchy after a long day of slinging packages.

The only problem?

The newest member of Jam Pony, slinking up from the corner of your eye and easing into the seat next to you at the bar.

You turn an expectant gaze to Alec McDowell and his flirtatious green eyes. They take in your jeans and halter top with an obvious perusal.

“Can I help you?” you ask dryly.

“No, no. It’s what I can do for you,” he replies. You’re about to roll your eyes when he adds, “Let me buy you a beer. Or whatever you’re drinking.”

Just then, the bartender slides you the beer you’ve already ordered. You thank him and give Alec a smile.

“Got it covered, thanks,” you reply, sipping the froth off your drink.

Alec sighs and crosses his arms. “When are you gonna stop putting the freeze on me?”

“When I’m not part of your internal checklist of Breasts on Legs,” you retort. Glancing around the bar, you note three other girls you’ve already seen him shoot his shot with tonight.

Alec scoffs and holds his chest.

“That’s hurtful,” he claims. “It really is.”

But he shifts toward you in his seat, cutting off your smile. Your face warms at his proximity.

Damn, he smells good, you think.

“Besides,” he says, “I always save the best for last.”

His smile makes your heart beat faster, though you eye him wryly. He opens his smartass mouth to say something else, but you get a reprieve when Original Cindy slides into the seat on your other side. She tosses you a wink.

It gives you just enough confidence to smirk in Alec’s face.

“Keep trying. Maybe someday I’ll lose my mind,” you say, with a teasing raise of brows.

Alec is still amused as he shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable. Insulting, yet, still somehow endearing.”

“Don’t wanna get clowned, don’t act like a clown,” you tell him sweetly.

“I know that’s right,” Cindy quips. She orders a Cosmo to upgrade her beer. She must’ve won a bet tonight, if she was able to score enough cash for liquor.

“Hilarious,” Alec says. He pouts a little. “Hey, I’m not some mongrel on the loose. I’m just looking for some honest companionship.”

“Honest?” you laugh. “Now that’s hilarious.”

He gives you a fake laugh, but he watches you go when you slip away from him to join Max and Sketchy in the back room by the pool table. Alec’s smile fades a little.

Cindy raises a brow at him, along with a tan finger.

“No,” she says. “You actually crushin’ on homegirl? For real?”

Alec glances at her. “Where’d you get that idea?”

She gives him a flat look.

“Should I burn some sage?” she asks.

Alec shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“Come on. I think Max is calling us over.”

When the two of them venture over to where you and Max are playing a game of pool, Alec’s cocky smile is back. His eyes catch yours when he sits down at a nearby table. Your lips curve while you lean on your pool cue.

For the past few weeks, this is how it’s always been with you and Alec. Push and pull. A sort of caustic flirtation that you can’t in good conscience take seriously. But to his credit, he always tries.

And he seems to always mean it.

You’ll never admit it, but it’s getting harder and harder for you to resist the pull of him. He’s clearly a guy who doesn’t do attachments, and you have a bad habit of getting attached. Your life is hard enough without adding a dash of heartbreak into the mix.

So Max helps you sharpen your skills at this game while you finish your beer. And…maybe you “unintentionally” tease Alec a little with the curve of your ass when you’re bent over the table, lining up a shot.

In fairness, you’re a bit tipsy.

You spend the rest of the night drinking two more beers and laughing and losing the game—first to Max, then to Alec, and finally to Sketchy. By then, you know it’s time to cut your losses.

You haul your backpack onto your shoulder and start to head out of the bar. But who should slip into your way than Alec freakin’ McDowell?

“Hey, I’ve got a quick question for you,” he says.

You sigh. “Alec, the usual sniping was fun, but I’m tired and I want to go home.”

He stops you with a touch on your arm. He seems slightly more serious.

“It’s a favor,” he says, pulling out a small rectangular package wrapped in plain brown paper. You look down at it in confusion.

“I saw on the work chart that you’re scheduled to go over to Sector 4 tomorrow,” he says. “Would you mind delivering this for me?”

Your brows raise at him. He raises $20 in front of your face.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he smiles.

You take the $20 and the package, though you’re still a little uncertain.

“What’s in it?”

Alec leans in close to your ear. “I’ll give you an extra $10 if you don’t ask.”

His voice washes over you and makes your skin prickle. You’re blushing, but your eyes narrow at him further.

“Make it $20,” you counter.

He scoffs. Though after a moment…he coughs up the extra cash.

“The most expensive damn delivery I’ve never made,” he mutters.

You have to crane your neck a bit, as he stands over a head taller than you, but you smile up at him brightly.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” you say.

For him, maybe the expense was worth it to get that smile.

You pull up on your bike to what you think is the right address. You don’t usually come to this side of town, even in Sector 4.

It feels a bit like a shanty town and a meat packing district all at once—complete with dodgy-looking street vendors and unmarked vans loading and unloading cargo behind them.

“Can I help you, little girl?”

You stifle a gasp as your path is suddenly obstructed. A black man and his two white friends have crowded around your bike, but they don’t look normal. Various metal spikes and prods protrude from their faces, neck, and body, but they’re not your typical piercings. The metal is fused into their skin.

Oh shit, you think, as your heartrate picks up. Steelheads.

“I’m just making a delivery,” you tell them. Your eyes dart to your surroundings, trying to catch anyone’s gaze for a little help.

But in big cities like this, everyone knows to keep their eyes down.

Don’t look, don’t tell. Don’t get any trouble.

“I think you might be lost, love,” says one of the other men. He’s British, by the sound of his accent, and is the taller of the two. His skin is pale, though there’s a red ring under his eyes that suggests drugs, or whatever else these three are injecting into themselves.

“Uhh, yeah. I must be. I’ll just go,” you nod, and you start to back up. The ringleader Brit clamps a bony hand on your bike to stop you. He grabs the scrap of paper Alec gave you, which holds the address for your intended delivery.

The Steelhead examines it lazily, before his gaze flicks back up to yours.

“Well, well. I stand corrected,” he says. He gestures to the small package in your hands. “What’s in it?”

You shrug and try to play off your ignorance. Because the truth is, you have no idea.

“It’s not my job to know,” you reply.

“Ah, but you see, it’s our business to know,” the Brit says, leaning in towards you. You lean back with pursed lips.

“This is our little piece of paradise,” says the shortest one. His lips are damn near purple.

“We’re what you call…territorial,” says the leader. He grabs you off your bike while the first man takes the package from you.

“Hey, I don’t want any trouble,” you say, though you hate the way your voice shakes. “I can just go—”

“Oh, we’ll let you go, little mouse. You’re gonna give a message back to sender,” the Brit says. “But first, a reminder.”

He shoves you back into the nearest wall. It’s solid brick that stuns a gasp out of you. He presses in on you, grabbing your face and dragging a sharp, unnaturally long nail against your cheek, biting into the skin.

It’s painful enough to make you whimper as you feel wetness drip down to your neck. His friends laugh at your discomfort, at your fear. You’re too frozen to reach for the pepper spray in your pocket…

“What’s going on here?” another man asks. Out of the corner of your eye you spot a black uniform. For the first time in your life, you’re grateful to see a cop.

The Steelhead releases you, and the three of them are subtle in the way they back off from you.

“Nothing here, officer,” the leader says. Though he gives you a smirk. “Just accepting a delivery.”

You let them keep the package and pretend that a signature has made it onto your clipboard. You climb back onto your bike and you leave Sector 4 without looking back. All the while, your arms shake and you wipe at the blur of tears in your eyes.

When you get back to the Jam Pony base of operations (a warehouse that feels like a basement), you park your bike out front and head inside.

Your legs still feel precarious. And even though the blood is dry against the cut on your cheek, you know you need to clean and disinfect it at some point.

Of course, you have to run into Alec and Sketchy, who are palling around without a care in the world.

That all stops when they turn to look at you. Their mirth dies on their faces. Alec’s gaze runs over you and stops at your cheek. You dab at your face, tentative and self-conscious. You know you must look like hell. Of course, they can’t let you just go to your locker in peace.

