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#we ain’t never had this many issues before.
howtofightwrite · 2 years
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How physically active were actually "medieval" noble women? I know is a long period but I usually see people complaning about noble women in fantasy doing stuff such as hunting or riding horses. I have seen a couple of illustrations of fencing manuals with women in them too.
We, as a culture, especially in the US, have a very bad habit of using the British Regency/Victorian era as the gold standard for how women all over the world were treated throughout history. And the truth is, it ain’t that way. It never was, because women in this exact era used to duel each other in other parts of Europe and often did it topless.
Yes, this is real. We have records of it.
Was it all women, all the time? No. Was it often enough to mention? Yes.
There’s a really good article by Kameron Hurley, “Women Have Always Fought” that goes over the history of women warriors and the laziness of specular fiction in detail. This is a particularly great few paragraphs from the article that covers where our popular conception that women don’t fight comes from.
“Women have always fought,” he said. “Shaka Zulu had an all-female force of fighters. Women have been part of every resistance movement. Women dressed as men and went to war, went to sea, and participated actively in combat for as long as there have been people.”
I had no idea what to say to this. I had been nurtured in the U.S. school system on a steady diet of the Great Men theory of history. History was full of Great Men. I had to take separate Women’s History courses just to learn about what women were doing while all the men were killing each other. It turned out many of them were governing countries and figuring out rather effective methods of birth control that had sweeping ramifications on the makeup of particular states, especially Greece and Rome.
Half the world is full of women, but it’s rare to hear a narrative that doesn’t speak of women as the people who have things done to them instead of the people who do things. More often, women are talked about as a man’s daughter. A man’s wife.
Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?
Check out some of these real women below.
Empress Maude, the daughter of the English King, Henry I, was named her father’s heir after her brother died. While her cousin Stephen stole the throne after her father’s death, she raised an army and took the country into a civil war to take it back. They fought it out for the decade it took for her son to reach adulthood, and laid the groundwork for Henry II to become king. There’s a great novel by Sharon Kay Penman, When Christ and His Saints Slept which chronicles the civil war. If you’re interested in medieval history, I recommend reading it. Her daughter-in-law, Eleanor of Aquitaine, also led an interesting life. (It should be said, real history got to the denied female heir fights for her throne before George R.R. Martin.)
There’s great videos from Xiran Jay Zhao discussing the Chinese warrior queen Fu Hao of the Shang Dynasty and Wu Zetian, who became China’s first female emperor. (Yes, you read that right. Emperor.)
There is Khutulun, the Wrestler Princess and the great-great granddaughter of Gengis Khan, who is one source of our “defeat her in battle to marry her” tropes. She issued this challenge, “defeat her in wrestling, she’ll marry.” She scammed would be suitors out of 10,000 horses. Western male authors are so threatened by Khutulun, they’ve kept trying to rewrite her history by making her fall victim to the power of love. (No, seriously.)
There’s also Hojo Masako, the Buddhist nun who deposed her own son when he proved incompetent and ruled Japan as Shogun. Here’s her wiki entry too.
The Amazons of Greek Myth were real in that they were actual Scythian women who went to war. (As Scythian women did, just like their men.) They terrified and terrorized the Greeks so much, they became immortalized in their mythology. Don’t believe me? Here’s an article from National Geographic and this one from Live Science.
There’s stories like this all throughout history from big events to small ones. (You can find more over at Rejected Princesses if you’re interested.) There are female warriors, female generals, noblewomen who took command of their husbands’ forces, widows who took to the sea to get revenge on those who wronged them, women who rode with their husbands to battle, female assassins, female leaders of rebellions, etc. The women of the Japanese samurai class were trained to fight, and fight they did. Women warriors, queens, and politicians are all over mythology too. You’ll often see these women come out of the upper echelons of society because money creates options, but they are there. Many of those stories are lost to history, in some cases purposefully, and there was a long trend among archeologists that assumed because a person was buried with male grave goods, the body had to be male. We’re now finding out that isn’t true. There’s a significant portion of warrior corpses that have turned out to be female. Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla chose to post a notice about it in response to these exact criticisms you’re questioning.
Those people you see complaining online? They’re clinging to a version of history that doesn’t exist. More, we know it doesn’t, because popular culture is hungry to the point of desperate for aggressive, confident, and competent female characters. If they were truly a lie, they wouldn’t ring true for so many people.
The history we’re taught today largely downplays women’s achievements, contributions, and successes while uplifting those of men. It’s a fact. Go look at famous female figures anywhere, you’ll find the same story at play over and over. Historically, fantasy as a genre largely portrays a world that is, in fact, fantasy, but that fantasy has nothing to do with women doing things they’re not “supposed” to. There’s no clubhouse. There’s nothing unrealistic in imagining your female character is a kickass queen who defeats overconfident men in wrestling competitions and robs them of all their horses. It’s not unrealistic to come up with an ending that doesn’t conclude in tragedy, violent deaths, them “learning their place,” or even locked within the bonds of an unhappy marriage. (Shocker!) Some did, but the truth isn’t universal. It’s not even unrealistic to imagine they might have supportive male family members, love interests, and followers who happily (gasp) assist them in these endeavors. Maude, for reference, had bastard half-brothers who helped her instead of trying to take the throne for themselves.
History got here before fantasy authors. There’s nothing unrealistic about reality. Popular conceptions and common knowledge fed to us by the majority male dominated culture isn’t always the truth. Reality is, it’s the stories we see normalized across the media spectrum that are wrong. The ones that insist women are objects, who commodify their pain, and reframe their stories to ensure the focus remains on men. While this is changing, women are still often treated as the NPCs of male driven stories.
The people you hear complaining? They want storytelling traditions to stay that way, for the Great Man values countless narratives have reinforced to remain unchallenged. Funny as it sounds, they’re threatened by the very existence of narratives that countermand that centralized focus on men being superior, that there is a stratified gender hierarchy, and men taking their place as the sole, worshipful focus of a woman’s existence, much less these female characters being important in their own narratives. If these people weren’t threatened by female characters being people, they wouldn’t say anything. They’d just move on in apathy.
Reality is people are complicated. There’s room for all stripes in all colors and contexts. It’s no secret that history has suppressed and erased countless stories that don’t support the ruling narrative of the dominant culture. These same people forget there’s plenty of storytelling traditions that include women taking their place as warriors in cultures outside America. For all the sexism and misogyny, women fighting is not an alien concept, it’s not even foreign to other Western European traditions.
Believe what your own research is showing you, not what a bunch of idiots who can’t tell their ass from their elbow are whining about. They can’t handle someone who isn’t straight, male, and (most often) white being the central focus. Really, they can’t handle these characters as even a side focus. That’s their loss, it doesn’t have to be yours.
-Michi
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softlyspector · 7 months
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Summary: All you do is want, while Joel worries he won't ever be enough.
Find out how it started: You put aside your touch aversion for a tattoo from Joel.
Pairing: tattoo artist!Joel Miller x f!Reader
Word count: ~9.2k
Warnings: slow build, no outbreak tattoo!au, just the barest hint of angst/argument, the ‘believes they’re hard to love, loving them is like breathing’ trope, tattoos and getting tattooed (the process isn’t really described), reader is touch adverse, vague mentions of a past abusive relationship, insecurity, self confidence issues, abandonment issues, anxiety, lots and lots of intimacy and touching, mentions of arousal, Joel gets to have both his daughters in this
A/N: Hello, so here we are at the final part of this lil four part thing. This fic owns a piece of my heart now, and I hope it's found somewhere to live in yours too. It's special for a lot of reasons, but the support its gotten has really been something incredible. Thank you for being so kind and lovely.
Once again, we’re ignoring canon and pretending like Joel can draw for this fic, thank you. Thank you for reading! As always, I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback!
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“You didn’t have to do this, you know.” 
Joel glances up at you from where he’s kneeling on the floor. A lock of gray hair falls to the middle of his forehead. You reach down, without thinking, and push it back into place, letting your fingers trail through his hair. He always wears it so carefully parted to the side, especially now that he’s let it grow out a little longer. 
You picture him standing in front of the mirror in his bathroom brushing his hair and feel something warm and fluttery beat against your ribs. 
The image comes easily because it’s not something you have to imagine but remember—Joel tilting his chin down, eyes on his reflection in silvery morning light. 
Pink stains the tips of his ears when you let his hair slip softly from between your fingers. 
“Yeah, I did,” he disagrees before laboring to his feet. You hook one hand beneath his elbow and help him up. His knees pop and he hisses. “It’s past due we fixed it, anyhow. Past time I let you get back to your own life,” he continues, not pulling his arm away from your hand as he stoops down to shove the screwdriver in his hand back into the toolbox on the floor.
You like the way he says we. 
You rub your thumb against the inside of his elbow as he straightens again with a groan that means his back is aching again. “Well, now you get your house back to yourself,” you tease. 
“Ain’t like you’re trouble to have around,” he grumbles. 
You keep a steady pressure on his arm, because you like the way his skin feels under your hand, warm and pliant, like he’s been in the sun. You like the way you can feel the shift of muscle and the micro jump of tendon beneath your fingertips. 
You don’t like admitting to yourself that you like touching him, that you like the way he lets you hold on to him but so rarely tries the same with you. 
But, you’ve come to realize over the last week, where you shy away from touch, Joel craves it; he’s positively starved for it. He tries his best to hide that he wants for anything at all, but you see it. 
He would never ask for anything from you; it’s anathema to who he is, to ask for care. He’s stubborn and a little proud. 
When the locks that fit your door weren’t in stock at the local hardware store and Joel insisted on you staying with him until they came in, you saw that want first hand. 
He’d been busy for so many years—with work and his kids and his business and his brother. He’d lived in a busy house with a revolving door of people who constantly needed him. And now, he lives alone and away from his kids. His schedule is one he sets for himself, with easy, quiet days. His girls are busy, Tommy has his own family, and his house is empty. 
Maybe Joel would never admit it, but he is lonely.  
Staying with him for a week had shown you just how much he wanted—touch and companionship and company—and just how absolutely solitary his days were, especially in the evenings. Guilt like a tide had washed over you. How closely he paid attention to you, how cautious and watchful and giving he’s been, and you haven't really done the same. You haven’t tried to give him anything, to meet him somewhere in the middle. You hadn’t even thought of it. 
“Thank you for letting me stay with you this week,” you say, releasing his arm to press your hand against his spine, rubbing gently. It’s easier that way, you find, subtly giving, easing hurts he wouldn’t admit to. “And for changing the locks. You’re too good to me.” 
“No trouble,” he assures you again, quickly. “It’s too quiet without my girls livin’ with me. It was nice. Havin’ you around.” He clears his throat and bushes past the admission. “Anyhow. I’ll let you get settled back in.”
You frown at him, but Joel only puts an arm around your waist and leans in to press a kiss to your temple and then your cheek. “You call me if you need somethin’. Anything.” He says it against your skin, his lips warm and slightly chapped. “Even for nothin’.”
You close your eyes and absorb that affection, let it sink deep into your body, into your blood and bones, the ventricles of your heart. 
For a moment, all you can feel is him breathing against you—the patient, steady rise and fall of his breath—before he starts to pull away. You don’t want him to go, you aren’t ready to be parted from him. 
You aren’t ready to let him go. 
“Joel,” you say and cup your hand around his wrist to keep him in place. “Wait. Why don’t you come in? For some coffee?” 
He meets your eyes, searches your gaze for a long moment there in the doorway of your apartment. His brows relax, his mouth softens, and you know he knows exactly what you’re doing, that he’s been found out. He thinks it’s pity and not cloying sweetness, not needling want and a building codependency that you don’t particularly mind driving your request. “Sweetheart—”
“Please? I don’t want to be alone just yet.” 
A few pleading words are all it takes for him to crumble. He nods and relents, “All right. Just for a minute, I have a client this afternoon.” 
“Okay,” you nod and pull him inside. You snap the door shut behind you and make a show of locking your brand new locks.
 Joel rolls his eyes at you, but doesn’t comment, settling himself at your kitchen table instead, toolbox tucked between his feet on the floor. The morning light paints him in sunburst orange and bumblebee gold, rays falling like a halo around him. He taps his fingers against the muraled, painted surface of the table, tracing the lines with one blunt nail. 
Unfamiliar want bubbles up in you again. You want to touch him again.
Already. 
You just let go of him.  
It’s an ache, right in the center of your chest. It feels like something pulsing and raw, infectious and torn. 
You’d like to plant yourself against his side and sit in the brutally warm, fall Texan sun shining so innocently through the slats of your blinds. 
Cured. Clean. 
That’s what you’d be, if you allowed yourself to reach out and grab it. 
Instead, you cup your hands against the sides of his face and stroke your thumbs over his graying beard. 
You half expect him to pull away, to jolt out of your hands, like you would. And though he does look startled, he doesn’t pull away. Hazel eyes flick up to meet yours. You trace the scar on the bridge of his nose with one finger. “Thank you,” you say again, just so he’ll hear it even if he won���t respond to it. “You don’t have to worry about me but you do.”
He pulls one of your hands away from his face and nods, staring down at the lines on your palm before he hooks your pointer fingers together. “‘Course I have to.” 
You keep stroking his cheek, the soft bristles of his beard catching on your fingertips. “Of course,” you say. “It’s what you do.” 
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Joel thinks you look beautiful. He also thinks you look wistful, with later October light falling in drafts around your shoulders—merigold, sunshine, sepia. 
For once, you aren’t looking back at him. Joel catches you looking at him all the time now, mostly at his hands, chancing glances from the corner of your eyes  like he would mind you looking. If he thought more of himself, he’d probably say you look at him with a dreamy cut to your gaze.
Your feet are propped on the porch railing. Your jeans and scuffed sneakers are splattered with bright splotches of paint. His guitar is across your lap and Ellie is next to you, teaching you, he supposes. Or at the very least correcting you occasionally as the two of you talk. You say something and she tilts back with a full bodied laugh. 
You’d worked with Sarah and Ellie all day, painting the chicken coop in bright swatches of pastel blush and lavender. It sticks out something awful, but he’d said you could paint it however you wanted and he meant it. 
Any way Joel cut it, he was outvoted three to one anyhow. 
He thinks you probably let Sarah influence the color palette more than you let on, and that makes something ache deep in his chest. 
Joel’s not exactly good at saying what he feels, he knows that. He’s always known it. 
But he can build you a chicken coop. He can fix your locks and your door and worry about your safety and drive to get you in the middle of the night. He can sketch out tattoo designs until his wrist aches and make you a million cups of coffee. 
And you decided to share part of what he gave you with Sarah and Ellie. Whether you know it or not, it means something to him. It brings a tight feeling to the back of his throat. 
Though the afternoon is mild, you’re wrapped up in a flannel over your t-shirt. It’s his flannel from that first night he spent at your kitchen table; the one you haven’t given back and that he doesn’t want back. 
Joel keeps his eyes on you as he finishes up the last of the chores that needed doing. His back is aching again, a flare of pain that starts at the base of his spine and ends behind his ears. 
It was lucky, maybe, that you’d convinced him, in your offhand way, to get chickens instead of horses, that he decided that was the best thing to give you. He isn’t sure he could keep up with much more than what he has. 
“You’re staring again,” Sarah says from behind him.
“I’m not,” he snaps.
“It’s okay to stare at your girlfriend, dad,” she says and he can hear the laughter in her voice, the damn teasing. 
Joel winces. “That is not—we ain’t—” Not yet. You aren’t anything yet. Maybe not ever. 
You’ve bloomed in the last month or so. Opened up, shiny and blush bright. You’re still that watchful little doe, but now you’re one that recognizes something kind. 
Not so skittish, not so afraid. 
And that’s good, that’s something. But he worries. Worries you’ll start to see he’s nothing but an old man waiting around for his kids to visit, for his brother not to be busy with his family, for you to pay him any mind. 
You surely noticed it weeks ago when you stayed with him those few days, all that painful, solitary loneliness that happened so quickly. Maybe you’d noticed it earlier than that, when you stopped coming by the shop after your first tattoo and his days went lonesome again too. It’s not like he has been subtle about how much your absence smarted. 
He’s not sure when his life slowed down so much, when he suddenly looked around and realized he missed the noise.
Maybe he’s been the one to pry you open, but if you wanted something better for yourself, something more, he’d have to let you go. It doesn’t diminish all that time he’d spent gaining your trust, that trust he’s still trying to grasp at some days. He doesn’t want you to be burdened by his loneliness, to feel weighed down with it, to feel trapped by it, to feel like it’s your responsibility. 
Joel already worries that’s already the case, with how often you’d ended up at his house in the evenings over the past month. But he isn’t strong enough to make you stop. 
Still, he could never live with himself, if he were next in a long line to make you feel helpless and trapped. 
Sarah rolls her eyes and herds the second stubborn goat into the barn and shuts the gate. “If you say so,” she says. “I’m gonna get Ellie and head out. Busy day tomorrow.” 
“Okay, baby girl,” Joel says. Sarah fits herself into his arms and he presses a kiss to her hair. “Thanks for the help. Be safe.” 
She pulls away and nods, jogging across the yard without looking back to hop the little fence that separates it from the driveway. He watches Sarah say goodbye to you, the way your mouth lifts in a smile, the way you move the guitar from your lap and lean forward when she climbs the steps to give you a hug. 
Ellie gives you a much briefer hug, one armed and slightly stiff before she follows Sarah. He lifts a hand to her, knowing Ellie won’t come over and say goodbye the way Sarah does. She pulls a face at him and waves back as she climbs in the car.
When they disappear in a cloud of red dust at the end of the drive, you lean back and stare down at the guitar again, adjusting the positioning of your fingers on the strings as though nothing of note just happened. 
Maybe, nothing of note has happened. 
You’d hugged them so easily, smiled at them so warmly. He’s grateful for it, that ease you have with them, that you feel safe and secure. It makes something warm and protective and territorial for all three of you settle in around his ribs.
His girls and you. 
Your mouth pulls down at the corners as he watches you clumsily reposition your other hand along the frets. 
He tries to repress a smile and glances away from you to continue his work. A poorly struck chord followed by a frustrated sigh echoes across the yard. 
You ain’t exactly a natural with the instrument, though you try. 
Joel taught Sarah and Ellie to play when they were young. He taught Tommy, when their mother didn’t have time to. He’s happy to teach you now, too. 
More notes float on the air, curl into the whispering leaves that skitter along the drive. You aren’t doing so bad, he thinks, when the music suddenly stops. 
He turns to peer over his shoulder at you. 
You’ve taken your feet off the railing and have folded your arms along it instead, chin leaning on your forearms, head tipped to the side, guitar propped between your knees. “Joel?” 
“Honey?” He answers, and you smile. The effect is like being lit from the inside out. You brighten and there’s sunshine in his soul, in all the dark places in his chest. 
“Will you play for me?” You uncross one arm to hold your hand out to him, like you could reach him from there if you tried hard enough. 
“You were doin’ just fine at it,” he calls back, escorting the chickens as gently as he can into their newly painted home. 
You smile at him again. “I know. But I want to hear you and it’s getting dark anyway.” 
“Guess so,” he says, wiping sweat from his brow. “Just a minute, darlin’.” 
You nod and grab the guitar again to settle it in your lap. 
The evening light is bleeding gold through the boughs of the oak that overhang the driveway, the whispers of autumnal, purpled shadows bruise the horizon as the sun sinks ever lower.
With the other goat and his lone sheep herded into the barn, he crosses back to the porch where you’ve lit a lantern and tucked yourself deep into one of the rocking chairs. The blanket he keeps folded over the back of one of the chairs is now curled over your lap. You look cozy, too warm, in the lingering heat of the day. He takes up residence next to you, picking up the guitar you’ve abandoned in his seat. “What would you like to hear, darlin’?”
It had taken a week’s worth of needling for him to play for you, but now he wants to do it all the time. 
“Whatever you want to play for me, Joel,” you say, bracing your elbow on the arm of the chair to lean your chin on your hand, eyes already closed. 
He plucks idly at the strings, watching your face. You put yourself in his hands so easily these days, without thought or worry. There’s trust in its purest form in your expression, like you’d laid yourself at his doorstep. He can’t imagine you closing your eyes like that, relaxed and at peace, even a few weeks ago. 
Joel says your name, watches your eyes blink open, the peaceful little spell broken. You pull back, sitting up straight. Doe eyes meet his, round with question. “Joel?” 
“I just wanted to say how pretty you look this evenin’.” 
You transform, bloom, duck your head and say nothing. The air is rose colored, heavy with the scent of magnolia. 
You aren’t exactly good at taking compliments, either. But that’s something you’re both working on. 
“Hey,” he says. You look up and lean toward him again, like you’re so ready to drop yourself into his waiting hands. 
And when he reaches for you, you do. 
Joel cups his hands against your jaw, and leans in to kiss you. Your mouth is soft against his. You taste like autumn air, and like the spiked sweet tea at your elbow. When you pull back, your eyes are oceans, like soil, like smooth, dark glass. 
You also have a dot of bright paint on your cheek that he hadn’t noticed before. 
He sweeps his thumb over it and finds it’s stuck there. 
“What?” 
“Nothin’. Got a bit a’ paint there.” He presses his thumb over it. “I like it.” 
You pout at him, watchful eyes hooked into his. “Are you ever going to play for me or are you just going to make fun of me?” 
He chuckles and releases your face. “I would never make fun of you, honey.”
“Good,” you say as he strums the strings again. “Or I’ll never paint another chicken coop for you again. Not even if your girls help.”
He likes that you tease him, that you feel comfortable enough. He smiles, stares down at the toe of his boot. “You know you didn’t have to let ‘em.” 
“Let them what?” 
“Help. Y’know, create a monstrosity,” he gestures to the monstrosity in question, the pink and purple slightly washed out against the blush of the setting sun. “I built it for you.”
Your foot nudges against his and he looks up to find you already gazing at him. There’s something vulnerable in your eyes, something soft and unafraid. “I know. I wanted them to help. I like spending time with them, Joel.” 
He nods and you smile. “Colors are kind of awful, though. Looks like one of Sarah’s old dollhouses. Thought you’d do a mural, like your table.” 
You laugh, and the sound is something he wishes he could capture, box up inside him and never release. “But it’s mine, like you said. And chicken dollhouse chic is what we were aiming for.” 
He snorts, but he feels better about it. “That so?” 
“Yeah. Now, play something for me?” You request again softly. 
Joel mentally shifts through the catalog of songs he could play for you before settling on a song. When he glances back at you, you’ve once again closed your eyes. Orange light, flippant and fleeting, has drifted across your face in a fiery bar as the sun sinks lower on the horizon. You glow in that beautiful light. 
He itches to do something other than play the guitar for you.
Although he’s painted you as a doe more times than he can count, he’s never attempted to actually capture your likeness. He could never do you justice, so he just shouldn’t try. It would be embarrassing enough, if you ever found out that you’ve been the source of all his creativity the last few months. That you are his muse. 
The plum color on the horizon has darkened, the navy of the encroaching night feathering against the tops of the trees. 
You’ve settled back into a peaceful position, eyes closed as you listen. 
He plays through a couple of songs before he glances up again and finds you watching him, your gaze focused on his hands. “Will you ever sing for me?” You ask softly, eyes flicking up to meet his. 
He hasn’t sung since his girls were little, not to anyone anyway, and not to anyone that could tell him his voice was terrible. 
Even still, he’s never been more tempted. 
“No,” he says, even though denying you anything is hard. “You don’t want to hear me sing, honey.” 
“But you have such a pretty voice,” you disagree. 
He plucks out a final note, music hovering in the air. “That just ain’t true,” he shakes his head and leans the guitar carefully against the bannister. Night has fully fallen, your face is shaded in shadow when he looks at you. “Do you want to stay with me?” 
Joel’s offered a few other times, because he always wants you to stay. That week you’d stayed with him while he waited for your new locks to come in at the hardware store had been kind to him. He’d gotten used to your presence in his house embarrassingly quick, and when he got the call that the locks had been delivered, it was like ice sliding down his spine. He’d forgotten, in just days, that you didn’t actually live with him. 
That was weeks ago. 
And since then, you haven’t stayed. 
You usually, always, decline and then he drives you home. 
But today is different. 
You reach out a hand to him and fold your fingers around his. “Yes,” you sigh. 
“Sure?” He asks, surprised. “It’s no bother to drive you home, honey.” 
“I’m sure. If you’ll have me.” 
“I’ll always gladly have you.” 
Your lips curve up, and you duck your head. “What do you want to do for dinner?” 
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Joel burns whatever he attempts to make on the stove for dinner. He turns to you, with spatula in hand and an irritated tilt to his brows, and asks if you’d like to ride into town to eat at Flu’s.
You agree, and go, still laughing when Joel pulls onto the main road. He grouses under his breath the entire way to town, but he holds your hand against the center console. And when you get to Flu’s he opens the passenger side door for you, then the diner’s door, his hand held lightly against your spine. He tucks his legs around yours under the table, knees and calves brushing together. The diner’s lights are dim and cozy. 
He looks soft, in that buttery light. The hard edges of his face ironed out, smile lines and crow’s feet divoted into his skin. He holds your hand on the table, and you watch his fingers more than his face, the rounded swell of his knuckles, the veins in the back of his hand, the knob of his wrist, on which he always wore an old watch that had long stopped ticking. When you’re apart, you find yourself daydreaming of his hands, scarred and broad and warm. 
Joel insists on paying, doesn’t let you even consider doing it. 
When you climb back into the truck, he puts one hand on your thigh and you sink back into your seat, warm and full and content. You slide your hand over his and feel the rough calluses on the tips of his fingers. 
When you close your eyes, you see him working in the sun, poking fun at you while you and Sarah and Ellie paint the chicken coop, squinting through the bright light. He still smells like sun, like warm skin and his cologne and faintly of sweat and whatever thing he’d burned on the stove earlier. 
When Joel kissed you that first time, he opened a door in you, one that’s impossible to shut and that does nothing but want. 
You’ve never craved touch like you crave his. Even when you feel like you don’t want to be touched at all, you think his hand would be tolerable, would be okay. 
You’re painfully aware that part of his appeal is knowing that he would always let you go, that he always knows when it's time to leave you be. And the times you don’t want him to touch you, have been shrinking. 
Lately, all you want is for him to fold his fingers between yours, touch the bare skin at the small of your back, to trace your spine up between your shoulder blades, or cup his palm over the back of your neck and tuck you into him. 
When you get back to his place, it’s still pretty early in the evening, and all you can think of is ways to get him to touch you again. He turns on the battery powered radio that sits on the porch, perpetually set low on an oldies station. 
You can’t look away from him, something like agony twisting in your chest, like there’s a knife between your lungs. He’s talking about something, gesturing across the yard with one hand, his other tangled with yours. Joel’s thumb strokes little circles against the back of your hand, each pass like a bolt of addictive lightning. It’s not enough. His hand in yours is no longer enough. 
Joel doesn’t protest when you pull him to his feet when a new song starts up. He gives what you don’t ask for but desperately want. He drags you into his chest and slides his arm around your back, tucking you in close to him. You can hear his heartbeat, feel it pulsing in his chest. He tilts around the porch with you for a long time, even when the music is interrupted by obnoxious ads. 
He hums along under his breath and when you slip your hands beneath his shirt to rest against his bare skin, you can feel the vibrations of his voice against your fingers. 
You wish you could sink your hands inside him, just to be a little closer. It feels so strange to want that. You’ve never been held that gently before, it loosens a knot you didn’t know existed in the core of your chest. 
And you think, even when things with your ex had been good, when he hadn’t been yelling at you or bruising you with a tattoo you didn’t want, he had never held you gently or with such love. 
When you pull back, Joel lets you go. There is no fuss about it; there is no guilt. 
Eventually, you go inside.  
He lets you shower first, just like he always had when you stayed with him before. 
After, you watch him brush his hair and then his teeth and something painfully sharp gets caught up inside your chest. It’s hard to breathe around that feeling, that ache. 
You watch him get ready for bed, and you watch him groan when he has to stoop down to pick a pair of socks up off of the floor, and you feel something more than warmth flood your heart. It unravels, spools through your veins, and it's so warm it burns.  
Joel catches you looking at him, as he often does these days. 
He smiles at you, the lines by his eyes crinkling up. He looks domestic in a heather gray t-shirt that sits loose on his frame, pajama bottoms that look as though they’ve seen a few too many years, and glasses perched on the end of his nose. “You all right?” 
You nod. “Really good, Joel.” 
That gets a little laugh out of him. “Must be worn out,” he says as he sits on the edge of the bed. You lie back and curl on your side, watching him adjust his pillows, admiring the shape of his hands as he goes, remembering what they looked like sun drenched and warm in the yard. He drags his knuckle over the curve of your cheek and neither you nor your body remembers to flinch away. “After all that paintin’ and gettin’ me to dance.” 
“It was fun though, wasn’t it?” You ask, suppressing the urge to trace the length of his spine through his shirt. “You liked dancing with me.” You clutch the pillow tighter to your chest and dip your chin into the fabric. 
He takes his glasses off and then finally lies down next to you. Nerves burst in your belly when he turns to look at you. “I enjoyed it very much, sweetheart.” 
“Good.” You wriggle a bit closer to him. 
He watches you and then offers a place for you to fit yourself against his side. You slide in close to him, tucking your hands between his body and yours, slotting your nose against the dip of his collarbone. 
He smells good there, like soap and something that’s purely Joel and so soothing, like sage and pine. 
“This what you been wantin’, huh?” He asks, stroking your back slowly. You stiffen but he chuckles into your hair. “I mean that in a nice way.” 
You lick your lips, feel the shift of muscle beneath your cheek as he reaches to turn off the lamp. There’s no point in denying it. “Yeah.”
“I know,” he says against your forehead. “Me, too.”
You settle against him, the feeling of his palm sliding over your shirt, up and down, tapping over your spine, soothes you. Your stomach flips when his hand drags along the bare skin at your hip. 
If you could dig a trench into his bones, take cover there, you would. And still that wouldn’t be close enough. 
“Joel,” you say, tracing your hand over his chest. 