“Jeez, what the hell happened to you?” Sketchy asks.

You shake your head. “Fell into a bush.”

You drag Alec aside by his arm, giving him a warning look that further lets him know you’re lying. He follows you without complaint over to the lockers, where you two have the semblance of privacy. Before he can ask you what really happened, you snap at him.

“What the hell was in that package?” you ask. “Drugs? A weapon? Some other contraband? Do you know what could’ve happened to me if I’d gotten caught with that shit? Do you know what almost…”

Tears burgeon in your eyes all over again, and you have to take a deep, shaky breath.

Alec’s brows furrow in what might actually be concern. He grasps your arm, gentle but firm.

“Hey, tell me what happened,” he says.

Unconsciously, his grip on your arm makes the memory flash in your mind: of that pale, greasy man grabbing you and pinning you against the wall.

You shrug out of Alec’s hold more harshly than you meant to. It makes him raise a placating hand, as his eyes widen a fraction.

“A gaggle of Steelheads,” you say. You breathe tremulously, blinking past your tears. “I was lucky…anyway. Next time you want to ask me for a favor? Don’t.”

You brush past Alec to get to your locker. There you grab the rest of your things and head out, though it’s quite a few hours before closing time. Nothing gets by Normal, who stops you at the reception desk.

“Hey, hey, Missy! Where the hell’re you going?” he asks. “Get back here. I’ve got packages that need homes.”

“I’m taking some much needed PTO,” you quip.

“You don’t have PTO. It’s not that kind of business,” Normal says.

“Then bite me,” you snap. “How’s that?”

Most of the room stills into quiet shock. You feel the weight of their gazes, your coworkers and friends, including Normal’s slackened face.

You’re normally not one to talk back. You accept your assignments without question, not wanting to cause undue trouble for yourself. Like everyone else here, you need your job, and you have nothing to fall back on.

But it’s enough, and you’re thoroughly done with today.

Your saving grace is that it’s plain to see how shaken up you are, even when you leave. Alec approaches the receptionist desk with Sketchy, drumming his hand on the counter absently.

“What the hell crawled up her keister?” Normal remarks. “She’s lucky I’m short staffed right now, or she’d be in the can.”

Despite his strong talk, he resumes collecting paperwork and organizing files to distract himself from how much you’d taken him aback.

Alec frowns.

“She uh, had to deal with some Steelheads,” he offers, and hesitates. “...What the hell’s a Steelhead?”

“Yeah, you know, they’re into implants and biotech stuff,” Sketchy explains.

“She would know better than to hang out with those low lives,” Normal interjects. “They’re amped off their gourds on hormones and who knows what else.”

Alec processes that with a deepening frown. He decides to head out onto his next “delivery.”

He makes it to Sector 4 on his bike within an hour, but he still envies Max’s motorcycle. When he racks up enough cash, he’s definitely scoring a faster ride.

For now, he pulls up near the address he sent you to earlier. He never should’ve given you his drugs to sell, especially when he clearly doesn’t know this city well enough yet.

Poor reconnaissance, Alec, he thinks. Sloppy.

Though when did he start to think of himself as Alec and not by his designation, 494?

He’s soon taken out of his musings when he sees a gaggle of three men outside a cargo van. Each of them is uglier than the last, with metal spikes, among other things sticking out from their bodies. Steelheads. They’ve got to be.

These are the guys who harassed you.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Alec says, climbing off his bike. The men turn to the newcomer with suspicious frowns.

“I’m looking for three fugly Steelheads that hassled a friend of mine this morning,” he says.

One is tall, pale and wiry, and he opens his arms wide. “Well, you found ‘em.”

He has a British accent. The sight of him alone grates on Alec, though all he shows is calm confidence. He teases the short one, who seems to be missing an arm. Apparently he’s “pre-op,” set to get a new cyber arm made of Japanese steel.

Fucking wackos, Alec thinks. Manticore could learn a thing or two from these guys about mutilation.

“Here’s the thing, fellas,” Alec says. “My friend was carrying a package that didn’t belong to her. It belonged to me. You guys took it, and I need to get it back.”

The first man scoffs. “There seems to be a breakdown in communication, doesn’t it?”

He approaches Alec, hands on his hips, with his two cronies behind him. Alec can already smell their stench from where he stands. He doesn’t need them to get any closer.

“Maybe your little bitch didn’t relay our message,” he says, pushing his luck.

Alec’s smile sharpens; a deadly warning in and of itself.

“Nobody around here sells Andy but us,” says another of them.

Androxtamine. Alec didn’t care to be a drug dealer. It was just a means to an end in order to pay Max back for her help a little while back. Now, his buyer is pissed that he didn’t get his damn drugs, and Alec is out $500.

He tries to explain that calmly to this group of weirdos, but the leader is just so damn cocky.

“What’s a puff like you need with $500 anyway, eh?” he asks.

Alec’s smirk deepens. He mimics the guy’s accent and replies, “Actually, I need it for a ride on your mum.”

Well, the Steelheads don’t take too kindly to that. They try their best, Alec will hand it to them. But his genetics and training make the resulting “fight” no more than child’s play. He takes his frustrations out of their asses.

He can’t help being slightly more brutal than necessary when he remembers the fear lingering behind your eyes. The bloody cut on your cheek. The way it could’ve been so much worse…

And it would’ve been your fault. Alec’s lips press into a line.

Logan Cale, Max’s rich non-boyfriend and secret “Eyes Only” vigilante, calls Alec halfway through his venting session to, surprisingly, ask for his help.

Alec agrees, because it’s mainly for Max. A creature has been killing cops in Seattle. Unfortunately, the description of a “man-dog” sounds way too much like Joshua, their fellow transgenic in hiding.

It also means Alec has to spend most of his afternoon in a musty sewer.

The job ends up being a bitch and a half, even when Max finally shows up to help out. The true culprit ends up being Joshua’s brother, Isaac, who Joshua is forced to stop before he kills any more policemen who remind him of Manticore’s abusive guards.

The gentle Joshua ends up having to take out his own brother. Something that’s both familiar, and foreign to Alec. (But he’s sure it’s not so foreign to Max.)

It’s a harrowing scene, and a touch too emotional for Alec’s comfort. He leaves Max to tend to Joshua in the aftermath and catches a ride home with Logan. Somehow though, as bone tired and grimy as he feels, Alec can’t feel right about going home just yet.

Something is niggling in the back of his mind, forcing him to hand Logan a scrap of paper that holds your address. (Alec might’ve snuck into Normal’s office before he left for the day to find out where you lived on your employee file.)

“Hey, can you stop at this address?” Alec asks.

Logan glances at the piece of paper and nods. He then looks over at Alec. They aren’t friends, but Logan is perceptive enough to know that something’s weighing on his passenger.

“Everything okay?” Logan asks.

“There’s something I have to do,” Alec supplies.

When they eventually arrive to what seems like an abandoned building, Logan looks over at Alec.

“Good luck,” he offers.

Alec nods gratefully. They aren’t friends, but he supposes Logan’s not so bad, even if he is a slave to Max’s supposed charms.

Alec gets out of the car and head inside the building. It’s old and dirty, and he really can’t believe you live like this. It lacks security and basic hygiene. If he wanted to, he could kick straight through your door with half of his strength.

Instead, he knocks.

A few moments later, he hears your feet padding cautiously to the door.

“Who is it?” you ask. Your voice is familiar and pleasant to his ears, if nervous.

“It’s me, Alec,” he replies.

It takes a second of your hesitation, but you unlock the door and open it.

He eyes your tank-top and shorts, the thin bra, your damp hair, the smell of your shampoo assaulting his heightened senses.

But the jagged red line across your cheek draws his attention, along with the confusion in your eyes, and the wooden spoon in your hand. Was that supposed to be your weapon of choice?

“What’re you doing here?” you ask. “How’d you even know where I live?”