For once, your voice seems to encourage more than caution and he doesn’t stop touching you. His hand slides higher again and your breath hitches. 
It feels so nice, like all the empty places inside you are slowly being colored in, shaded in emerald green and butter, sunshine yellow, jewel bright blue and blush pink.
You curl into him, shakily pressing the hand on his chest up to his neck. You cup your palm there and Joel turns on his side. His hair is soft and a little damp when you dig your fingers into it, the scent of him wrapping around you, cradling you close and safe. Joel touches his forehead very gently to yours, his breath fanning across your lips. 
He waits for you. 
You close the distance between you, and press your mouth to his. 
He sighs into you, his grip tightening on your waist for a moment, and you push yourself closer to the circle of warmth that is his body.  
His fingers graze the edge of your shirt, then push it up, rough palms sliding over your back again. His hand is so big, so warm, it spans your back and then covers your ribs. You gasp into his mouth when the pad of his thumb caresses the curve of your breast. 
Goosebumps erupt along your body. “Joel,” you murmur against his mouth. 
“Mhm,” he hums. “I know, honey. I got you.”  
He touches you there again but doesn’t go any further. You shiver and press your mouth back to his, tasting the mint of his toothpaste when his tongue slips into your mouth. 
Moonlight filters pale and bright into his bedroom, and when you pull away his eyes are dark, hungry. You wish you had the courage to feed that gaze, but you aren’t there yet. A stab of guilt pierces your lungs. He’s so patient with you, and you can’t help but wonder if one day that patience might run out. 
Instead of lingering on that, on wondering how much time you could possibly ask him to give, you offer him something else. “Can I show you my tattoos?” 
He blinks at you, pink, kiss swollen lips parting. “If you want.” 
“But do you want to see?” 
“Baby,” he touches your cheek, traces the line of your jaw. “I’ve been dreamin’ about it since you told me about ‘em.” 
You squirm, embarrassment crawling up the inside of your belly. “You have?” 
“Mm.” He kisses you again, his mouth lingering long against yours. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, his breath against yours. “I think about you all the time.” 
You get your knees beneath you and push up from your place beside him. Joel turns on his back when you swing one leg over his waist and find yourself, boldly, very much in his lap. His hands anchor on your hips, thumbs beneath your t-shirt.
“Oh,” you say, pressing your hands over his, something nervous wriggling in your gut. “Sorry. Is—” 
You try to move away but his grip doesn’t change. “It’s all right,” he says evenly, the barest hint of something tremulous beneath. 
Before you can think about it more, overthink being in his lap or how much of you you’re about to show him or how heavy and uncomfortable his hands might become, you release his wrists and tug your shirt up to just beneath your breasts, so your ribs are visible. 
Those feelings don’t come though. You don’t feel anxious or weighed down or wrong. 
He’s looking at you and touching you and seeing you and it's fine. It’s fine because it’s Joel. No one had ever understood you before the way he has—not your family or your friends or any previous partner. They try, but Joel just seems to know you, understand, without really trying. 
Joel clears his throat, his expression unreadable as he lifts one hand to your tattoo. When he traces the ink, you exhale against his curious fingers. It tickles. “That’s real pretty,” he says. “Antlers. It really suits you.” 
“Thank you,” you murmur. “Deer are like good luck, I think. They know things.” 
He looks at you like you’re some ancient creature he can hardly believe exists. Embarrassment claws at you but you don’t look away. “That so?” He looks at the ink again, tension slicing through the air. “Jesus you’re somethin’.” 
You don’t get a chance to respond because he meets your eyes again and asks, “Where’s the bee?” 
You laugh and the acid burn of uncertainty disappears. “How’d you remember about the bee?” 
“‘Cause I’ve been wonderin’ about it too.” He’s still absentmindedly tracing the antlers, the moss and the flowers that loop through the branches of the antlers. His expression is open now, curious and needy. “It ain’t on your hip, if I’m rememberin’ right.” 
You shift your hand to your sternum and carefully tug your shirt up a bit higher. There, nestled between your breasts, is a tiny, tiny bumblebee. “Well, ain’t that a surprise.” He shifts his hand up and covers the bee with his thumb, the length of his fingers sitting right beneath your breast.
An ocean wells up inside you, threatens to break apart your ribs. You lean into his hand, your chest warm, catching, like fire is spreading from all the places he touches you. The knuckles of his other hand drag up your side. 
You shiver under his eye, fighting the urge to look away, to tug yourself out of his grip. But the thought of losing his warm hands against you is worse, it outweighs everything else.  
“Where did you think it was?” You ask, hardly able to breathe. Everything in the world narrows down to his dark bedroom, his eyes skating over your newly revealed tattoos, milky moonlight parting the tiny space still left between you. 
“I couldn’t get it out of my head that it was on your hip.” 
You laugh and Joel keeps looking at you, his eyes flicking between your bared skin and your eyes. The room is warm, his gaze heavy. “You’re real pretty. Did I ever tell you that?” 
“Once or twice, maybe,” you smile.  
“Mm.” 
You cup one hand around his wrist, the pressure of his hand against the swell of your breast sending shockwaves through you. It’s all you can focus on, the slow sweep of his thumb against sensitive skin. You push his hand harder against you until it feels hard to breathe. 
You think about how much Joel gives you, how carefully he listens even when you don’t speak. 
He deserves to know you hear him, too. That you see what he wants, that you hear what he’s saying, and that you’re trying. 
“You show me what you think,” you say. “And I—I get it.” 
“I don’t think you do,” he says, eyes dark. He reaches for you slowly, giving you time to tell him to stop or to pull away, but you don’t. You desperately want him to keep touching you with his safe, patient, cautious hands. 
Slowly, you’re pressed back into the sheets. Joel goans, a pained sound that means his back or knees hurt and he won’t admit it. 
He settles himself against you, his body fitted against the cradle of your hips. Joel is heavy against you, but comforting. His fingers clench around yours, and for a long moment he just looks at you beneath him, starved eyes skittering across your skin. 
“You all right?” He asks gruffly, like there’s something tangled in his chest. “You say it. If you aren’t.” 
“I’m okay.” 
You reach up and touch his cheek, then the tail of his eyebrow, as he assesses you. He tilts his chin down, brows lowered heavily over his eyes. You can’t exactly blame him for being cautious. You warned him that you were hard work, and he meant it when he said he didn’t mind, that he didn’t think you were. Caring comes naturally for him. “Really. I would say it. I trust you.” 
He nods once and your chest hitches when he dips his head and presses his mouth softly against the bee and then the antlers. 
The rough feeling of his beard against your skin tingles. Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling, and you aren’t sure where to put your hands. Joel’s are pressed to your sides, forearms snugly against your body, warm and twitching. You settle on his shoulders, the wide planes of his back, so reassuringly large against your body. 
Then, his tongue, firm and soft, slides over your skin. Over the bee and the tips of the antlers strung through with ivy and flowers, over the underside of your breast. 
You gasp and arch against him and you suddenly know exactly where you want your hands. You tuck them against the back of his head, threading through the feathery gray strands to keep his mouth against your skin. 
Want tightens between your legs, makes your belly ache. Your nipples tighten painfully hard. A whine catches in your throat that you know he hears because he answers you with a low groan of his own against your throat when he sucks a kiss to the underside of your jaw. 
It’s overwhelming. You want to push him away and pull him closer. You want to bury yourself inside him and never look into his eyes again. You want this feeling to last forever. You never want Joel to feel lonesome again. You want him to be able to ask for what he wants, to let you give it to him. 
Your ex again, flashes through your mind, an unfair comparison. How rarely he’d kissed you, shown you affection, for just the sake of it. 
You want you want you want you want—
You want—
“I want you to tattoo the cover up,” you say suddenly. Tears salt that backs of your eyes, tightness itching at the back of your throat. You hitch your knees up around his ribs, fear that he might pull away swimming to the forefront of your mind. It’s dizzying, because your instinct has always been to move away, to put space between you and things that might hurt you. You’ve given Joel so many pieces of you; he could break every part of you, if he really wanted to. “If you still—if you want—I mean—” you stammer. 
His head lifts and your thighs clench because you want him everywhere and nowhere all at once. You want him to want you as badly as you want him, and that just doesn’t seem possible. Not in all the ways you mean anyway, the kind where you tuck yourself inside his ribs, and into the dark places in his mind, like love letters that will never be sent. 
You love him, you think. You love Joel. 
It doesn’t feel like enough. The word isn’t big enough to encompass what he makes you feel. The feelings worming around in your chest are expansive, wide as the night sky, splattered with stars and distant galaxies that have yet to be found, let alone described. 
“‘Course I want to,” he says easily. “Of course, I will.” 
“Tomorrow?” You ask breathlessly. 
“If that’s what you want, honey.” 
You nod. “It is.” You suspect you could say you wanted him to do it right at that moment, and he’d find a way to make it happen. He’d drive you to his studio in the dark. He’d sit with you until morning bruised the sky, until the peach of the sun dripped sticky sweet down the horizon. “I want you to do it. I want it to be from you.”
“All right,” he agrees. “Tomorrow mornin’ we’ll go and do it.” His hand slides down your side to your hip, then your thigh. “You okay?” 
You nod. 
“You have to talk to me,” he says. “I ain’t a mind reader.” 
“I know,” you admit. “I’m sorry I put so much on you to figure out.” 
“That ain’t what I meant.” 
“But that’s what you do. You figure me out.”
Joel pats your thigh and then presses the pads of his fingers to the hinge of your jaw. His eyes search yours for a long time, black in the low light of the room.
He kisses you until you start to fall asleep, the lazy press of his lips whispering things you can no longer hear.  
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Morning dawns bright and warm. 
Joel gets up long before you even stir. You’re curled as close to him as you can get without actually touching him, hands tucked beneath your face, lips parted softly. You’d migrated to the center of the bed, taking up space he’s not really keen on reclaiming. 
The memory of your skin against his mouth, all the other places on your body he’d like to touch and taste, is like nectar, like the sweet promise of a good dream after a long day. You aren’t ready for that though. Not yet, anyway, and that’s all right. 
But he’s only a man, and he’s painfully hard. 
Before, you were like a deer he’d accidentally come upon, skating around the rim of his peripheral vision. Now, you’re still doe-eyed and watchful, but you’re closer; you’re relaxed, lying in the shade of trees you trust, at ease. 
Your hand twitches toward him when he presses a slow kiss against your temple, the jump of tendon beneath his mouth soothing somehow. He pulls the sheet up and tucks it around your shoulders, because without him next to you the draft from the fan overhead is too cool for you. 
He takes care of himself in the bathroom without much fuss, and then feels a little bit guilty for it when you’re sleeping on just the other side of the wall. It wasn’t the first time though, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. 
In the kitchen, he makes coffee just the way you like it, with a little bit of cinnamon in with the coffee grounds. The coffee creamer you like is sweet, so he sets that out with a spoon next to a pale blue mug, pours himself his own cup, and relocates to the back deck. 
The trees at the far edge of the property are still dark and skeletal, the thicket full of shadow and the buzz of night insects. 
Even at the end of October, it’s still warm. A breeze ruffles his hair, shakes the nearly naked trees and sends a cascade of brown and orange sifting to the ground. Next month it would cool off, just a little. 
He hadn’t told you when his birthday passed in September, that you’d inadvertently spent that day with him. Sarah and Ellie had tried to get him to tell you, but he hadn’t been able to stomach it. 
Dread accompanies that day. 
It hadn’t always, just since Sarah was little, like his body was braced for a tragedy that would never come. He couldn’t have you be a part of that too, though the girls had pointed out you would eventually notice his lack of a birthday, if you were around long enough. 
He’d cross that bridge if he ever came to it. It’s hard to imagine he’d get you for that long.  
It doesn’t take long for you to find him. The flood of morning sun has passed the tree line and twists dappled green and yellow circles over the deck. When you push open the back door, you have your cup of coffee in one hand and the neck of the guitar in the other. 
He’d have to get you your own. Either that, or make one for you.
“Hey,” you smile at him as you set your steaming cup down on the patio table. 
“Mornin’. You sleep okay?” 
“Mmm.”
Joel expects you to ask him to play, but you settle down in the chair next to his, your bare knee pressed against his, and adjust the instrument in your lap. 
The sound is clumsy, but beautiful and careful, when you play. Joel’s glad he decided to teach you. He just listens and watches you. Your expression is thoughtful but closed, like you’re somewhere else. That’s how he thinks too, music in hand, mind far away. He likes that look on you, until you suddenly pause and glance up. You watch him for a long moment with those doe eyes of yours, folding your arms around the body of the guitar. 
You lick your lips and his eyes flick briefly to your mouth, the plush curve of your lower lip. He hadn’t kissed you good morning. “I want to figure you out too, you know,” you say. 
You hold his gaze for just a second before dropping your eyes to the wooden floorboards instead, fidgeting like you’re repressing the urge to curl in on yourself, fold yourself away. “You got me all figured out, honey,” he assures you. 
You shake your head and lift your eyes again, tapping your nails against the wood. “You—” you pause and swallow, “You’re allowed to want things from me, Joel.” 
Something falls in his chest, like he’s missed the last step on a long staircase, gravity turned against him. 
His heart lurches up into his mouth, tangy with some unknown fear. “I do. Trust me, I do.” 
“Why don’t you ask?” 
“Honey—”
“I know,” you say softly. “I know. I know how I am and how—” you stop and flounder, frustrated for a moment. “I know I’m not easy to ask. But you. . . I don’t feel that way with you anymore; I’m not afraid anymore. And I want to be enough for you. I hope I’m not too slow about it.” You look away again. “I want you to know you can call on me, too, Joel.” 
He clears his throat but the tightness doesn’t go away. “You could never take too long. I don’t mind waitin’.” 
“But?” 
But, he’s bad at this.
But, he loves too hard, cares too much. 
But, part of him is convinced that the loneliness is deserved. Everyone seems to leave him, someway or another. He’s just preparing early for it this time. He’s never held onto a romantic relationship before, so why should this one be any different than all the ones that came before it?
He doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t want; he gives and cares and that’s why people stay. It really doesn’t have all that much to do with him, or what he wants. 
“But you don’t want anything from me?” You ask, your voice noticeably smaller, and the warm morning suddenly feels cold. 
“It ain’t that.” He should say more, but nothing else comes out, words trapped like moths inside a lamp. 
You swallow and nod, like you’re battering back your instinct to flee, to think the worst. You’ve come so far and it’s hard not to feel a little pride, that you stay, that you aren’t worried, not usually, that he’ll hurt you someway. He’s reminded of the first day he’d tattooed you, how one misplaced word was enough to have you jumping to your feet, fretful and afraid. “I like spending time with you. I like touching you. I can give that to you.” 
He doesn’t answer and you eventually continue. “You can’t protect me from the whole wide world. Not even from you. I’m making a choice. To be here with you.” And he knows you’ve seen much more than he wanted you to, that you’ve seen the interior of him, bleeding red, splattered onto everything he touches. You’ve seen the want, the need, and you’re still here. 
He’s still not sure letting you care wouldn’t end with you leaving. But he doesn’t see what other choice he has. 
“Okay. But you promise me somethin’,” he says. “Just one thing and I’ll try.”  
You tilt your head, the picture of a curious little doe, almost nosy, peering into unfamiliar woods. “What?” You ask, looking away as you set the guitar aside.  
“If you ever want somethin’ better for yourself. You tell me. And you go.” 
Your eyes snap back to his, mouth parted in shock. “Joel—”
“I’m serious,” he snaps and you recoil a little, hurt in your eyes. “You deserve better’n this. Better than a lonely old man.” 
You shoot up from your seat in a rare show of anger. And that surge of pride hits him squarely in the chest again. He’s proud of you for that. For standing up for yourself, for letting yourself be angry with him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Your voice doesn’t raise in volume, but it is waspish, venom laced. “Better? What’s better for me than you?” 
“Honey,” he says, softens his voice. “Just ‘cause you opened up with me, don’t mean I think I get to keep you.” 
Your shoulders loosen and you step closer. When you reach out, God help him, he leans into your hand. 
Gentle fingertips run along his shoulders, bite into the knot at the top of his spine. “Keep me,” you scoff lightly. “I want you to keep me.” 
You don’t protest when he winds an arm around your waist and tugs you down into his lap. You’re warm and soft and frowning so hard at him. There’s a divot between your eyes that he wants to press his thumb over, to smooth away. Instead he takes your wrist in his hand and traces the tattoo on your forearm. “You’re the only one who’s ever wondered if they should,” you say. “You aren’t keeping anything. I’m giving you something no one else ever even tried to earn.”  
He doesn’t answer immediately, a hot fist around his words. He’d rather walk away, not talk about it, not talk about himself. But that would break all that hard won trust.  
“I just can’t have you feelin’ like I’m your problem,” he admits, voice graveled and scraping. “Like I’m holdin’ you down.”  
“It’s okay to need people,” you answer, ignoring him. “I want to take care of you too. I want to be here with you.” You slide your hand over his shoulder again. “Even if it's just like this. Especially if it's just like this.” You scratch your fingers through his hair. Sun spills around your shoulders, blinds him when he looks up at you. “I know how much you like it. And you can tell me when you need something. I’m still learning your tells.”
He chuckles at that, let’s you keep touching him, because he does want it and you don’t seem to mind so much that he’s just some lonely man. “All right,” he runs his hand up your thigh to your hip. “Promise me anyway.” 
“I promise,” you say. “To learn your tells.” 
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You make breakfast without burning anything, while Joel watches, hip leaned against the counter. His smile is soft, affectionate. 
Warmth balloons in your chest, bursts in your veins like champagne bubbles. You managed to reassure him, you managed to say what you want without feeling bad about it. 
“Lonely old man,” you burst out with a laugh. “I’m lonely and old.” 
Joel rolls his eyes when you dig your elbow into his side. “You ain’t old.” 
“Neither are you.” 
Joel buys you coffee from the little cafe you always stopped at before visiting him at the studio. He drives with his hand in yours. He opens the passenger side door for you and gestures you ahead of him into the studio. 
After going through the usual motions of disinfecting and sanitizing and picking one of the many, many, many coverup designs he’d sketched for you and getting the stencil on right, you find yourself in much the same position as the first time you got tattooed by Joel. 
Joel isn’t talking. He’s taking his time looking you over, intense and careful and muttering about that bastard that had dared lay his hands on you. He’s meticulous in everything he does, but especially when it concerns someone he cares about, when it comes to you. 
You’re lying down, studying the side of his face. He touches you without asking, and you don’t flinch once. The memory of his body against yours sends a flushed heat over your skin. Your scalp tingles with it, your toes curl with it. 
He finally seems satisfied after a few long minutes, his hand on the curve of your elbow. You nod your consent when he looks at you, tattoo gun poised in his other hand over your shoulder. “Sure?” 
“Never been surer.” You smile and then cover the hand resting on your elbow. He gives, you give back. “You don’t like it when I say thank you.” 
“I don’t,” he grunts. There's a blush beneath his beard.
You sweep your thumb against his knuckles, and think about how different that first time had been. Joel had reassured you, gave you a physical anchor you hadn’t known you needed, kind and steady and already lodged somewhere deep inside your heart.
Now you can give that back to him. 
“Okay.” 
But he knows. You know he hears it anyway.
Still, you want to say it. 
“Thank you, baby. For giving me back to myself.” 
He leans over you, and you tilt your chin up so he can kiss you. 
“Couple sessions, okay?” He croaks when he pulls away. “Don’t want to wear ya out.” 
There is nowhere in the world you’d rather be.  
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christinarowie332 · 5 months
Text
i am his .
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matt sturniolo x reader
pt 3 of “i’d be an idiot if i said no to that” and “i win” .
warnings - suggestive ? no droogs (boring ik)
y/n and reader realise maybe it ain’t just tension.
—————-
“matt your not even looking”
i say turning my head to look at him giggling , as i’m sat on his lap sideways at his desk .
“i am looking” he whispers lowly , still not looking away from me .
“oh i know your looking , your just not looking at this!!!” i say tapping the paper infront of us .
it’s been around two or three weeks since i hung out with them all and smoked together for the first time . since then i have barley left their apartment . nick and i have gotten so close , chris too .
turns out me and nick had more in common then i initially thought . we both loved melanie martinez , him ,her new stuff and me her old bangers . we also bonded over more personal things and silly things but it’s fair to say we are now attached at the hip . sleepovers . meeting my girl friends . added to group chats and staying up all night talking absolute nonsense and getting deep out of no where.
chris’s issues with him and his girlfriend were worse then we thought . his ramblings from the other night followed into the morning and ended up with us all realising she maybe isn’t the nicest girl . they broke up. this is one of the things that brought us closer . late night seshes talking and listening to music . walks when everyone else falls asleep . him annoying me for half the day .he’s turned into my little brother and i love tm the kid .
matt .
although there are no labels . i am his . not in a toxic way . i am just trilly enamoured with everything this man does . waking up to him smiling down at me . late night drives ending with not so pg moments . his light touches , speaking more then words . the only other language i would ever want to understand . his smile when he sees me and his brothers getting along well . and it’s the same for me . everytime i see his cold mask and attitude drop , everytime i catch him smiling while his brothers talk , everytime a song plays that he likes , watching his shoulders relax and the corner of his mouth twitch , it seems i can physically feel my heart swelling .
so here we are now , in his bedroom after hanging out all day , trying to get him to learn cursive . a silly thing i realised this man could not grasp for the life of him .
“MATT ITS NOT THAT HARD YOU JUST LINK THE LETTERS TOGETHER!!” i jokingly shout through chuckles . grabbing his hand from my thigh and putting the pen in his hand.
“ugh i dont get it !!! it looks stupid bro” he whines out putting his chin on my shoulder and wrapping his free arm around my torso .
“here” i say wrapping my hand around his and moving the pen for him .
Love.
i write it subconsciously and i feel him take his head off my shoulder . i turn my head at the loss of heat to find him staring at me with relaxed and warm features , his eye brows curled upwards and a smile lazily plastered on his face .
“what?” i say tilting my head slightly and shifting my body towards him .
he doesn’t respond and just placed a hand on the side of my face . moving his thumb up and down my cheek looking between my eyes and my lips before leaning in .
we kiss constantly. not being able to stay away from each other . each kiss saying a different thing . “you look good” , “i like your makeup today” “i missed you” “that was really cute” “i need you” . never has it ever said this . the kiss screamed many things . the loudest being “i think im in love with you”
he pulls away first . we both stay silent as turn on his lap and put both my legs over his , sitting face to face . his hands trail down my back to my ass , pushing me forward so our chests are all most touching . i move his hair from his face , admiring the boy in front of me .
i arch my back slightly as i lean in to kiss him again . hands in his hair and on the back of his neck . his hands are on the underside of my thighs lifting up and down at the movement of our make out . his cold fingers getting warmed by my body every time i move downwards on his lap .
he moved his mouth down to my ear , my neck , my collarbones. anything he can reach from this angle . leaving bruises and pink marks in his wake . making my head throw back at the sensation and stealing soft noises from me .
my hand trails underneath his shirt. fingers running down his chest , rising and falling with his deep breaths . he takes his top off with my help before lifting me and not breaking the kiss as he carries me to his bed . holding me up with both arms under my thighs before dropping me down on his bed and kissing down my chest. before making his way back up to my lips and placing a slow peck on them .
“ i want you all the time . i want to be yours and only yours y/n please” he whispers ,leaning on top of me , holding himself up by outstretched arms
“you have me matt .”
he has me.
_______________
i hate this sm . i’ll give em a spliff ext time i swear guys i just need a spliff myself first !!!
taglst 🤍
@mangosrar @sturnphilia @urmyslxt @biimpanicking @soursturniolo @sssturniolofart @deatthmatch @martyniukpl @parkerssecrets @lividnity @littlebookworm803 @daddyslilchickenfingers
love u all :) -millz / milkie 🤍
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intoxicated-chan · 1 month
Text
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒 ║ ❝𝐖𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐎𝐧 𝐚 𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧❞
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(A/n) ➳ Started watching Hazbin Hotel again, gotta say, it’s a good show. I was hoping to get to the next chapter sooner. I thank you guys for being patient, I seriously had a massive writer’s block.
Word Count ➳ 1.7k
Content Warnings ➳ Swearing, light sexual content, mentions of anger issues, mentions of abuse, mention of unrequited love, mentions of marriages, alcohol use, mentions of criminal investigation…
JUDAS Masterlist
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“DON’T YOU MEAN THAT SHIT DINER?”
You let out a playful scoff, acting offended. “Well excuse you Daryl, The Golden Bite is an amazing diner!” You spoke to him over the phone.
That’s when your coworker, Annie came walking with a plate in hand that had a half eaten burger. “Still tastes like cardboard.” She sang as she headed back to the kitchen.
“Annie-”
“Still not gettin’ it?”
You rolled your eyes. “Gonna come and say it to my face?” You flinched at the loud voices coming from the kitchen, Annie was once again arguing with the cooks.
You don’t blame her, the cooks the manager hired are shit and so is the quality of the food. It’s a shock that this place hadn’t been shut down yet.
You heard Daryl laugh and the infamous sound of his motorcycle. “I still wanna live another day and get another taste, still thinkin’ of ya.”
Your face immediately became hot, you thought you would break your phone with how tight you were clutching it.
“Daryl!” You harshly whispered.
“I’m an honest man and I’m honest when I say, I wanna bend you over my bike again.”
“I’m at work!”
“That ain’t gonna stop me.”
Annie poked her head around the corner. “Oh yeah, Meredith said that the sheriff wants you. Ain’t taking anybody else.” She disappeared before you could retort.
“That’s my cue.”
“I’ll talk to you later, Judas.” You set your phone in your pocket and looked over your shoulder for a quick glance, right by the window.
Shane sat at the table, looking over the menu as if he hadn’t been here for the hundredth time. You snapped your head back at the coffee machine the second his eyes drifted away from the menu.
You were still reeling from the conversation you had with him before, the two of you hadn’t talked, texted, or called each other. He didn’t stop by whenever he was in the neighborhood, did he feel guilty?
You walked to his table with a pen and notepad in hand. “Hey, Shane, what can I get you?”
“Just the special and a large coffee, nothin’ in it.”
“I’ll get that-”
“Can you give me a minute?” Shane interrupted you.
You looked up from your notepad and lifted an eyebrow. “Somethin’ wrong?”
“Jus’ sit, I won’t be long.”
You sighed. “If I get busted, it’s gonna be on your head, Walsh. I need this job.”
Shane chuckled. “You could always become a stay at home wife.”
You scoffed, clicking your pen. “Yeah? Who the hell’s gonna deal with my bullshit?”
“Me as your husband.”
Your heart sank into your stomach. “What?” You needed to bite this in the bud, like Amy said. “Look Shane, I don’t think-”
“You say that but what ‘bout later? Down the line? What happens when the jackass becomes borin’? Or worse? Hurts you?”
You could only shake your head in disbelief, Daryl was many things. He’s wild, secretive, and could be distant at times but he would never hurt you.
“Seriously? Do you really think that low of Daryl?! You don’t even know him.”
“Do you even know him?”
“That’s-”
“Do you know where the guy lives or any idea what he does for a livin’?” Shane then grabbed your wrist to pull you closer, his hot breath hitting your face. “I know you, (Y/n). I know that you like to chase after people who ain’t good for you and you know it! He’s one of them. And I know you’re better and safer with me.”
“I don’t-!”
“Pardon me!” Annie made you both jump back, Shane releasing his tightening grip. “Are you lovebirds done arguing?”
“Annie-!”
“Because we would like you to keep the volume down or take it outside.” Annie cut you off before you could even explain. “Or you can get back to work and not lose this job.”
“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, scurrying off to the kitchen.
Annie’s eyes turned to Shane who she glared at. “You ain’t good for her. Not even close.” She turned on her heel and followed you.
She found you in the break room, rubbing your arms and taking deep breaths. She could see it in your eyes, the slight anger.
“Need me to ask Miguel to toss that guy out?” Annie placed a hand on your shoulder.
“No, no.” You waved her off, your hands now fidgeting with your fingers. “I don’t know what that was.”
“That was a glimpse of an asshole.” Annie explained. “And a jealous one from what I heard, no ‘mout of therapy can fix that man.”
“You could never know-”
“I know ‘em (Y/n).”
“He’s probably cooled off by now.” You took one final deep breath. “I’m jus’ gonna hear what else he gotta say then I’m done, I’m out of here.”
“Workin’ or him?”
“Most likely both.”
Meredith peered into the break room. “Think she’s gonna reject him?”
Annie shook her head, her hands on her hips as she took a couple steps out the break room, seeing you sit back down with Shane. “The girl loves thrill and danger. Safety is never in her handbook.”
“Worried for ‘er?”
“I’m scared shitless.”
“Look, (Y/n) I know I ain’t your type of guy. But it could all change.” Shane explained.
“I ain’t got time for this, I ain’t got time for whatever you’re dreamin’ of. It’s all it is, a dream.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I do.” You retracted your hand when he went for it, speaking as sternly as you could without drawing the attention of customers. “And if you understand, you would stop askin’ ‘bout this guy.”
“I’ll understand when I get the chance to show you that a life with me is a safer choice than whatever you have with that guy.”
You groaned, was he really going to do this to himself? “You would rather be in a loveless marriage?”
“It ain’t gonna be loveless. What I’m askin’ you to do is to go out with me.”
“HE SAID WHAT?!” Andrea snatched the pillow that hid your frustrated expression, she threw it behind her and asked the same question again, even louder if possible.
“You heard me.” You mumbled.
You didn’t know how to feel other than uncomfortable. The lump in your throat didn’t want to leave, making you feel bothered.
“What did you say?!”
“Didn’t say anythin’, told me to think ‘bout it.”
“Dammit (Y/n)!”
“I know!” You stopped her before she could scold you. “I know I should’ve said no!”
“But you gotta admit, he’s gotta be loaded with cash.”
“...He kinda is.”
“S-Seriously?”
You nodded, you grabbed another pillow to squeeze at, trying to sooth yourself. “There would be times where Shane would pay for my expenses, like rent and water.”
“Oh he’s serious ‘bout you.”