“Ah, I told Normal I wanted to check on you. Make sure you weren’t going AWOL on the job tomorrow,” Alec says with a teasing smile.

You look a bit skeptical, but you let him in when he asks if he can. He smells whatever you’re cooking, spots the metal pot of pasta sauce simmering on the janky-looking stove, and his mouth starts to water. He’s starving, now that he thinks about it.

He then focuses on taking in the rest of the apartment…and it doesn’t take him long. This place is a shoebox.

At least it’s clean, as much as the peeling drywall can be.

“Why’re you here then?” you ask. Alec turns to see you have a hand on your hip. You’re staring at him like he’s a puzzle you’re trying to figure out.

You set down the wooden spoon on the counter and face him. Alec’s tempted to brush a stray strand of hair out of your eyes, but he keeps his arms down to his sides instead.

“About what happened today,” he says. “Those guys aren’t going to be a problem for you again.”

You tilt your head at him.

“What’d you do?” you ask with furrowed brows. “Something shy of legal?”

Alec starts to smile. “Maybe.”

You hmph in response. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Alec barely resists rolling his eyes, though he knows he deserves that. Once again, he takes in your apartment. It’s cozy, he supposes, if small.

“You live alone?” he asks. “No roommate? Boyfriend?”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” you say dryly. “But no. To both.”

That satisfies him, and yet there’s a little churn in his gut. This place is questionable at best. Doesn’t exactly boast decent security. He’s not too worried about the Steelheads trying to find you, but after the past few months outside of Manticore, he realizes how rough it’s become for humanity after the Pulse, especially for a woman alone.

“You could use a doorman around here,” he remarks.

You scoff in amusement. “Yeah, well. It may not be the Ritz, but as long as the heater doesn’t crap out on me, it’s a decent day.”

Alec doesn’t know what the Ritz is, but it sounds nicer than this dump.

You catch the silent look of judgment on his face, making you frown and cross your arms.

“I can take care of myself just fine, okay, Dad?”

Alec frowns and gestures to your face. “Yeah. Right. You’re little miss Fight Club.”

That sparks your temper. You glare up at him with a defiant tilt to your chin.

“This,” you point to your marred cheek, “wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you. I’m not an idiot. I don’t put myself in stupid situations, except for that one time I ignored my better judgment to help you!”

Alec glowers back at you, but he knows he doesn’t have a good defense. You take a step into his orbit and tap a finger into his chest.

“And by the way,” you add. Your voice cracks like a whip. “Whoever taught you how to apologize did a bang up job!”

By the end of your little rant, you’re breathing deeply, and Alec is barely holding onto his own temper. What cuts through it all are the frustrated tears brimming in your eyes.

He sighs internally.

They didn’t exactly cover this in training, he thinks, but he supposes that's just…Being Human 101.

All too soon, your anger dims into defensiveness. You withdraw from him and gesture to the door.

“Now if you don’t mind, please get out of my shithole apartment so I can finish cooking in peace,” you gripe.

“Wait, wait,” Alec implores, when you try to lead him out. He lets you back him up a step or two, just to seem human, but now he digs his heels in. He looks down at you with true regret.

“I’m sorry,” he says. His hand finds your unmarred cheek, caressing softly. His thumb swipes across your skin. “I am. I shouldn't have asked you to make that delivery. I'm sorry you got hurt.”

You stare up at him, breathing labored, and making your breasts just barely brush his sternum. Your eyes search his just as much as he is yours.

He isn’t actually sure who moves first, him or you. But when his lips meet yours, it feels like electricity under his skin. It’s magnets that are meant to connect—it’s his arms wrapping around your waist like steel bands and you grabbing his face, sinking your fingers into his sandy brown hair.

It’s teeth clicking and tongues warring as he backs you up to the kitchen counter, and he hefts you up there by your hips.

You squeal in surprise, making Alec chuckle before he swallows your sounds with his mouth.

You start to push his jacket off his shoulders, and he helps you, letting the rest of it slide right off, followed by his shirt and your tank top. His hands smooth up your bare thighs and his thumbs dip in between, squeezing near the apex of your thighs and making you tremble against his chest. Warmth pools in your core even from that simple touch.

“W-Wait,” you whisper.

It makes Alec pause. His muscles tense. Has he read you wrong?

He searches your face for a sign of discomfort. If you don’t want this, it’ll be…hard, at this point (for more reasons than one). But if he has to, he’ll let you go.

He’s relieved when you only twist away for a moment to turn off the stove. You return to him with a smile as your hands come to rest on his chest. You bite your lower lip.

“Shall we continue?” he teases.

His thumb encourages you to let go of your lip. He takes your chin between his fingers and guides you back to him.

The next kiss burns with a slower passion. One that consumes you enough to hook your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips.

He grins against your lips and lifts you again, this time holding you firmly against him. You make another sound of surprise, but you don’t let that stop you from delving deeper into his kiss.

He carries you into the bedroom and slams the rickety door.

Afterwards, the two of you lay together on the wrong side of your bed.

Alec lies on his stomach and you on your back. The night had gotten such that you stopped caring which side you typically put your pillow on. Your hair is fanned out on the mattress in many tangles he took pride in creating.

A shitty show plays on your small TV, but Alec is watching with rapt attention.

He’s kind of cute about it actually, you think. Like he’s never seen a soap opera before.

“Ooh, that one’s my favorite,” you point backwards. “It’s about a sexy doctor, obviously.”

“Right, because I’m sure doctors always have this much sex with their patients,” Alec quips.

You snort and shake your head. You stare at the side of his face for a moment, rather than the TV.

The back of his hand rubs against your shoulder, earning your attention.

“What’re you thinking?” he asks. He’s still looking at the screen.

“That I’m even hungrier now, but I don’t feel like getting up,” you admit with a giggle. He laughs.

“I wouldn’t mind some chow,” he says.

You roll onto your stomach, taking some of the sheets with you when your knee slides over, resting against his naked lower back. You lean your chin on his shoulder as your hand travels across his back.

“Is that your way of inviting yourself over for dinner?” you ask.

He looks over at you then. He’s grinning, but his eyes are a touch softer, you think.

“If you don’t mind me crashing,” he says.

You shake your head and sift your fingers through his hair. Your gaze drifts down the back of his neck and catches on a strange mark. It’s a barcode, you realize, touching it lightly with two fingers.

“What’s this? A prison tat?” you tease.

He chuckles humorlessly. “Sort of.”

Your amusement fades, but your soft fingers along the back of his neck elicit a small shiver out of him. Your touch is gentle. He isn’t used to gentle, and it makes goosebumps spread across his skin. He feels your lips press a kiss to his shoulder next, and he turns his head to look at you.

Beautiful, he thinks, taking in your face again, and the hint of cleavage down the sheets covering you, hiding the familiar curves he had all too much fun exploring.

“You gonna tell me the story?” you ask. “Or save it for a rainy day?”

Alec lets out a sigh through his nose. “Let’s pencil that one under the ‘Rainy’ column.”

You nod in agreement and bite your lip. These days, everyone has a story they’re not proud of. Even something that keeps them up at night. You don’t press Alec for his.

He’s grateful for that. He leans in and kisses you, nice and slow.

From the beginning, he noticed you. Your tenacity. Your quiet confidence. How you’re always willing to help your friends, and how you’ve never taken any of his shit, even if he knew part of you had been contemplating his suggestive offers. That spark always kept him coming back for more…and somehow, it became more.

In the back of his mind, this scares him a little. Being with you feels dangerous in a way that feels both familiar and foreign, but it’s too late. He’s been hooked by the pull of you. It’s a craving he can’t help but try and fill. Hopefully, not just tonight.

“You said something about food?” he grins.

You smile and lean in again, until you’re mere inches from his lips.

“Hmm, impromptu dinner date?” you offer. Alec laughs quietly and nods.

“We kinda went about this backwards,” you say, “but if you like spaghetti and plain sauce, I’m your girl.”

He smirks at that, and thumbs at your chin.