“That’s the sad part. Even if things didn’t work out with Daryl, I don’t want Shane to be a second option jus’ ‘cause I couldn’t have Daryl or it becomes borin’. I wanna be sure that if I choose Shane, it’s gotta be true.”
You jumped at the sound of the wine bottle being popped open, you stared at Andrea as she poured you a rather large glass of wine.
“Then go see Shane.”
“Y’know I can’t-”
“See Shane and see how you feel. If nothin’ changes or worse comes to worst, you feel repulsed, then tell ‘im. You can continue to see Daryl with Shane hanging over your head.”
Andrea pushed the glass into your hands. “And what if it doesn’t? What if I end up fallin’ for him?”
“Then you could lose a man you love or a man who’s only sticking ‘round when he needs you to blow or fuck.”
“Daryl doesn’t seem like the type.”
“Then that’s worse, choosing between two guys is a fuckin’ nightmare.”
‘Im on my way’
You read the text again from Shane, silently hoping all of this was just a dream and you never heard Shane asking you out.
You shut your phone and stared into the mirror, you sighed, taking your tenth pair of earrings off. You were annoyed with yourself, how hard was it to say no? Especially to Shane?
The knocking on your door made you annoyed even more, you weren’t in the mood for a guest but it dropped when you saw Carl with Rick… Carl with Rick.
You opened your door. “Hey Rick.” Then you turn to the boy. “Carl!”
Carl quickly wrapped his arms around you, nearly knocking you down. You could never stay mad at the boy.
Rick stepped in and closed your door. “I’m callin’ in a favor.”
“Shoot.” You said, managing to get his arms off to get him a little snack.
“Lori’s mom canceled on us and I know your workin’ tomorrow. I was hopin’ if you could look after Carl after your shift. Jus’ for a couple hours.”
“It’s no problem, you know I don’t mind takin’ care of your rascal.”
“Hey!” His shout made you stick out your tongue at him playfully.
“So… What’s gotcha all dolled up? Goin’ out with that guy?”
“What guy-? How did you know I was talkin’ to someone?” Rick fumbled over his words. “Grimes.”
“Shane, he was worried ‘bout you.”
“Jeez, y’know I can take care of myself.”
“Said that last time, remember what happened?”
You rolled your eyes. “It was once.”
“Three times, three guys who broke your heart.”
“It was nothin’. They were nothin’. They jus’ broke up with me, nothin’ crazy.”
“You say that now but what if it’s different?” Rick pulled you away from Carl and whispered. “What if he has a criminal record or is involved in some deep shit?”
“I can find that out.”
“And so can I but quicker, jus’ give me a name.”
“I ain’t gonna give you shit, Grimes.” You walked back to Carl. Your smile came back as you watched Carl become happy when you let him get some more.
Rick wanted to get it out of you, but if he couldn’t get it out of you, surely Carl could.
You could never say no to him.
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© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission.
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Taglist ➳ @deansapplepie , @ladylincoln , @gamingfeline , @lady06reaper , @alanamarie , @daryldixmedown , @celtic-crossbow , @mrdixon , @itwasntaphasema , @duffmckagansbandana , @raspberryslxt , @itsrainingbisexualfrogs , @ingstadstarlight , @gamingfeline , @lor-geeked , @thegeorgiahuntsman , @snailss , @the-lonely-abyss , @number1bashbabe , @xmaeyonaise , @suniloli , @of-storms-and-sadness , @annhells , @sexyxdylanxobrien ,
⊰ Chapter 3 ⊰ » » YOU’RE HERE « « ⊰ Chapter 5 ⊰
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asimpwithfreetime · 1 year
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So, first of all, I love your blog. I literally love the way you deal with Yandere and Avatar!!!!-
Secondly, I don't know if it counts as a request or something, but I got to thinking a bit about Navi culture and all that.
I know that Jake and Neytiri had no problem adopting Kiri, as both adults had a special, deep connection and relationship with Grace, but I don't know how the Navi in general handle orphaning and adoption issues, as my native tribal references have an unreliable handle on orphaning (between various anthropologists they tend to contradict each other and circumstances can generate a different communal and individual response in each case).
So… going on to the Yandere and all that.
Do you think the Yandere Sully (any of them) or Yandere Navi in general (any of your choice) would react to their love interest's previous baby?
Kind of like their SO was already pregnant before they met them or they already have relatively grown children, like Tuk's age?
First of all, thank you <3 Secondly, I have tried to make this and I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: this won’t be seen from the Na’vi culture pov since I too lazy to look it up, I’ll just imagine what I think of it.
Content: firstly, any yandere Na’vi and then we have yandere Jake, yandere Neytiri, yandere aged up! Neteyam, yandere! Aged up! Lo’ak and Yandere! Aged up! Kiri + bonus! Yandere! Tsu’tey
Warnings: breeding, s/o is a person capable of getting pregnant
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Headcanons of yandere Na’vi, Jake, Neytiri, Neteyam, Lo’ak, Kiri and Tsu’tey with an s/o who has a kid from another relationship.
First, any Na’vi
Probably not too fond of the idea. But will comply if it makes you happy.
Will never see that child as theirs and sometimes it is pretty clear even though they try to hide it.
If you are widowed, they’ll try to accept that the child will always be there. Might as well make one of his own.
If you are just separated from your previous mate, the Na’vi will send your child with your mate for long periods of time. As long as he can hold it. And in those periods of time will do whatever it takes to keep you so occupied you don’t remember you have a child. Also will try to get you pregnant, so by the time your child from other mate comes back, you won’t be able to take care of it.
Pretends to protect your child during hunts and stuff, but to be honest, they wouldn’t mind if something happened, you are not in love with anyone but them, why should another person’s spawn be there with you?
Probably baby traps you even though is pretty clear you aren’t leaving. But it is also that they are really proud on having you with a baby of their own.
If it happens, that you get pregnant, the Na’vi will have favoritism for their child, obviously.
Jake Sully
He is a manipulative yandere, as I said before. He might take many different approaches to this situation.
He could act like the father of the year and have you happy and unknowing as he treats the child with such love and care as it was one of his own. Even though, he is disgusted with the idea. That child is the living proof you your bond with other person. He will never be as overprotective as he is with one of his own, he will be tougher.
Another approach is acting all nice and sweet in front of you and then just covering the child’s basic needs. Kind of a Spider situation going on. He lets the kid be and in front of you is sweet but then he just treats the kid as the stray cat you feed once a week. Never treated wrongly but never actually part of the family. He would never mistreat the child in any physical or mental way, he might be a yandere but he ain’t no monster.
The last but not least approach, make you despise your child. This only works if you have separated from your previous mate. If you are widowed he wouldn’t do such a thing, specially since it was specified that the child is around Tuk’s age and that is pretty young.
If you separated from your previous mate, he would send the child away and then would poison your mind. Slowly but surely manipulating you into hating (or something close) your own spawn. Reminding you of the person you were previously with and painting it as a bad thing.
Also the type to give you a baby, like get you pregnant and stuff, so that your attention will go to the baby and him and not your other child. Even though you will try to keep up, he will do anything as to make your other child isolated.
Not very good in any approach if you ask me.
Neytiri
Not fond of the idea then, not fond of the idea now. Literally despises the kid from minute 0.
Might as well accept it if she knows you are going to stay longer if nothing happens.
Never and I mean never treats the child as one of her own, she accepts the fact that the kid is there and that’s it.
She might want for either of you to get pregnant to “bigger” the family. She is just telling a lie. She knows how much work a baby gives and that will give her time to go away from that demonic spawn of your last relationship.
If you are widowed, she might feel sad for the kid, but she still dislikes it, seeing how similar it is to you but so different at the same time.
If you separated from your previous mate (and they have been lucky enough not to be killed by Neytiri), the kid will ALWAYS end up on their place. Neytiri might even blackmail or threat your last partner just to make them stay with the child.
Neteyam
He is a sweetheart, even as a yandere. He will in fact treat the child as one of his own. He feels pity for the kid.
He knows how you are and he will act in consequence. If he treats the child just like one of his own, you will love him forever right?
Also, if you are widowed he will actually feel pity for the child.
If you have separated from your previous mate, he will always try to look better than them in your child’s eyes.
OBVIOUSLY, the type of step-dad who tries to make the child call him dad. Now he is with you, he is the dad. Even if the child is not his, it is yours and it makes him his.
Will have your child and you up in a pedestal and he will pamper, spoil and do anything for you guys.
Probably the type to develop yandere platonic feelings for the kid once they have been interacting. He sees the kid as a little portion of you so he must protect it.
Lo’ak
Ngl, he will try to breed you to make you forget about the other one.
Pretends to care for it, knowing it keeps you calm. But in reality, why would he care about the only reminder that you hadn’t been his first. That reminder that there is a piece of you mixed with someone else’s before he was able to breed you.
Pretty irresponsible with the kid, same with the Jake scenario.
Probably treats it as a stray cat that is there.
If he has a child of his own with you, he wont treat the equally.
Kiri
Just as Neteyam, will treat the kid as one of her own.
Probably a caring mother, posible Tsa’hìk.
Never mistreats the child in any way. She knows that it will be better for your relationship if you both are the child’s parental figures.
Teaches the kid things about Pandora.
As she is so close to Eywa, she knows the child isn’t hers biologically but it her mind, it is hers.
Tsu’tey
Only two ways around.
He will make you choose between the kid and him, but with the small twist that he is a yandere and that there isn’t actually a choice.
Or he will pretend to be a good father for your kid and will try to get you pregnant as soon as he can to breed one spawn of his own.
He needs constant reassurance and lets you know about it. That way he can guilt trip you into caring about him more.
Will always try to be better than your past mate, he will always find ways to outrun them. Talks bad about your past partner to the child. If he has to deal with this, the kid will workship him.
Taglist: @maxinej
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ezrasbirdie · 11 months
Text
surrender [chapter two] - joel miller x ofc daisy
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series masterlist & summary chapter summary: Joel has a hard time warming up to his and Ellie's new companion--externally, at least; Daisy opens up about her past. rating: M [warnings: dirty thoughts from Joel; Joel being kind of a huge jerk and then being soft; descriptions of chronic pain] wc: ~3k a/n: kisses to @starlightmornings for the beta always. also, reminder that i no longer have a taglist: please head over to @ezrasbirdie-updates and turn on notifs if you're interested in staying current. we're still getting set up here, but it's my firm belief Joel is a man who is constantly thinking about something and has a running inner monologue so there's a lot of navel-gazing from him here. i promise it'll be worth it.
masterlist | previous | next
~
For all that Ellie teased him about his age, she didn’t seem to notice the cracks or pops that issued from Joel every goddamn time he moved. That or she wrote it off as him just being old—like that’s just what happened after a while. She wouldn’t have been wrong, but lately, he could hardly stay in one position for more than a few minutes before the normally dull ache in his knees grew sharp and unforgiving. 
Daisy noticed. Daisy watched him stand up and limp around, walking off the stiffness that gathered in his knees. She watched him tuck his poorly-healed hand under his other arm to keep it warm as they walked the overgrown trails of what was once a national park. 
She didn’t know what kind of peripheral vision he’d developed since his hearing had faded. Every time he turned toward her, she looked away. Anyone else might not have noticed anything. 
He couldn’t blame her for keeping an eye on him, either. She had no reason to trust him just yet. When she started offering help, though, he realized it wasn’t mistrust that drove her observations—it was concern.
It was endearing as much as it vexxed him. 
“Do you need a few minutes?” She’d ask, and he’d scowl, gruffly pointing out that she should be asleep. 
“Do we need to slow down?” She’d ask. 
He’d always answer something like, “We ain’t on a scenic hike, kid,” or something equally as prickly. But she kept on, and he never asked her to stop. 
He didn’t know why he didn’t just tell her to knock it off.
A full week passed before he took her up on one of her offers. He’d expected her to make a big deal of it, but she’d just taken his place as he settled in front of the campfire, the heat soothing his knees so much he could have cried. 
He told himself he let her stay; that Ellie liked her so much it’d be cruel to take away the kind of bond she might have had with Tess, were circumstances different. And that part wasn’t exactly a lie—he didn’t want to take that from her. 
But Tess, his Tess—she’d begged him to save who he could save. She’d believed in Ellie; she’d told him as much, and she’d always had more faith that good things could still happen. 
Her heart was always better than his.  
And Daisy, with her bark of a laugh (much too loud, in Joel’s opinion) and her mission to collect as many writing tools as possible and her patience with Ellie’s ceaseless questions—she could be saved. She should be saved. They could find somewhere safe for her instead of leaving her in these woods.
If he framed it that way, the warmth that shot through his body every time she looked up and smiled at him felt less like betrayal and more like the satisfaction of doing a good deed. It was charity, nothing more. 
Still, he kept a healthy distance from her. She’d leave them at some point. She said herself she’d been alone for most of her life. He wouldn’t get attached to someone else. Not when he’d already utterly failed at that with Ellie.
And Daisy just had to be beautiful, too. 
He couldn’t remember the last time he thought a woman was beautiful like that. Sexy, sure. Attractive, pretty—he’d seen plenty of those types, even nowadays, but beautiful was hard to come by. Something about her glowed. 
His relentless thoughts drifted to her more often than not as he tried to sleep, and he wished they were all the kind that made it hard to look her in the eye a few hours later.
Sometimes they were.
Sometimes he thought of her on her knees, mouth open and gazing up at him, waiting for him to do whatever he wanted. He’d brush those aside quickly. It wasn’t right, lusting after her like that. And he had no idea how to be attracted to someone who wasn’t Tess—or accept that he was attracted to someone that wasn’t her, at least.
Instead, he steered his thoughts to how Daisy could have survived this long all on her own. How’d she get so far without turning out like him? He hadn’t found a single sharp edge on her.
And how could she be so open with her past? He kept his own       locked behind an inches-thick metal door, guarded by barbed wire and stubborn silence. Even when Ellie dodged most of Daisy’s follow-up questions, it didn’t deter Daisy from answering at all. She demanded nothing in return for her cooperation.
Nothing.
The kid’s incessant questioning gave him more information about Daisy than he’d given anyone about himself in the last twenty years. It was confusing and magnetic and infuriating. 
To his annoyance, he found her interesting, too. 
He’d expected to have to show Daisy how to dress anything they managed to catch, but when he laid out a bloody rabbit carcass on a flat stone in front of her, she pulled out her pocket knife and set to work. 
“How long did you say you were in the Omaha QZ?” He asked. 
“Five years,” she said, not looking up from her task. “But before that, I moved around. And my parents and I went camping a lot. And I was in Girl Scouts.” 
“They teach you how to field dress game in Girl Scouts?” He asked. 
“No,” she laughed—too loudly, again, but he couldn’t make himself correct her. “My dad did. It’s weird, but I think he'd have liked doing all this crap to survive.”
“Is he…” Joel started.
She faltered at her task but didn’t stop. 
“He died that night,” she said, and he didn’t have to ask which night she meant. “Mom and I found our way to a military camp, but we got separated. I looked for her for weeks, but…I don’t know, I never saw her again. I was home for the weekend. If I’d stayed at school I would have been caught in the bombings.” She looked up at him, her eyes glazed over, like she could see it all happening in front of her. “Hooked up with a few groups here and there, but their methods of survival were…they didn’t mesh with mine. So I’ve mostly been on my own.”
Joel had a partner this whole time. Tommy, Tess, even Ellie—one way or another, he had someone watching his back, and he was watching theirs. He might have been hollow and miserable and violent all this time, but never alone.
“Sorry,” she muttered, cheeks flushing at his silence. “I never know when to shut up. I guess you had your brother for most of all this? The one we’re going to meet?”
For one fleeting second, he almost told her about Tess, but the urge disintegrated as soon as Tess’s face flashed in front of him. 
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Somethin’ like that.” 
“What happened to your dad?” Ellie asked, and Joel snapped his head up at the little demon, suppressing an urge to reach over and smack her upside the head. 
Instead, he gave her a hard glare. 
“What? What did I do?” Ellie asked, glancing at Daisy, who’d stopped skinning the rabbit. She looked up at Joel, her shoulders shaking. It was the kind of mirth that would pour from him when Sarah said “Fuck you!” from her little seat in the grocery cart after too much time around construction workers, scandalizing every church lady in a five-foot radius.
Kids.
“What an invasive and personal question you’ve just asked,” Daisy admonished, and Joel found his mouth twitching at the corners. Ellie, for the first time since he’d known her, had no witty comeback, opening and closing her mouth as she searched for words. He couldn’t stop the huff of a laugh at her speechlessness, his lips turning up into a smirk. Daisy caught him, a delighted grin spread across her face, her eyes dancing at his reaction.
Got you, they said. He wouldn’t argue with that. 
She turned her focus back to the kid, who was still searching for words.
“It’s fine, Ellie, I’m just messing with you,” Daisy soothed.
“Fuck, really?” Ellie gasped. “Shit, man. I thought you were mad.” 
“Of course not. But I’m already skinning this rabbit and I’m about to do a whole bunch of other gross shit to it, so I’d rather save that story for another time. Okay?”
“Fine,” Ellie said. “Can I watch? Can you teach me?”
The smile fell from his face as he observed them. He retreated back into himself, the warmth from before fading back into irritation. She hadn’t been nearly as interested when he’d tried to show her how to do the same thing. What was so goddamn interesting about it now?
Daisy. Daisy was the interesting part about it now. 
He didn’t like Ellie getting so attached to someone who’d just leave her. And if he let himself be honest—which he found himself doing more and more these days—he didn’t want to get close to someone who’d just leave him, either. 
**
Joel’s demeanor turned colder with the weather, and Daisy didn’t know where she’d gone wrong. One day he was almost curious about her—she’d even made him laugh!--and the next he’d stopped looking in her direction if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Ellie still seemed to like her just fine. She’d even started opening up, answering some of those questions Daisy gently lobbed her way. 
But Joel? It was the third time Joel rolled his eyes during a conversation he wasn’t even bothering to take part in that confirmed she wasn’t just being paranoid. She misunderstood the amount of room he’d made for her in their space. 
Daisy kept pretty quiet after that. 
She enjoyed watching Ellie and Joel together, though. He was still surly, but the girl was an expert at loosening him up. He even laughed at some of her awful puns in that joke book she carried around. Their brief, wordless conversations amused her, too, but those hit something deep and wistful inside of her. She’d never been close enough to anyone that they might know what she meant just by a raised eyebrow.   
Daisy busied herself in her journal instead, cataloging the different plants and fauna they found along the way with the help of an ancient field guide that was outdated long before she was born. She’d found it in an abandoned thrift store a few years after the outbreak. She found a lot of things in abandoned thrift stores, actually. It turned out people didn’t think of Goodwill as a place to find useful supplies. 
They were mostly right.
After a week of keeping quiet and out of the way, she came to accept that her presence was unwanted at best. For one of her companions, anyway. Ellie kept trying to pull Daisy into conversations, but Daisy’s tongue got trapped under all her self-consciousness and the weight of Joel’s constant scowl. 
Her map showed a fork on their path she could take in the next day or two that might take her past a small community she’d heard about in the QZ. It was still there, she could at least figure out what to do. She sighed as she studied the twisting roads, more disheartened than she thought she’d be. 
It’d been nice, being with people. 
**
“What’s going on with you?” Ellie hissed at Joel one particularly cold morning. Daisy lagged behind, keeping them within sight as she poked at fallen leaves and fungi along the trail. 
“The hell do you mean?” 
“Why are you being such an asshole to her now?”
He just grunted in reply, not willing to get into this with a fourteen-year-old. How could he explain that every word Daisy said made it harder to slam shut the door Ellie pried open? He didn’t have the words.
But the girl just glared at him, hands on her hips, dark eyes drilling into his, and he didn’t have a good answer. “How exactly am I being an asshole? She doesn’t even talk to me.”
“Fuckin’ obviously she doesn’t talk to you. You wanna talk to someone biting your head off all the time?”
“I talk to you,” he shot back, and Ellie's eyes narrowed.
“I don’t…I don’t want her to leave. I like her. She braids my hair sometimes,” Ellie said, stroking absentmindedly at a small braid on the side of her head. 
Joel’s mind strayed to hours spent with Saturday morning cartoons distracting Sarah as he followed each careful instruction given to him by a group of cheerful women in a brightly-lit salon. He’d left that first appointment with red cheeks and a pocket full of phone numbers—just in case he had any questions. 
“I…she said she’s happier alone anyway,” he said, pushing the memory aside before it could do any damage. 
But now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember her saying that. Just that she’d always been alone. And the thought of her actually striking out on her own again just as the weather had gotten colder unsettled some newly-softened part of him. 
Somehow he knew she wouldn’t take that sleeping bag back. 
“And who said anything about her leavin’?” He demanded. “Did she say that?”
“No,” Ellie replied. “I just know that look.”
“What look?”
“The look people get before they leave,” she said.  
Joel swallowed hard, unexpected panic clawing at his chest. All this time he’d been upset about Daisy leaving the both of them and upsetting Ellie, and he was the one pushing her out.  
“Why hasn’t she said anything?” He asked instead, knowing full well why.
“‘Why hasn’t she said anything?’” Ellie mocked, deepening her voice to a register closer to his. “Really?”
Joel scrubbed a hand down his face and looked back. Daisy trailed a little ways behind, bent over to examine a plant and shaking her head at it. She took her notebook out and scratched something out with a worn pencil. 
“So what do you want me to do?” He snapped. “If she wants to leave, she wants to leave.”
“She doesn’t want to leave, you dick,” Ellie said, scowling, her cheeks turning red. Joel didn’t even know why he was arguing with her—he didn’t even know who he was mad at. 
Himself, mostly. 
Two months ago he would have shrugged his shoulders. Tough shit, he would have said, if she dies alone out there, she dies alone. That might as well have been a lifetime ago. It turned his stomach now.
Save who you can save.
For Ellie, he told himself. For Tess, too.
“What the hell would I even say?”
“How the hell should I know?” 
Daisy had made her way to them before he could snap back.
“Everything okay?” She asked, tugging at the bottom of her coat, eyes darting from Ellie to Joel. “Why did we stop?” 
“Yeah, Joel, is something wrong?” Ellie asked, and he glared at her raised eyebrows.
She was right, goddammit. 
Ellie threw her hands up and slinked away, leaving him with Daisy, who watched her saunter off with big hazel eyes before turning back to him. He didn’t even know where to start, but he didn’t have to—she talked first. 
“Listen, I’m sorry if I’m holding you two up,” she said, fidgeting with a zipper on her jacket. “I was thinking…I’ll probably head on by myself soon. There’s a fork in the trail that’s maybe a day out, and I—”
“Stay,” he interrupted. “You shouldn’t—it’s dangerous. You should stay with us.” 
Her lips quirked up a smile, but it left just as quickly. “I know you have some sense of duty or something here, but you’ve made it really clear you don’t want me around, and that’s totally fine—”
“Let me stop you. I got no sense of duty to anyone. If I didn’t want you here, I’d have cut you loose back at the camp. But Ellie likes you around.”
Daisy was still squinting at him as Ellie sidled up beside him. 
“Look,” Ellie said, apparently deciding she did need to be part of this conversation. “Joel is very rude, he’s just like that, but after a little while he’s nice sometimes. At first he’s all, ‘No, don’t talk, don’t ask questions, that’s annoying,’ and then, like, twenty minutes later he’s asking where you’re from and telling you all his life story—”
“Ellie!” He warned, and she paused her rant but didn’t bother to hide the smirk on her face. Joel sighed. “I will try to be less of an asshole. Is that good for you?” 
Daisy folded her arms across her chest and sized him up as he might have done an especially hard-to-read client back in Boston. 
“Fine,” she relented. “I’ll stay for Ellie. But you have to be nicer to me.”
“I’m not…nice,” he huffed. 
“Well, you know, figure it out,” she said, sounding a lot like Ellie. 
“Fine,” he conceded. 
“Good.”
After a moment’s pause, he stood aside, holding his arm out to motion for her to go in front of him. 
“Come on then, chickadee. Got places to be, flowers to draw.”
She smiled at him and rolled her eyes, and some knot in his chest untied itself. He breathed a little easier, the unnecessary tension he’d built up in his body loosening as she walked past him. He hadn’t figured out his feelings toward the whole situation yet, or towards Daisy.
All he knew was that treating her like she was disposable hurt. And so he wouldn't, not anymore.
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thestobingirlie · 5 months
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i don't ship stancy, im mostly indifferent to it, but i really don't get the lengths some anti-stancies, nancy stans (especially the ones that are massively anti steve), or r*nance shippers go to to discredit the stuff that happened in s4
"theyve been broken up for years" theyve been broken up for less than 18 months. Early November 84- late march 86 is about 17 months. Less than a year and a half. That's not long enough to qualify for the plural of "years". Saying that they've been broken up for years makes it seem like steve's in his 20s or 30s and is still pining over 'the one that got away' from high school. not a teenager that still has feelings for someone he's been broken up with for less than two years. its implied that nancy was his first 'serious' relationship. and based on what we know of his dating history post s2, his only serious relationship. its not unusual for there to still be some feelings there.
"steve wants to force nancy to have six kids even though she doesn't want kids/ a family." first nancy never said she didn't want kids/ a family, shes said she doesn't want to turn into her parents. steve never said he wanted nancy to birth six kids for him. he said he had a dream of having five or six kids and that nancy was there beside him. the number of kids doesn't matter. its him saying that he wants kids and to be a present dad. he wants a family and also doesn't want to turn into his parents, as its heavily implied that he's an only child with not great parents. Nancy said his dream sounded nice other than the six kids part. a more manageable number like maybe three kids could be the balance that would work for them.
"steve tried to get nancy to cheat on Jonathan despite knowing she was happy in their relationship." steve confessed his feelings to her in a life or death situation, after shed been showing some signs of being interested. he never said he wanted her to leave jonathan or that he expected her to just jump into his arms. he said he still had feelings for her in a high stress situation. and much of jancy's relationship in s4 doesn't read as happy. they've been together for 16-17 months, and almost half of that they've been in an ldr and they've had communication issues since before jonathan moved away.
sorry for they longs ask this is just something that's bugging me because i keep seeing this in the steve tag
i truly think so many anti stancies just hate steve, and that’s why all of their “explanations” just try to make steve look bad.
like saying it’s been years since they broke up. it’s been about a year and a half! and like you said, it’s pretty much his only serious relationship. according to joe keery, she’s the first girl to really listen to him. and he hasn’t had someone (romantically) like that since. steve was nancy’s first love (again, according to natalia). it wasn’t just some short thing. it was a serious relationship at a very emotional time.
also, i personally doubt that steve’s spent that year just pining for nancy, but they’re in a life and death situation, and i think all those feelings they left behind just came rushing back. they never truly got closure. it’s natural that being together, and fighting side by side and depending on each other would make everything between them come to the surface.
ugh the six kid thing is the bane of my existence (again, people use it to try to make steve seem weird, and pushy, and demanding). it’s so clearly a reference to the party lmao. like you said, nancy never said she doesn’t want kids, she said she doesn’t want to be stuck in a miserable relationship because that’s what everyone expects (which sounds more like s4 jancy tbh). and the crucial part of steve’s confession is that nancy is the most important part. not the kids. not the travelling. but nancy by his side. what matters to steve is that there’s love. which is what’s important to nancy too.
(and yeah. they ain’t having six kids LMAO)
yes!!! can people not confess feelings anymore without being accused of homewrecking two teenagers lol? he never said he wants them broken up. he thinks he may die!!! he wants it off his chest!!! nancy was, imo, the first to start the flirting, and steve figured… why not!
honestly couldn’t have said this all better myself.
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heavyhitterheaux · 1 year
Text
Aura
Mariah's Tale as told by the treacherous twin @harlowsbby
Heaux Tales of Jack Harlow
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(Listen to Aura by Mariah the Scientist as you're reading)
I couldn't help but to chuckle, I mean what were you expecting? He's let you down several times before, but I was always so blinded by his love.
"Come on she's lying I don't have a wife or kids if I did, you'd most definitely would've already known about it I mean l'm Jack fucking Harlow."
Neelam gasped she knew Jack was capable of many things but calling her a liar?? Especially when she knew she wasn't lying was crossing the line.
"Please Mariah, let's go back to your place and talk things out." He pleaded and begged; I remember shaking my head at him.
"It's always my house Jack it's never let's go back to your place to chill." He was caught off guard; he didn't expect me to say that. 
"Well, I mean you know Urban and sometimes the guys crash at my house for a few days, and we don't exactly live in the same city." Excuses that's all he ever did was give me excuses after excuses.
One thing you learned was if a man really wanted to be with you, he'd jump through obstacles to be with you but that wasn't the case with Jack. He had a family and wife blocking his chances.
"Just face the facts Jack I know what you did, and I have to leave, I love you well I loved you and I can't forgive you, I'm sorry." | squeaked out and pushed past him with glossy eyes.
"Thanks a lot, Neelam.” She scoffed and got up.
“She had to know, and I can’t believe you hid that from her and all of the other girls for that matter except Grace! You’re married with kids Jack. And married to my best friend I should add” Jack knew you’d find out sooner or later but he was hoping it was later or not at all. 
“Why do you even give a fuck now? You’ve been helping me coordinate this shit so she doesn’t find out.”
“Because she doesn’t deserve this! You need to stop before I tell her.” Neelam added while challenging him. 
“Okay, so tell her. What is she going to do? Leave me? Ain’t no way in hell she would get a divorce from me.”
——————————————————
A Few Days Earlier
"Jack, stop it!" | giggled and pushed him off me as he gave me a grin and tried tickling me again. I squealed and tried running across his California king bed, but he of course grabbed me by my ankle and dragged me to the bottom of the bed.
"I don't think so baby girl, you've been a big baby all day so Imma tickle the attitude out of you."
He then proceeded to tickle me like there was no tomorrow squealed and laughed, begging him to stop but I didn't really want him to stop.
"What's the magic word baby?" His eyebrows raised waiting for my answer, but I was stubborn and there was no way I was giving in that easily.
"That you're a loser?" He smacked his lips and began to tickle my sides even harder, I squealed and moved around till I finally had enough.