“Then you’re my girl.”

AN: And there's Part 1! It's only my second time writing Alec, so I hope he feels in character. Let me know what you think of this little series so far. 😘💜

There's much more in store over the next three parts, and the next one tackles perhaps my favorite episode (2.11), even if it's the most gutting.

Next Time:

“All right, that’s enough outta you,” Alec says, and he claims you with a more demanding kiss. His fingers sink into your hair tightly.

But you press your hand to his cheek, making him pause for a moment. The amusement fades from his eyes the longer he stares into yours. You’re not teasing or joking anymore.

You kiss him then with meaning. With tenderness.

You don’t know how it makes that coil of guilt grip him like a vice.

Keep Reading: PART 2

Series Masterlist

Alec McDowell Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Alec M. Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog

@globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @emily-winchester @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy @kmc1989

@waters-2567 @iwishiwas-sleeping @jessjad @pieandmonsters @akshi8278 @honeybabycherry @deans-spinster-witch @angelbabyyy99 @jackles010378 @nancymcl

#Training Day #Being Human #Part 1 #alec mcdowell #alec mcdowell x reader #alec mcdowell x you #alec mcdowell x female reader #smuttish #max guevara #original cindy #DA 2.06 #“Two”#Dark Angel #Jensen Ackles characters #Jensen Ackles #zepskies writes

173 notes · View notes

yuri-is-online · 7 months

Note

Hello Yuri!! Congrats on 500 followers!! You deserve it, your writing is amazing and makes me so happy whenever you post something new! (・∀・)

If it’s alright, could I request Ace Trappola, Ruggie Bucchi and Cater Diamond with prompt four if that’s okay? About the reader meeting someone at the ball and ranting to the boys about them.

Thank you so much in advance, and congratulations again!! ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

4. You met someone really wonderful at the Masquerade Ball and have been ranting about how he was totally the love of your life to your abnormally quiet friend. Actually, wasn't he invited too? Maybe you should ask him how that went.

Hello Rhea! It's always a pleasure to see you in my notifications, though you did give me a bit of whiplash with how fast this request came in (;ﾞ°´ω°´) It makes me very happy to hear I have managed to make you happy, I hope you like this post too. Also thank you very much for the kind words, they made me feel much better.

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, I know the prompt says "quiet" but these three are sort of the chatty type so it's more like dodging the question (sorry), the other event requests can be found on my masterlist here. There's a movie reference hidden here (kind of) that if someone gets I'll probably scream idk.

Ace

There is a god in some sort of heaven and he hates Ace Trappola. Well maybe not a god, maybe it's just Riddle, and he certainly doesn't hate him, Ace is just being dramatic. But there has to be some sort of rule Riddle is breaking here, seriously what beacon of morals and etiquette sits pretending to sip tea while obviously eve's dropping on what should be a terribly private conversation. It's a nightmare made substantially worse by just how long he has been wanting to have this talk.

"Honestly I wasn't expecting to have so much fun, I thought Crowley was just going to put on a cheap tacky formal, not an actual ball with proper costumes." You feel light headed with joy for a change, technically half of the things you've experienced in this world you never would have in yours but a real, fancy Masquerade somehow felt more surreal than the overblots or flying brooms. Maybe it was because you had seen pictures of real ball costumes and masks that made it feel more tangible, like this was something you really were meant to be a part of.

"The costuming was indeed very impressive." Riddle swirls his cup just gently enough to avoid spilling his precious tea whilst making sure to pour Ace's all over the Heartslabyul lounge. "I was surprised at how impossible it was to tell who was who."

"I know! That's the whole problem." You practically jump up from the couch, before remembering yourself and settling down again. Ace notices you still move subconsciously closer to him, even if your silly head doesn't know just who he is. Or would it be was?

"Is it really?" Ace really wishes you weren't so used to ignoring his whining. "The entire point of a Masquerade is to be anonymous, isn't that why you and Deuce thought it was 'romantic.'" He had wanted to have this talk in Ramshackle where it was guaranteed to be private- scratch that he wanted to have it last night while he was trying to imagine what your eyes looked like under your mask. What they would look like if he moved his aside and just said what he was trying to for once instead of flirting more with the subtext than you.

"Well yeah I guess." You mumble. Your chest has been tied up in funny knots and Ace's unenthusiastic tone isn't helping with the pain. "But it's driving me insane to think I could have met my soul mate and all I know about him is that he makes a really attractive clown." Riddle chokes, tea cup clanking onto it's saucer as he politely tries to pass off his laugh as a cough. "Well not just that..." you mumble, closing your eyes to conjure up the memory of the jester who had produced a rose from behind your ear and insisted on leaving it there for luck.

"What sort of luck?" He held onto the rose just a second too long for your poor heart to bear, you swear he could feel it if he pressed his fingers that much closer to your pulse point.

"Well mine of course, how else am I supposed to find you when this is over." It's odd not to see the man's lips, your heart tells you it suspects he's smiling but it won't confirm it.

"That's not luck!" You laugh. "That's cheating!" He shrugs, as if to say he knows, that's the whole point. As if to say it's worth it to break the rules where you're concerned. It's daring, the way he holds you as you dance, the way your heart is screaming for you to just-

"I should have kissed him." You groan, remembering how Grim had charged in between you and your date screaming about how he'd never approve or something dumb like that. Just who did he think he was anyway?

"Well then why don't you!" Ace cringes as he says it, neck beet red as you go to sass him back before the oddly serious nature of his tone and the implication of his syntax force you to stop. Riddle's exit barely registers as you stare each other down, Ace from the corner of his eye and you with the full force you can gather.

"Would you have let me?" You whisper. A familiar touch lights just behind your ear, pressing in this time to trace the speed of your heartbeat.

"Only one way to find out, prefect." You expect him to run. Make some sort of joke about how he was pranking you, or say kissing before marriage being against the rules. But he doesn't. He waits, perhaps in the way he has been since the first night he showed up at Ramshackle, collared and crabby, just waiting for you to close the gap.

And embrace you as you fall.

Ruggie

Ramshackle was closer to the main castle than Savanaclaw. That was the excuse Ruggie had used to get you to agree to let him crash there, in his mind anyway. Really, all he had needed to do was ask, but you know that's not exactly how he works. Your relationship has always been a series of scratches, offers of give and take that tend to be minor but offer just enough of a technicality for true feelings to remain hidden just out of sight. That doesn't change how surreal it is to see him here so late, or the sharp contrast between all the stiff collars and plaster faces you both had been drowning in just a moment ago and the worn gym clothes you both wear for pajamas.

"Man I'm beat." Ruggie says, sinking into the couch. You aren't in much better shape, if he wasn't taking up a part of it you would be sprawled face down across the length the couch. Instead, you satisfy yourself with curling up into the far corner. You have a dreamy smile on your face, content like how he usually looks when he eats a large meal, or when he thinks you aren't looking.

"I think I found your soul mate hanging around the buffet tables tonight." You lazily tease, tracing nonsensical shapes on the floor to amuse the nervous energy from your earlier encounter.

"Oh yeah?" Ruggie sounds vaguely intrigued, but he doesn't move much. If anything he settles his neck more firmly into the sofa back, eyes intentionally trained on the ceiling. "What makes you say that?"

"He was stealing all the apple fritters." You say, dreamy smile widening when Ruggie snorts. "Too bad I intend on stealing him from you."

"Do you now." He murmurs, head tilting back down into his palm. He rests his elbow on his knee, but he doesn't look at you, not immediately. Your well into your little rant before he does.

"Well at first I was just going to steal the food-" that was the whole reason he had wanted to stay here, the two of you had hatched a plan weeks ago to smuggle in some containers and smuggle out as much food from the banquet hall as possible and it just made more sense to take it to Ramshackle "but he offered to give it to me so long as I danced with him." There is a container of said fritters in between you both, sticky with caramelized sugar and a good reminder of just how expensive the Masquerade Ball must have been to throw. It's odd to have food last so long in Ramshackle, odder still with Ruggie so close.

"Nice try." You said. "But you won't trick me like that. My friend trained me well and I need to bring those back to him."

"Are you sure about that?" The man's voice is muffled by his mask, white plaster forming three faces obscuring any meaningful detail of his real looks. He's radiant, something about the way he's managing to thread the needle through the crowd despite his exaggerated mask is holding all your attention despite Ruggie's warnings. You're supposed to be competing to see who would bring the most food home, but instead you're dancing in the arms of someone else, laughing as he kisses your hand when he dips you in tune with the song. "Your friend is missing out, I have the best tasting thing in the ballroom right here."

"I'm sorry I was so distracted I only managed to snag a couple things. Did you get anything good?" You roll out of the corner closer to the center, just out of his reach but oh so obtainable.

"Nope~" he says, letting the word pop and looking away with more shame than you have seen on his face... ever now that you think about it. "I uhh. I may have... also.. gotten distracted." Both of you look at the single container of apple fritters, suddenly very much aware that neither of you actually brought anything else back to your dorm.

"Laugh with me." You try to protest but Ruggie has both your fingers up to your lips, his trademark smirk looks good on you, he wishes he could take a picture. "Embarrassed prefect? You shouldn't be so worried, I told you how I felt didn't I?"

"But you don't know how I taste!" You manage to wail and he finally cracks, shaking with laughter and letting you curl your blanket around you in a ball of embarrement. You stay like that for a good long while, trying to beat down the smile that twitches at the corner of your mouth until Ruggie reaches over to unwrap you casing and pull your head into his lap.

"Well then, maybe you should let me test you." He's wrong you think as your lips meet, Ruggie has got to taste much sweeter.

Cater

"Well someone looks like they had fun last night~" Cater says and you giggle in response. He allows himself to pause before he continues, Cater really hates the sound of his own voice. How anyone can stand him is beyond him, and he knows the conversation he's about to have has a pretty good chance- no.

It's going to destroy the carefully built illusion he's woven around your "friendship" even if you react positively. Losing you would be painful, but keeping you in the dark would be even worse. He has to play this smart, play you correctly so he can try and keep your eyes with him even if they only look at the superficial face he wears.

Yes, Cater has to play you carefully, but he is off to a bad start. You know before he sits down that something is wrong, it's written all over his face sewn into his unwashed hair and dark circles under his eyes.

"I want to say 'you too' but honestly you look exhausted Cater, you sure you want to be awake right now?" You don't want to press him in case that makes him run, but you also know Cater a bit better than he wants to acknowledge. You don't really think the bit of yourself you have to share will help soothe him, but he goes along with his script anyway.

"Seriously, you worry too much!" He can't say about me because he wants your worries, and he knows that denial would crack his mask. "Besides I've just been dying to hear about the dance, you seemed really excited to go!" There's a sparkle in your eyes, a flush to your cheeks that he desperately wishes he had put there.

"It went well." That’s all you can bring yourself to say as your hands go to fiddle absent mindedly with the sleeves of your blazer.

"That's good?" He tries to poke at the topic but you don't go further. "Or was is it not good and you just don't want to think about it?"

"No! No it's just. I met someone. Or I think I did anyway." Cater blinks. Once. Twice. Three times just for luck because he knows, or at least he thinks he knows, that he was the only one with you all night. What you're saying just can't be right, there's no way you didn't know it was him all night. "He was just so easy to talk to! I completely lost track of time and didn't meet up with anyone else..." Your little embarrassed smile confirms it, you didn't know. He laughs.

"Sorry," he doesn't mean that "you're just too cute Yuu." He pulls his phone from his pocket as you desperately stutter.

"Look I'm really sorry I know I said I'd look for you, Riddle, and Trey but I was just... I don't know, moonstruck?" He laughs more, practically chokes as he quickly types an apology to Trey and savors your embarrassment just a moment longer.

"Don't you mean starstruck?" He teases and you suddenly find a bit of your fight back and fiercely shake your head.

"No way! That's for famous people. Moonstruck is for when you're overcome with ridiculous love for someone even if you don't know them." You pout and Cater looks at his phone, not to do anything really just to center himself and his thoughts. He has a choice to make, and he doesn't know where either path will go.

"Are you alright?" Cater should have known you would find him, there should be something scary with how unconsciously in tune with him you are. He doesn't say anything, but that doesn't seem to discourage you. You settle yourself next to him, sitting quietly keeping him company until he's ready to speak.

"It's all just a bit too much." He gestures vaguely at the room, uncertain why he's decided to speak about this now and not run from it. "Everyone's here wearing masks and hiding themselves like it's a fun thing to do."

"It can be." You say calmly. "But always dressing like this would be a lot." You look over the crowd with the stranger, the conversation lulls, and you try to examine the man's costume for a hint of what might be best to say. "You know," your voice is uncertain, but the words that come to you aren't ones you don't believe in, "everyone wears a mask sometimes, especially when they're afraid or lonely." The man says nothing, but something about the way he sits suggests you still have his attention. "You're not obligated to remove those masks for anyone, it has to be done when you are ready to accept the consequences of how other people will see you."

Cater isn't ready. He somehow doubts he ever will be. He wishes there was a way to confess this with a guarantee that the consequences won't burn him.

"You weren't the only one moonstruck." You look hopeful almost, exactly like you did when you'd pulled him from his corner to dance. Exactly the same as when you had when he had teasingly pulled your mask aside to kiss you, the same cute look he would never be sorry to see on your face. "Say are you busy prefect? I think there's something I need to tell you."

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #ace trappola x reader #ruggie bucci x reader #cater diamond x reader #500 followers celebration #side note #but i think riddle would be very pro aceyuu #if for no other reason than it gives him something to hold over ace's head #“follow the rules or I'm taking away your prefect time :/”

243 notes · View notes

beeshoesometimesdraws · 17 days

Text

Yall wanted to see stuff from my not tsams related dca au so here ya go!

I’m remaking the ref sheets for all the characters because most of em are pretty old now and can’t even be considered proper ref sheets- so I’ll post em as I finish em

Starting off with my version of Bloodmoon aka Harvest aka Harvey

Some facts about him under the cut 👇

As shown above in his ref, Harvest is a Halloween event animatronic that does shows and tells spooky stories and performs as a scare actor of sorts (I think of him as acting like that one scare actor, Bobbins the clown I think the name is; still being scary but also silly and lighthearted when he wants/needs to be)

Harvest is only technically “active” in the public eye from late August-the end of October though he’s allowed to wander around after hours year round and acts as double security alongside the staff bots and main security bot Blackhole

Harvest is the tallest of the dca model animatronics at 7’5

Harvest’s third eye was inspired by Narinder aka The One Who Waits from cotl because at the time when I created his first design I had been following artists posting lots of cotl related art and it influenced me

I want to reiterate that this au is not related to tsams and that Harvest is a completely different character from the tsams blood twins; he does not have a need nor obsession for blood and he’s pretty chill though he is still a mischievous and feral bastard (think of him like a lazy feral cat that just kinda chills but can still be scary when he wants/needs to be)

Also all of the animatronics in this au including the dca models have very animated features and can open and close and move their mouths and eyes (aka none of them are biblically accurate)

Btw any questions about this au I will gladly answer as I draw the rest of the refs (also I will still answer centaur au asks! I’m just more focused on this rn so it may take a bit- apologies)

#dear lost things #dear lost things au #fnaf bloodmoon #not tsams related #not tsams #dca au #dca fnaf #dca fandom #dca oc #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sb #fnaf sb au #my art #harvest is cool #one of my fav dca characters I’ve made

78 notes · View notes

tadc-ragatha · 6 months

Note

CONGRATS ON GAINING 50(Or more) FOLLOWERS! (This is my first time so bear with me-) relation: Platonic Characters 1. Reader (Teen) 2. Gangle 3. Ragatha Prompt 🍼

🤡 Bonus: 🎪 (I am sorry if I did this wrong, again first time and Sorry-)

A Teen? In the Digital Circus?