"Alright, alright l'm sorry Jack just stop it." You giggled and he laughed before getting off of you.
"So do you have any plans for today?" You asked him. 
“Uh I think l'm just going to go down to the studio for a bit and finish up a few songs." He said while fixing up his hair in the mirror.
Jack had flown you out to Louisville for a bit, you stayed in Las Vegas so whenever he had downtime he’d fly you out and spend time with you or he’d of course fly over to you.
The two of you met after his performance at Zoku nightclub and the rest was honestly history.
"Can I come with you? I mean l've been stuck in this hotel room for the past three days." You laughed and watched how his face suddenly got pale.
"For what? I mean you never come to the studio with me baby. He did have a point there, but you were bored and wanted to see more than just four boring walls. 
"Well, I know that but what if I come today unless that's an issue? I just don't see why it would be an issue though." You mumbled that last part.
Jack knew he was in some shit because his wife was supposed to be at the studio to spend some time with him. The time was ticking, and he was honestly running out of excuses.
"Well how about this baby I go to the studio, and I meet up with you at Urban's place later? Ace is having a little get- together for the release of his solo project so we can meet up there and then leave early to get some food or something?"
Excuses he always had some type of excuse, you thought. You wanted to know what he was hiding because not even a few nights ago he had left the room two, maybe four times to take some call from "Neelam."
You gave him a tight-lipped smile and nodded your head. "I mean sure that's fine with me but what will I do till then?”
You asked him. He reached into his wallet and pulled out his credit card.
 "Go around and shop for a bit, just buy whatever you want and something cute for later."
He wiggled his eyebrows making you giggle.
"Alright I'll see you later Jack." "I'll see you later, baby. I love you and stay safe."
Later On That Day
You honestly had no clue or idea where you were going since Louisville was so small yet so big at the same time. 
You were getting frustrated all you wanted to do was spend quality time with Jack but obviously being at the studio was a bigger priority.
Looking up and reading all the names of the different shops you finally found one that caught your eye. It was a shop for lingerie and Jack did say get something cute to wear that night.
Once inside you were greeted by one of the workers. A short dark-haired women gave you a welcoming smile 
"Hello honey, welcome to blue bunnies where you can find anything and everything to please not only you but your partner as well. Is there anything you're looking for?" 
"Uh, just something small and cute. It's a surprise for my boyfriend."
"Do you know his favorite color at all?"
"Hmm it's purple." The worker proceeded to show you all of the different shades of purple lingerie she had before you settled on a lilac matching bra and panties set.
"He's going to love it." The lady said, making you smile bashfully, after you bought everything, you decided to go get some lunch at Morris Deli.
When you arrived you noticed a lady and some kids that looked awful a lot like Jack, but you didn't pay it no mind, until you were starting to make your way out of the door and heard a voice on the women's phone that sounded awfully familiar to Jack's.
"What? How come the credit card company sent me an email saying I bought stuff at blue bunnies?" The lady said which made you freeze and maybe you were overthinking it a bit, but you were the only person in blue bunnies as far as you knew. 
“I got you something special, that's why. Now did you get my sandwich? I'm starving over here baby." Now that you had a chance to hear that voice loud and clear it had to have been Jack, you could pick his voice out of a line up.
You quickly rushed out of the store and sprinted back to the car Jack had let you borrow. Once inside you started thinking back to the lady that you saw and how one of the kids looked identical to Jack down to his curls and freckles and the little boy was Jack to a tee.
"He has a... he has a wife and kids." You said out loud. Your stomach turned. Even though none of this was your fault and you had no idea he had an entire wife and kids at home. You suddenly had this burden that you were the reason his kids were going to be fatherless.
Later That Night
When you arrived at Urban's house you had a million things going through your head at once. 
You didn't want to seem as if there was an issue or a problem but how were you going to manage to do that when there was a problem.
Before you were able to knock on the door it was swung open by Jack. 
"Baby I missed you so much." He pulled you into him, wrapping you in his warm embrace. You wanted to hug him back and kiss him and smother him with your love but knowing what you know now wouldn't let you.
"Hey... Jack" you said awkwardly, making him pull back. 
"What's wrong babe?"
 "I just don't feel that great is all." 
"Well come inside and get some water and maybe lay on the couch and you'll feel better."
You followed him inside and were greeted by Urban and the guys.
"What's good Mariah?”
 Ace smiled and pulled you in for a hug. 
"Hi Ace, congratulations on your newest song." He thanked you and you went to sit on the couch. You observed Jack as he sat across from you on his phone blushing and smiling at God knows what, probably his kids or his wife.
"Why don't we all play a game or something?"
Neelam asked which broke your attention away from Jack. 
“What game?” 2fo asked.
“Truth or dare.” Everyone agreed and made their way to the couch. Jack sat down next to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulder. Normally you'd lean into his touch and snuggle into him but not this time and that's something he noticed.
"Mariah, do you want to go first?" Neelam asked and you'd decline but this time you had things you wanted to know and things you wanted to get off your chest.
"Sure so Jack, truth or dare?" You turned to him and waited for his answer. 
"Uhhh ima go with truth."
"Is it true you've got a wife and kids?" Everyone in the room got quiet including Jack which gave you your answer.
"So you do?”
"He does and I hate the way I didn't tell you about it." Neelam said with tears of her own in her eyes. Jack looked over at Neelam in disbelief.
"Well the party is over, we'll just take this back at my house." Ace said and everyone got up and left leaving just Jack, Neelam and Urban and yourself.
"Mariah please listen to me Neelam is lying." 
"I'm not lying Jack you know I'm telling the truth." Neelam defended herself.
"Jack you don't have to lie, I saw your wife earlier along with your kids. She was a Morris Deli bringing you lunch to the studio." You spoke and avoided any and every eye contact with him.
“Can we just talk Mariah?” You scoffed, was he honestly being serious right now?
"We have nothing to talk about Jack. You hid the fact that you have a wife and kids from me for months. Do you know how disgusting and terrible that makes me feel?" You cried out as he watched how your lip began to tremble.
"Do you need a ride back to your hotel room Mariah?" Urban asked softly,
 "No but I do need a ride back to the airport because we're done Jack."
Your heart ached saying those words but you couldn't keep up with this anymore you didn't want to be the reason his kids no longer were able to see their father nor did you want that burden anymore.
Seeing someone for who they are and not what you want them to be was a deeper level of hurt.
You thought Jack was everything and more and you thought what you had was special but you thought wrong.
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inkwell-intrigues · 3 months
Text
ROUGH DRAFT - Chapter One: An Unexpected Guest
The eerie sound of a never-ending tapping filled the once lavish office. Torn newspapers littered the floor, their headlines taunting a hunched over figure in the center of the room, whose eye would dart from page to page, tapping his clawed fingers ceaselessly in anger.
With a growl, the newspaper that was being read suddenly burst into flames and was tossed aside. Glancing around, the latest issue of the Honeycomb Herald caught the figure’s eye. Snatching it up with a mangy hand, he began to read the front page article, his grip tightening with every word.
---
Devil Defunct?
Has the Devil finally left the Inkwell Isles?
It has been 3 months since the dumbfounding defeat of the Devil himself by none other than two youngsters at a mere 10 years of age, no less! Now as the weeks go by and all remains calm, the citizens of the Inkwell Isles cannot help but ask, “Is it over?”
The Devil's lair, Mt. Inkwell Hell, has sealed itself off, as if the Devil's Casino never existed, ever since that fateful day two children stood up to the King of  the Underworld. Though gamblers from Inkwell and beyond vehemently protest, the rest of us upstanding citizens breathe a heavy sigh of relief.
But even in our newfound paradise, rumors have already begun to spread regarding the Devil’s return. There are reported sightings of his devious imps and King Dice’s playing cards sneaking about and causing all sorts of mischief. Although none of these sightings have been confirmed, it presents a worrying question: Is the Devil still here, under our very noses, lying in wait to strike?
To quell our concerns, we turn to vibrant victors and heroes of the Inkwell Isles, Mindful Mugman and Courageous Cuphead, to hear their thoughts on the matter:
Mugman: “Well, I don’t think the Devil is comin’ back. Not after Cups and I made a fool outta him, but I can see why everyone’s so worried. The casino closing all quick-like and people spotting imps runnin’ about is sure strange. But my Elder Kettle says the Devil’s prideful. I don’t think he would be hiding out while everyone’s makin’ fun of him.”
Cuphead: “The Devil? Comin’ back? Hah! Not in a million years. That big ol’ crybaby won’t ever show his sorry face in Inkwell ever again, or anywhere else anywhere near here! Everyone knows how Mugsy and I beat him good, so who’s gonna respect him now? No one wants to sell their soul to a washed up rug who got beat by a couple of kids, that’s for sure.
And if he did try somethin’ stupid, he’s gonna have to go through me and my brother first! So don’t even be worried about it, the Inkwell Isles ain’t gonna be bothered by him and his goons ever again.”
So there you have it, folks! The Cup Brothers, protectors of the Inkwell Isles, are sure that the Devil won’t return. And if he does, he’ll get a walloping of a lifetime!
---
The very temperature of the room seemed to rise as the Devil read the article with sparks flying from his mangy fur. With a swift slash of a yellowed claw, the newspaper was torn cleanly in half and thrown aside into a rapidly growing pile of other ripped apart newspapers. Letting out a half-hearted chuckle, the Devil snapped his fingers and the entire pile of newspapers was set alight.
This was ridiculous. How could such inconsequential, menial mortals dare to mock him? He could eviscerate them with a simple wave of his hand if he so desired. He could-
As the Devil shifted, he knocked over a small vial. One of the many scattered across his desk. The demon’s heart skipped a beat, catching the vial just before it hit the floor. With a gentleness thoroughly unnatural for the Devil, he gingerly laid the vial back on his desk.
This would be his masterpiece. There had never been a more perfectly exacted revenge in all his millennia. If one potion caused his defeat, another would ensure his return.
The Devil was no fool- he knew exactly how those sniveling children had beaten him. It was just his luck that their guardian, that damned Elder Kettle, had somehow gotten ahold of a Calix potion from that bygone era.
Damn him! That old man would pay dearly for his mistake before the end.
And it wasn’t just him. Those brothers had gotten help from her. The Legendary Chalice. She’d helped them, trained them in the Calix’s ancient techniques, and hidden away like a coward as she watched her little puppets do the dirty work. The very thought of Chalice sent a shower of fiery sparks flying off The Devil’s black fur. Her insolence defied even death.
But not for long.
The Devil’s gaze returned to the vial, full of bubbling red liquid. And then there was its complement, another vial which glowed with a light blue liquid.
“Patience,” he muttered to himself as he lit a cigar.
Glancing up, his eyes fell on a chalkboard covered with formulas. He was so close to success. Just a few more tests and it would be perfect. After all these years, he had finally cracked the code of their ancient formulas, and his revenge would be exacted. Not just against those boys, but against his greatest adversary: The Calix Animi.
-
END OF DRAFT
-
So there you have it! My first actual writing in about 6 months! Feel free to leave your thoughts and opinions in the replies!
Thank you for reading!!!
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Text
The Past That Haunts The Future
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Simon Ghost Riley x Fem Reader
Library 📚
Warnings:Mentions death, Angst and honestly just my writing in general.
This follows the CODM timeline so if you don’t play Cod Mobile, you may not know what I’m taking about. Also this will be a venting post, cause this part in Codm lore really messed me up. Like I was a puddle of despair after that comic strip.
———————————————————————-
You stood leaning up against the doorway, watching as he walked forwards. Even though he always wore some form of skull mask, you didn’t recognize this man at all.
“So you done yet. Feel better now?” You dismiss as he reaches for your shoulder.
“I had no choice. It had to be done.” He sighs
“What makes you think, that was a good idea?” You hiss
“I’m not having an argument with you right now. Come find me when you’re not in a pissy mood.” He huffs and storms off.
“What about Sophia? You mean to tell me, you not only killed Templar, but you left his daughter there to die as well!?” You yell after him.
He just kept walking and you just scoff.
“You promised him that Sophia would be safe if anything happened to him!”
The door to his room slams shut as you feel a stray tear slide down your cheek. Two hands clasp your shoulders and spin you around to pull you into a big hug.
“I’ll never understand what goes on in that pricks head, but I promise it’ll be alright.” Price says
————
Many years down the road, life had seemed to heal for some. Others were getting treated much worse and you pity them, but praised them as they kept going on despite life being against them.
Your relationship with Ghost never fully recovered, but it was probably for the best. He tried to repair the damage, but you both knew he never would.
That poor girl was always on your mind and you wondered if she managed to find safety or if she died with her father. You understood her pain, being a child only with a father who you watched as he was killed by someone who he thought he could trust. You can’t imagine the hatred boiling up inside her, poor girl had her life turned upside down, one of the ones that life was against unfortunately.
“I just heard that you were discharged. Man it really is as bad as Price said.” Soap’s accent fills the once quiet room.
“It’s because of that bastard ain’t it?”
“A whole bunch of things. I just can’t find it in me to focus anymore. That one mission, I almost killed Price cause I wasn’t thinking.”
“No that was on me. I misread the codes, you weren’t this issue, lass”
Although he tried to comfort you, it didn’t help at all. The once lively office, was as cluttered as your brain. It’ll soon be empty as you head off to enjoy what’s left to enjoy.
What’s left for one that life is against….
——————
Call him creepy, but Simon kept tabs on you all the time. He hated himself for causing such turmoil within the group, but also within you. He saw your health go downhill and how you weren’t as alert as you used to be.
“First Mara, now y/n. God women are just dying to get away from you, huh?”
“Go fuck yourself, McTavish” he replied
“We’ll wait until you hear the information I just received from our little y/n”
————
A cold and dreary morning, you sat across from a familiar, yet so new face. You see those young eyes, but are thrown off by how she’s grown up. Short brown hair and a strong hatred in her eyes.
You seen the fallen knights mask attached to her belt as she sits across from you with arms crossed.
“We never really got to meet before, but I know who you are. Why you’re here now, but unfortunately I can’t help you with what you need. That’s not my life anymore.”
“I just want you to relay a message to him. Tell him that I’m coming for him and I will stop at nothing to finish what my father started.” She says before standing up and leaving.
—————
“So you see, Simon. You, got a fan” Soap announced
“Oh great.” He huffs
He felt eyes on him and when he surveyed the crowd, his met the eyes of the past that haunts the future.
Sophia Couteau the daughter of the fallen
Templar.
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Text
Precious Scars | Part One
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A/N: We're gonna explore SO many tropes here people. Friends w/ benefits, partners in crime *literally*, ANGST, Arthur periodically being a dick to hide the fact that he has *gasp* FEELINGS, medium!honor Arthur, and more!
Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader
Story Warnings: Implied and mild sexual content, nudity, overall multiple sexual themes (no explicit smut), alcohol consumption, violence, medical trauma (? - not sure how to label that warning but you'll get what I mean).
Story Summary: A bank robbery gone wrong, a seemingly ended - sometimes physical - relationship with the Van Der Linde Gang's enforcer, a new array of body-image issues that you've never had to deal with before... You've got your work cut out for you. Faced with questions about the future and your place in a Gang of outlaws, the complexities that come with an on and off relationship with a wanted man leave much to be desired.