TW: Mentioned vomiting ("being sick"), crying, screaming, mentions of facing their traumas, forgetting

Type: Headcanons; platonic. Emoji details: 🍼 (Baby Bottle) Youngest member, 🤡 (Clown Face) A new face, 🎪 (Circus Tent) Circus performance activity. Game link [x].

A/N: Hi! Thank you! You're all good with the requesting, don't worry. Spoilers. Reader is one of those cymbal monkeys (like the one from Toy Story). I am making a fic for this also! It's separate as I may want to make it a series. So technically, the following will be spoilers for that, but you're free to read it anyway.

You were messing around on your computer that day. Coming from a relatively wealthy family, your mother and father owned a tech repair business. People would often sell their seemingly broken and useless old technology to them for them to repair. As such, you sometimes got things yourself as gifts.

Your most prized gift of these was an old 90's computer. It was jankier and slower than most, yes, but you cherished it. After all, where else were you going to get an authentic computer by the C&A corporation from the 1990s?

Another prized possession of yours was your newest find at a garage sale. Neighbourhood rumors had it the lady that owned the house's husband was a higher up for C&A itself, and was getting rid of all his old things so she could move on. But she never explained the origins of any of the belongings to anyone.

At that garage sale you had found a CD-ROM game titled The Amazing Digital Circus. As the lady explained, her husband had informed her it was an experimental game designed to bring back retro tech through modern add-ons. For this game, the add-on was a virtual reality headset.

You snatched the game and headset up as fast as you could. Immediately after arriving home, you went to your room to try it out. Apparently, it was only playable with the headset. So, loading the CD-ROM into the computer, you put the headset on and booted up the game.

Next thing you knew you were in the midst of Caine's activity for the day: a classic circus show of course involving the people's traumas. There was screaming and crying and all manner of horrible, confusing things. You felt sick--and were sick--when the group finally found you off to the side of the stage.

Being only a teenager, Ragatha decided to take you under her wing even more than she did with Pomni. Your new body was confusing; being a cymbal monkey, it was hard to work out how you could hold things without proper fingers or palms. And that's where Gangle came in.

Gangle, being made of ribbons and two masks, helped you out immensely when it came to adjusting to your new body. She shared her own experiences with coming to the digital world and how scary it was for her. But she also offered comfort in how she was able to get through it (or, at least keep her sanity somewhat).

Ragatha's always there for you if Jax is being a jerk. Depending on your exact age, his jerkiness will decrease to certain levels. But he's still a jerk nonetheless, no matter what stage of teenager-hood you're at. And Gangle's there for you, too, though she's often struggling with Jax herself and needs support.

I headcanon Gangle writes down everything she remembers about herself in a diary, and she's happy to get you one too. She knows how horrible it can be to forget things, and encourages you to start writing before it's too late. She's actually very interested in your life; I don't think she was dirt poor but I don't think she was super rich either, so meeting someone who comes from a wealthy family is a nice change.

When it's finally time for another circus activity, Ragatha and Gangle are there for you. They both struggle with facing their traumas themselves, so they know how hard it's going to be for a newcomer, let alone a teenager. Ragatha assures you that you'll be safe and fine afterwards, while Gangle gives you a hug and a shoulder to cry on when it's done.

Being the youngest member (AKA a literal teen), you do get babied by Ragatha a bit. She just does that to teens and kids! She's not exactly a cool person, as much as she tries to be. But she is sweet, and she'll take good care of you, even if it means you get treated like a child during it. She won't baby-talk you or anything, but she'll sometimes over-explain things or be a bit too happy-go-lucky and optimistic when it's clear you just want her to be realistic.

Gangle likes to partake in your interests if they are on the more creative side. If they're not, as long as they're not too wild she'll go along; she's just particularly fond of drawing and whatnot. She gives you a confidence boost by reminding you there are people who you can connect with who will support you.

In the end, these two just want to be there for you. Through thick and thin until the abstraction of you all, you'll be there for each other. When you're crying or upset, you'll be there for each other. And when you're laughing and enjoying yourselves, it'll be together.

Just ignore Jax for the most part.

#amy's writing #anonymous #50 follower event #the amazing digital circus #tadc #the amazing digital circus spoilers #tadc spoilers #tadc x reader #x reader #tadc headcanon #tadc ragatha #tadc ragatha x reader #tadc gangle #tadc gangle x reader #ragatha x reader #gangle x reader

150 notes · View notes

targaryenrealnessdarling · 3 months

Text

It's Who We Have | Part Four

Summary: After Nut's funeral, Billy and his estranged friend share some choice words | Word Count: 3.7k~ | Warnings below the cut!

General Taglist | Billy Washington Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Warnings: language, mentions of neglect, mentions of bullying and sexual assault, islamophobia

“Take those fucking sunglasses off, you look like a prick.”

Billy winced when he knocked his right hand, bandaged and bloody, holding it close to his body, the other pulling the sunglasses that Paddy hated so much off his face.

“Why didn't you call your sister?”

Billy scoffed, “Like I'm gonna be the first to tell her. She'll find out in her own time.”

Paddy simply sighed from behind the steering wheel, his fingers twitching with the need to say something, but unsure how.

“A fucking Halal butchers? Who put you up to do that?”

Now it was Billy's turn to sigh, “nobody.”

“Oh yeah? Nothing to do with these English Flag-fucking-Crusaders, whatever they're called.”

“Listen mate, please, I don't need this right now.”

Paddy simply let out a frustrated breath, concentrating on now tailgating the car in front of him. Billy slumped in the passenger seat of his friend's car, feeling that Paddy amongst the little remaining group of friends, would be the least judgemental.

Turns out that wasn't true.

Billy resisted to cringe when he heard Paddy's voice on the other line when he'd rung him from the police station, hoping at least that he felt worse than he looked. And he looked pretty shit.

He thought, Lana wouldn't be faring much better.

He could feel the deep, dark judgement and anger seeping off Paddy, in the way he gripped the gearstick and his grunts of annoyance at usual menial things.

God fucking help him if she ever found out.

She'd pretend she didn't want to kill him, but would work on a way to do it in her head before she ever said it.

If he was being honest with himself. He'd had far too much (albeit not as much as Lana) and was angry, upset, annoyed. And he wasn't even sure what at.

At the time, it was easy to be annoyed at anything.

Just so happens the Halal butchers was right in front of him.

“Not told your sister then?” Paddy prodded whilst stopped at a red light.

Paddy was usually so sing-songy in the way he spoke, something carried down through his Irish family. And though he was technically the first of his generation to be born in England, the few times Billy and their mates had gone down to his for drinks, you’d be forgiven for thinking you were right back in the bustling centre of Londonderry, with the statue of Mary placed ceremoniously on the mantelpiece, as well as every shelf in every bedroom.

Not that Paddy himself would describe himself as religious.

Since meeting him in the first year of College, Billy had always tagged him a sort of ‘class clown’. It was easy to laugh when Paddy was around. And whether he meant to or not, he was just funny.

But here, sat beside him, being interrogated very much like he had felt the night before by the police officers who’d picked him up, that aloof, silliness that Paddy most often wore, was nowhere to be found.

“Not yet,” Billy answered simply, trying not to fiddle with the damp bandages around his hand. “You gonna?”

Billy shrugged, feeling as if this were only the beginning of the questions that he was likely to get from those closest around him.

And Paddy need not even say what was on his mind, his fallen expression of disappointment was enough as he pulled up beside Billy’s flat and pulled the handbrake up.

“Get out my fucking car.”

The door opened a good ten seconds after she’d knocked, and when Libby’s bright, blonde hair appeared in the doorway, a phone in one hand, her friend looked nothing short of shocked.

“Come in, just on FaceTime with Ami,” she muttered, ushering her in without question and closing the door, “No, no, I’m still here, carry on.”

“So anyway, this old Chinese lady is like ‘oh my god, I love your hair, you’re so lucky’ but she wouldn’t stop fucking touching me!”

She couldn’t help but grin as she heard Ami’s ramblings over the phone and Libby’s dramatic replies, all while they filed into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

“Oh dear, Ami, however will you survive. There’s worse things than people touching your hair.”

“Not fucking much,” Ami answered with a huff, “anyway I’ve gotta go. Hi and bye, misery-guts!”

Libby snickered and turned her phone so that she could at least wave goodbye on the camera. To which she gave halfway between a playful smile and a grimace, and stuck two fingers up at her instead.

Once Libby hung up she snorted, “sarky bitch. Milk, no sugar?”

She nodded, “Yup, please. As long as you’re not too busy acting like a proper sister-in-law.”

Libby scoffed, handing one of her Emma Bridgewater mugs to her and leant back against the kitchen counter, “Abi has yet to pop the question yet, friendo.”

She hummed a laugh, tapping her fingernails against the mug.

“So…you saw him.”

“Unfortunately, yes. At the wake…”

“Jesus Christ. Billy there?”

She huffed a mirthless laugh again, “Unfortunately yes again. Billy punched him in the face.”

Libby cocked her head, a sort of worried grimace on her face, “Cute, I guess? Or stupid.”

The tea burned her tongue, but she was eager to do something to occupy herself, otherwise her thoughts would, “Probably a bit of both.”

“What is the deal with you and Billy?”

There it was. The golden question. An answer she’d like to know herself.

She sighed, “Libs-”

“I mean, you two used to be thick as thieves and then bam suddenly he can’t talk about you anymore. And now that you’re back, which I love by the way, it’s like whenever he sees you he sees a fucking…ghost or something.”

Suddenly Libby’s bright eyes seem much too intense, and she has to look between her feet to get a grip of herself, sighing as she taps her fingertips on the mug of tea she holds.

“Listen I know he’s not always been there for you in the way you needed-”

“It’s not- I don’t know. I always had this feeling like…he didn’t really like me, just tolerated me.”

She doesn't need to look back up at her friend to know there's a sad expression there. And the moment is so utterly quiet, that she can hear the neighbour next door mowing their lawn, both the smell and haze of fresh grass drifting lazily through the air.

It reminded her of Cranstead Fields.

Fuck, why did everything have to circle back to him.

“Billy is a lot of things. Cruel is not one of them,” Libs sighed, “maybe just stupid.”

When they both gave an exhausted and yet relieved laugh, the tension somewhat shifted.

“I love him, Libs. I don't know if I should, but I do.”

Her friend opened her mouth, about to reply or add something. But her lips clamped shut immediately.

“God, you're both insufferable,” Libs laughed, crossing her arms, “you two need to be adults and talk it out. Or do some therapy on the NHS, I know that really helped you.”

She rolled her eyes, “knowing my luck I’d have fucking Becky as my therapist. If that happens I'm face timing you from the edge of a bridge before I jump off.”

“Dramatic.”

“And don't mummy me, doesn't suit you.”

“Suits Abi just fine.”

“Ew, Libs.”

Libby had tried her best to make her feel better, and for that, she was nothing short of grateful. Some good needed to work its way back into her life at the moment. And the way her loving friend deemed fit to lift the mood, with a small glass of white wine, was not such a bad thing either.

In truth, she can’t help but wonder, that if she’d met Libby while she was at secondary school, she likely would’ve walked right past her.

Libby had always been popular, not by some maniacal grasp to preteen power, but through her bright, happy smile, stellar sense of humour and ability to make friends with just about anyone.

If Libby was the explosive, firework-like presence in school, then she was like a ghost, merely living between planes of existence, enough to interact with things and people around her, but not enough to leave any lasting impression.

Or at least that’s what she thought.

They were through the second episode of Gogglebox and nearing the end of the little glass of white when her phone buzzed in her back pocket.

“Hang on, Libs. Lana’s calling me.”

Libs’ head pulled back as if in shock, “what she calling you for?”

She shrugged and pulled the phone to her ear. Lana sounded hurried and stressed, like she was holding too many things in her hands.

“Sorry to call you like this.”

“No, you’re alright, what’s up?”

“Listen, I know you and Billy aren’t exactly on great terms but do you mind checking on him? I was blackout last night and dunno what happened to him.”

“Uh- yeah, course.”

“Cheers. I’ll ping you his address.”

As soon as she hung up, Libby was instantly wide-eyed and nosy, asking a barrage of questions. All the while she tried to give any vague answer she could, scrolling her contacts for Paddy’s name.

“Jesus Christ, who you calling now?”

She held a finger up, “Hiya, Pad. Yeah I'm alright. Listen, you've not seen Billy about have you? What do you mean why am I asking you, you've still got Billy’s live location from that time he got lost having a piss at the club like two years ago, remember? You're my private investigator.”

She shot Libby a glare when she loudly sipped her wine loudly, to fill the silence.

She furrowed her brows, “when you say don't be mad, it insinuates I'm going to be mad, Patrick.”

Libby watched her friend's face fall, nearly losing grip on her phone held at her ear, and a sudden eerie silence when she heard Paddy's low voice on the other end.

“No, I won't tell him you told me, Lana asked me to go check on him anyway. Cheers, bye.”

She didn't spare Libby a look, her body suddenly pent up and eyes aflame. And her friend knew she meant business when she polished off the last slither of her wine before pulling herself up.

“Well?” Libby asked as she watched her pull on her coat hastily, getting frustrated when the zip wouldn't do up the first time.

“I'll tell you later, just know, I want to fucking kill him.”

Year 8 seemed to exist in a realm suspended between the innocence of Year 7 and the weighty responsibilities of Year 9, ensnared in the relentless passage of time. School, once brimming with purpose, now felt hollow, as did much else. Yet amidst the drudgery of daily life, the mundane trek home stood out as particularly grating, a constant reminder of the mundanity that had settled in.

Her mother's refusal to heed the school's advice regarding HPV jabs only added to the melancholy of the year. It was Miss Slator, her form tutor, who provided a semblance of maternal care, just as Mr. Thornby had the year before, acting as a paternal figure. Their concern and support, though appreciated, couldn't dispel the sense of disquiet that lingered within her.

The memory of receiving her first HPV jab during lunchtime, accompanied by Miss Slator, was tinged with discomfort, both physical and emotional. The sharp sting in her arm served as a poignant reminder of her vulnerability, exacerbated by the absence of her mother's reassuring presence.

She fiddled with the hem of her skirt, jumping out of her skin when Billy’s bag slumped down on the spot next to her.

“Is it sore?” he asked, huffing down on the bench beside her, looking out at a group of teens playing footie at Cranstead Fields, despite the looming grey cloud hanging above them.

She rolled her eyes, “course it hurts, you twa-ow!”

It was light, and friendly, the way he punched her left arm, the way all the boys had been doing to all the girls at school after their jabs. But it still fucking hurt.

“Dick.”

Billy smiled boyishly, pulling a bar of chocolate out his coat pocket.

“That for me?”

He nodded, as if it were obvious, “for being so brave.”

“Don’t be sarky,” she scoffed, smiling albeit gratefully and snatching the chocolate from him.

She folded it over in her fingers, the bright purple packaging tempting her to eat it now. And she didn’t say it, but she thought she might save it for later, so that she’d be less hungry if her mum chose to not cook any tea.

It was a sad thought to have, that she might rely on it.

“How is safeguarding,” he asked calmly, not reacting when her wide, panic-stricken eyes turned to him.

“How-”

“Saw you in Mr Healy’s office,” he interjects, pushing the blonde strands of hair off his forehead, waiting for her to say something.

Billy was almost disappointed at her response.

The soft glaze of her eyes, wide and embarrassed, but near longing to lift the weight off her conscience. The way her shoulders dropped to make herself appear small. Crossing her arms, rubbing them lovingly, like she was desperate for some semblance of touch like this.

He saw the bob of her throat and braced himself for those large thick walls she’d built before she even said it.

In that moment, as the crushing burden of her secrets threatened to suffocate her, she found a temporary reprieve in the simple act of confiding, even if just for a fleeting moment. And wanted to, so readily to trust him. Despite her best efforts to fortify her emotional barriers, the ache in her heart intensified, a visceral reminder of the profound yearning for the connection she so deeply desired.

“Dunno what you’re talking about.”

One could be mistaken for thinking it was early afternoon by the time she pulled up behind Billy's battered Vauxhall, it was still so bright outside.

With a heaved sigh, she threw her bag over her shoulder and locked her car, having to take steady, easy breaths to calm herself as she crossed the road to Billy's flat. Cigarette smoke clung to her clothes as she crushed it beneath the heel of her shoe, the smoke burning in her lungs and the lingering nagging at the back of her head that at some point, she had to make a point of giving up.

With a click, a man in a tracksuit and a cap slid out the door that led to the flats behind the row of shops. His eyes were hidden under a shadow, taking wide, calculated steps as if to place as much distance between him and the property he’d just come out of as possible.

As if being caught doing something he shouldn’t.

A shiver crept up her spine when they passed one another, and his stark eyes lit up under the tip of his cap, peering at her in suspicion.

She couldn’t shake that feeling even as she ascended the stairs to Billy’s flat. The sizzling nerves didn’t even seem to replace it.

Her stomach felt sick with emotion when he answered the door in tatty looking clothes, his shirt pilled up from years of use, hair somewhat greasy and an old, bloody bandage around his fist.

Billy took up the doorway with his height, his arm stretched across it in a gesture of defence. But it seemed as if when he laid his darkened and tired blue eyes on her, she saw him shrink.

“Can we have a word?” She asks, her tone flat in a manner that tells Billy he knows exactly what she's here for. In a manner that was tired, disappointed and saddened in equal measure.

“Fuck’s sake…”

Billy’s flat smelled of mildew, proven by the fact his clothes were still damp on the airer and all his windows were shut with the curtains drawn. His shoes were piled up in the hallway, one on top of the other, clearly favouring a particular pair that sat above them, as if he couldn’t be bothered even with the choice anymore.

He offered her a cup of tea, no doubt in an attempt to calm the rocky waves of panic surging through him. It was clear Billy was embarrassed by the state of his flat, as he glanced at her every now and then to make sure her expression was not one of judgement. The only one he found was one of despair.

Billy looked at his friend as if she was other-wordly. The world he’d made within the tight confines of his flat, did not have space to fit the idea of her inside of it.

His shoulders slumped, and the words that came out his mouth did not seem like his own as he sat awkwardly on his sofa, even that, covered in old clothes and crap. And all she could do was shake her head and peer out through his thin curtains, not able to look at the person she thought she had known once upon a time.

Both of them felt it.

The surge of heat that flooded their veins before an argument.

“I don’t need you to parent me. I’ve had enough of that already.”

She wanted to laugh bitterly at that, but managed herself somehow, “maybe you need it, Billy. These new mates of yours don’t seem to be doing you any favours, do they? Was it their fab idea for you to do it? Hm?”

“Does it matter?” he replied dismissively.

“Can't you see you're being fucking groomed, Billy? Fucking hell, what would Ami and Abi think?”

Their friends.

Did it mean nothing anymore?

“They’re different.”

“Oh, are they? Until they’re not. Until they do something to piss you off and then all of a sudden it’s ‘people like them’. What about their mum? Because fucking newsflash Billy, she wasn’t born here either, you’ve not got a fucking clue!”

He is quiet. His jaw tight, body wound so tight that even she could see his frustration.

“What’s next? Lobbing a brick through Mrs Ahmed’s window?”

He scoffs, his hair slipping off his head as he shakes it, “I fucking hate when you’re like this.”

“Like what? Speaking fucking sense?” she laughs bitterly, “I'm alright with that if I'm the only one holding you accountable!”

“When you’re stubborn.”

Billy needn’t ever shout.

She could sense his deep annoyance in not only his gaze, but his voice.

And she thought with anger in her veins, burning with fury, that what did he have to be annoyed about?

“Who the fuck even are you Billy.”

It came out her mouth without even really trying. She didn’t know if she regretted it or not when she saw his expression. He was still defensive, that much was clear, but in the way he looked at her, it seemed as if he was grasping for something.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” she asked, almost desperately.

“Because I’m not used to this version of you.”

“Well, sorry Billy, I grew up. I of all people wish we could go back to the way we were, but here we are, fucking adults, avoiding each other like fucking teenagers!”

“There’s no need to shout.”

“Well give me something then!” she exclaims, “something, to let me know you give a shit.”

“Fucking hell, I punched the guy who broke your fucking heart, is that not enough?!”

“Now who’s the one shouting,” she claps back with venom, “And so what, you-”

She stops herself, her face falling somewhat. And when she’s quiet so suddenly, Billy’s bright eyes meet hers, hands clasped and rested on his knees, leaned forward on the sofa as if to appear smaller. His expression is confused and irritated in equal measure.

“What did you say?” she asks in a whisper, blinking slowly.

“I…punched the guy who broke your heart?”

She feels the lump form in the back of her throat, her eyes curiously flitting between either of his, trying to understand what he is thinking without having the courage to ask.

Billy shakes his head, “I mean- is that not what he did? He fucking dropped you like you were nothing.”

Silence envelops either of them for a solid few seconds. So long that it’s suffocating, like the walls are closing in around them for the first time in years. And for a split second, with her eyebrows furrowed in pain and hands shaking, she looks just as she did on the last day Billy saw her at college.

“You don’t know, do you?”

What she says then sends a full-body shiver that begins at the base of Billy’s neck and clatters all the way through his limbs. Blood turning cold immediately.

What does he not know?

He finds himself restless at the idea. That he was perhaps supposed to know something, but irrevocably doesn’t. That everyone else is aware of something so obvious.

He didn’t know it wasn’t just some nasty breakup.

He didn’t know that photos and videos of her in her most vulnerable moments were sent around the school, rumours circulating on MSN, hateful messages scribbled on her desk. And that she didn’t have the courage to tell anyone that the guy who had humiliated her and dragged her name through the mud, still had the indecency to rub it in her face.

He didn’t know that because of what happened, she nearly left school entirely, but that it was so late into the school year, she just waited it out before college. But that those few months, were absolute torture.

Billy never grasped the magnitude of her anguish—the nights spent in tears, the days clouded by despair. The sanctuary of school became a battleground, where every glance felt like an accusation, every whisper a condemnation. Yet, she soldiered on, clinging to the hope of escape, even as her spirit withered under the relentless assault.

He didn’t know that her mum berated her for weeks, even months. Didn’t give her bus money and didn’t wash her clothes, in what she perceived was fair punishment, thinking her daughter had purposely sent suggestive photos and videos to a random boy at school.

She had hoped he knew... but now faced with the daunting task of revealing her truth, she recoiled, sickened by the prospect of laying bare the depths of her suffering.

But in all that, as tears made her vision go blurry, a watery smile lifted to her lips at the memory of when he’d come to her at Cranstead Fields. He hadn’t been pushy and simply accepted that she needed comfort. And a friend. She remembered wetting his school shirt with her tears, and the smell of the detergent his mum used, with jasmine fabric conditioner pods. To which she thought now with delight, that he still smelled the same.

He was like home to her.

Home.

What was home now?

“Oh Billy…” she whispered through a choked, almost bitter laugh, “...it’s sweet…that you did all that just because you thought he broke my heart.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301@jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian@randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies @virtualsweetsqueen

#billy washington x y/n #billy washington x oc #billy washington x reader #billy washington #billy washington x you #billy washington fanfic #billy washington trigger point #trigger point fanfic #trigger point series #trigger point #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters #billy washington fanfiction #billy washington smut #billy washington angst #trigger point billy washington #billy washington fic #billy washington fluff #billy washington x fem!reader

102 notes · View notes