AO3 Link
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“How’s it coming in there?” 
“We’re looking good, Mr. W.” Arthur called back quietly to where you both knew Bill was in the main corridor of the building with Harry.
You grappled with one safe while Arthur busied himself with the one next to you.
Working by candle light, you both knew that being discreet was a must. It was after dark, and any light emitting from the bank at this hour would attract attention. 
“Getting nervous yet?” You smirked as you continued to slowly turn the safe dial, your ear to the cool metal.
“Not a chance, sweetheart.” Despite the mask that adorned his face, you could detect the smile underneath as his eyes crinkled. His stance mirrored your own as he worked on his own safe.
You’d cracked two so far; were working on your third. Arthur was one behind you. 
You chuckled as you felt the last click of your own safe and let the door swing open, “Are ya sure?” You hummed.
He paused only for a moment, the playful glare that you knew hid beneath the mask only made your confidence grow as you busied yourself with snatching the stacks of money; shoving them into the saddlebags on the floor between you two.
“C’mon, that’s got to be enough, can we go?!” Bill whisper-shouted back into the vault where the two of you still resided. He was getting antsy. He always did mid-job. 
“Aw, c’mon B!” You called quietly as you finished stuffing the remains of your latest opened safe into the bag; Arthur doing the same with his.
“Somethin don’t feel right.” The military man continued. 
“You’re just bein’ paranoid.” You could hear Harry in the vicinity of Bill. “Few more minutes means nothin’.” There was a pause. “C’mon Bill, what’s got ya turning yellow on us.”
“Shut yer damn mouth, Harry! Somethin just- ain’t right!” Bill called back. 
“If you wanna be so darn literal, there ain’t nothin right about this.” You muttered to yourself, hearing Arthur chuckle under his breath.
Finishing with the money, you looked to Arthur.  
“What’d you think?” You asked in a hushed tone. You were game for one more; you hoped the fact was readable in your expression as Arthur met your eyes. There was one safe left. 
The grin you knew adorned his face under the mask answered your question.
“C’mon Morgan! Is it enough or not?!”
“It’s never enough!” Arthur called back, winking at you to continue. 
You nodded before going to work on the last one. You turned your head to the side as you listened for the audible clicks of the contraption.
“Keep workin that sweetheart, I’ll be right back.” Arthur mumbled quietly to you, his knuckles brushing your shoulder as he got to his feet. “What’s the fuss!?” Arthur called out quietly to Bill as he left the room.
You smiled to yourself as you continued to work. He still used the term now and again; you honestly didn’t think he realized he did at times. It would slip so seamlessly from his lips and he never faltered. The times he did catch himself, it was usually noticeable.
“What’d you mean they left?” 
You heard the statement from Arthur and paused your movements on the safe to listen for a moment.
“They all left! I can’t see out the damn window where.”
“Well what direction?” The impatience was evident in Arthur’s tone.
“I. Don’t. Know!” Bill snapped angrily. “One was lookin this way, then they all left the building.”
Sounded like they were talking about law. 
“God damn it… Alight, I don’t like this. I’m pullin the plug.” You heard the grumble from Arthur as his voice got a bit closer but remained a ways away.
You quickly returned your focus to the safe. Two numbers to go.
The call of your name does little to pull your attention as you continue. Almost done.
“We gotta go, darlin.” Arthur called. He sounded like he was shouting from the lobby. Not even trying to be quiet. It was a concern but did little to deter you from continuing. 
“Almost there!” You called back. 
Arthur called your name in a warning tone, “I said now.”
“C’mon sweetheart.” You playfully mocked Arthur’s term of endearment. “What happened to it never being enough? The law can spare thirty seconds.” You responded.
“Yeah, Morgan. We’ve got plenty of time.” You heard Harry from the lobby.
“Shit! We’ve got several lining up out front, Morgan!” Bill shouted.
You pause and glance behind you to hear the shuffling of footsteps and cursing from Arthur.
“C’mon,” You huffed and started turning the dial faster.
Arthur shouted for you again but didn't go further as the sound of a gunshot rang out.
The men cursed before returning fire out the windows.
“Almost there,” You cursed under your breath.
Arthur yelled your name again, only this time it actually made you stop and turn. “I said now!” He yelled.
You quickly looked back, turning the dial another inch when the click sounds.
“I got it!” You yelled.
Throwing the safe door open, your hands clawed at the stacks of money, scrambling to throw them into one of the saddlebags. 
“Atta girl,” The comment didn’t come from Arthur, but Harry, as you turned and saw him in the doorway, holding a hand out for you to toss the bags his way.
You tossed him one set of saddlebags and continued to stow the money.
“The other bag,” He called.
“Not done yet, its okay just go!” You insisted, halfheartedly waving a hand for him to go.
Sparing a glance up, your eyes find the small window you had used to get into the bank, and then let the boys in through the side door not twenty minutes ago.
It was still open; you could escape out the same way.
Grabbing the last stack of bills, you shove them into the bag.
“I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve told you to get yourself out here-” You turned and chucked the saddlebags at Arthur. You barely noted how he scrambled to clutch them to his chest; a couple bills spilling out.
You quickly went about closing all the safes, turning the dials a bit to lock them.
“What are you doing!?” He yelled.
“It’ll give us a little time in the long run if they ain’t sure we’ve got the money!” You argued.
“Bill, take this!” You heard Arthur leave the doorway for a moment. “I’ll cover you in a minute and we can get the hell outta here.” 
Closing the last safe, you got to your feet with a sigh, “There.” You pulled your revolver from its holster, doing a quick check of the cylinder, pleased to find it fully loaded.
“C’mon, we gotta go.”
There was a soft, sizzle-like sound that filled the little silence between the sound of bullets that made your head turn. 
A soft series of thunks, and then silence as you turned and looked down.
The sight of the spark trickling down a dynamite stick that now lay on the floor between you two made your eyes widen as you looked up to see the look in Arthur’s eyes mirroring your own.
“Arthur-”
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Three Months Ago…
“Arthur-”
“ARTHUR! Stop it!” You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips as you scrunched up your shoulders in an attempt to cease the man’s access to your neck. “I’m serious, quit it!” You half-heartedly swatted his back with your hand, the other loosely around his shoulders.
“You ain’t sounding too sincere, darlin.” Arthur mumbled against your neck as he continued to kiss and nip along your jugular; you could feel the grin that adorned his face as he went. 
You knew the stumble along his jaw was starting to chafe your skin, but that was a very small consequence of your alls’ fooling around. 
“Dutch is gonna come looking!” You try to whisper between grit teeth as your head landed with a thunk against the side of the wagon that Arthur had you pinned against. 
“So is- Grimshaw- I bet,” Arthur hummed in between kisses as he worked his way up to your ear; his hat shifting along his head as it teetered, ready to fall off as he nuzzled further into you.
The clothesline off the back of the wagon was absent of any clothing articles; the wash bin abandoned a few feet away. A pile of wet clothes waited nearby to be hung upon the line.
“But I ain’t worried,” He grumbled lowly, pulling away briefly to meet your eyes before his gaze fell to your parted lips.
“A’course you ain’t worried. Being at the top of the totem pole has its-” He pressed a kiss to your lips that you quickly returned and felt yourself melt into not seconds later.
Bastard had a way of making your knees weak like no other man.
“-benefits,” You got out in a sigh between kisses before his attention diverted alongside your jaw and up around to your ear.
The feeling of his hands riding up along your thighs and pulling your skirts with it wasn’t lost on you as you felt a draft of cool air hit your bare legs, making goosebumps erupt along your skin.
“Arthur Morgan-” His name leaves your voice more breathy than you intended, the threat lost on you as he lifted you with ease and pinned you between the wagon and his body, leaving you in an even more compromising position. 
“Want me to stop?” He hummed. 
The smugness to his tone made you bite your lip and glare up at the sky.
After a few hours of workin the johns in town, Arthur always had a way of canceling out how the work made you feel. Used wasn’t it, although it was tiring; he was a reminder that not all men are entirely self-serving.
You cart one hand through his hair, gripping the strands between your fingers, pulling until he leaned back to meet your eyes. 
“What do you think? At this rate, we’re gonna get caught.” You made clear, feeling yourself fluster as Arthur’s grin only grew in response to your words.
He looked as unbothered as ever. These bouts of confidence were few and far between, and only started after the two of you took up your little agreement.
“I’m gonna be the one getting the shaft.”
“Ain’t all my fault if we get caught.” He mumbled, giving a small jut of his chin.
“Then who’s?”
“Those lil looks you’ve been givin’ me,” His eyes wandered down your face to your lips again. “You’ve been teasin’ me all damn day.”
Your jaw dropped as you watched him before your eyes narrowed.
“I smiled at you!” You made it clear, unable to hide your laugh.
“Well, I’ll tell ya what, I think if you keep the teasin’ up, you’re gonna regret it, darlin.” The growl that sounded quietly at the back of his voice when he spoke made you smile as he nuzzled his nose against your own.
“Are you attempting to threatenin’ me with a good time, Mr. Morgan?” You breathed quietly.
“You know I am.”
“Ooo,” You hummed before you hissed under your breath, pouting as you tucked some of the loose strands of his hair behind his ear and righted his hat upon his head. “S’too bad. Sounds like such fun, but, I got work to do,” You sighed quietly, moving to play with the collar of his shirt.
“Yeah?” He mumbled, eyes watching your lips as you licked at your bottom one. 
“Yeah,” You responded as you met his eyes. “I have an appointment with the pile of wet clothes on the ground there that you pulled me away from. But, I ain’t workin tonight though,” You shrugged, eyes falling away from Arthur before they returned to see a grin growing on his face.
“You’re not?”
“Mm,” You hummed and tried not to smile as you felt the grip he had on you begin to tighten. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, doing a terrible job of fighting off the smile as you let your head rest upon him, your teeth playfully finding his shoulder as you bit lightly.
“Same time as usual then?” He nuzzled your neck, placing small kisses behind your ear.
“As long as no one’s milling about.” You responded, lifting your head, letting it rest against the wagon.
His eyes jumped from your gaze, to your lips, and then down at your body briefly, seemingly admiring the position he’d gotten you in before he returned to your eyes.
“God damn woman,” He stole another kiss from you as you giggled into his mouth. “You really are beautiful, y’know that.” He growled alongside your jaw as he moved back down to where he’d been abusing the side of your neck with his teeth and facial hair. “Would keep ya all for myself if Dutch wasn’t hootin’ and hollerin’ about us needing money so damn much.”
“How charming,” You breathed amusingly as you played with his hair. “I think you’re forgetting the point of our little agreement.”
“Well you’re stuck with me until that becomes a reality.” He countered you.
The strength of the grip he had around your waist and upper thigh sent ablazed butterflies rampant through your stomach; there was a very small part of you that wanted him to stop, a very small - dwindling - part of you. 
“Arthur-” You fought off a quiet moan that quickly turned into a sort of squeal when he nipped again at your neck, this time a bit harder.
You retaliated by swatting his shoulder multiple times before trying to pinch him. “Put me down you ruffian,”
He chuckled, “make me.”
“Mr. Morgan!”
You were dropped to the ground quicker than you were ready for as you landed with an unceremonious grunt, catching yourself against the wagon wheel.
You both looked over to see Miss Grimshaw standing a few feet away with her hands on her hips, her eyes traveling the expanse of both of you with a certain level of judgment that made you in particular feel like you’d just been caught breaking some kind of law. 
“Miss Grimshaw,” Arthur mumbled quietly, giving a small tip of his hat. 
“There’s work that needs doing. Save the foolin’ around for later.” She scolded.
You quickly went about adjusting your skirts and upper coverings, horrified to find that when you looked down, your skirts were partially stuck over a nail on the wagon boards, exposing most of your legs. You quickly pushed them down and righted your shirt.
“Yes, ma’am.” Arthur cleared his throat, hands finding his belt buckle as he swayed on his heels, but didn’t go to leave. “I was just uh-...” He trailed off, his eyes jumping between both of you before he looked down, trying to hide a smile.
“Sorry Miss Grimshaw,” You cleared your throat, fighting off the quiver of your voice as heat burned in your cheeks.
“Bunch of children.” You heard Susan grumble the comment as she walked away and out of sight.
As soon as she did, you slapped Arthur’s chest and upper arms repeatedly, causing the man to laugh as he made lighthearted attempts to stop you.
“Leave me be, I have work to do.” You turn your chin up to him before walking around him to where the damp pile of clothes sat. 
“My tent,” He turned, following you around. “After sundown, tonight.”
“I’ll see if my busy schedule allows,” You sighed, giving a shake of your head as you went to pin the first article of clothing to the line. 
Glancing over your shoulder, you met Arthur’s waiting eyes with a growing smirk.
“I’ll be there,” You mumbled quietly in agreement.
His smile grew as he tipped his head down and took a few steps back. One hand grasped at his belt buckle while the other pinched the tip of his hat in a bow. “Until tonight, Miss.”
You give a halfhearted curtsy while picking up a couple more articles of clothing, “until tonight, Mr. Morgan.”
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“I think she’s waking up.”
“About time. She was startin to worry me, being out this long.”
“C’mon hon, wake up.”
You felt hands on your arms. Attempting to open your eyes you were mildly confused by the mixed sight of both light and darkness. 
“You gave us quite the scare, there.” You heard Susan Grimshaw sighing and closed your eyes before cracking them open again to more clearly see the matriarch of the Gang dapping a damp cloth over the right side of your forehead and cheek.
“Miss Grimshaw?” Your voice crackled unexpectedly as you tried to look around. 
“Easy dear.” 
You tried to sit up only to see both Grimshaw and Karen, attempting to keep you lying down.
“What happened?” You felt more sluggish than you were comfortable with. “The bank- Is Arthur okay? Where did-”
“Don’t you worry yourself with none of that now.” Grimshaw shushed you.
“The boys’er fine.” Karen responded to your questions. 
The prevalence of an itchy, burning sensation on the left side of your face was steadily growing with your now conscious state, and you went to touch the area when one of the girls caught your hand.
“Best not play with it dear. You need to take some time, let it heal.”
“Heal? Let what heal?” You mumbled, a slight furrow to your brow as you tried to sit up again.
“Got a little banged up in that job, is all.” Susan sighed. “Pay none of that mind now, though. You need to rest.”
You reluctantly let your head rest back, your one uncovered eye jumping around what was visible to you.
The tent’s flaps were pulled open, letting as much light in as possible. 
“We get the money?”
The question caused Karen to snort as she started to laugh.
“Yes,” Susan started with a chuckle of her own. “Bill brought back the money, although Harry lost the rest in your alls’ escape.”
“Lost it.” You deadpanned. “He lost it?”
“Took you all a while to lose the law.” Karen jumped back in.
“Yeah,” You looked up to see Mary Beth pop her head in. “Ya’ll didn’t come back to camp til the next night.”
You narrowed your eyes as you returned your gaze forward.
“I don’t remember.” You mumbled quietly, finding only fear lurking in your mind at the reality that much of the job was lost on you. At least what happened after a stick of dynamite was thrown through the window of the safe room. 
The look in Arthur’s eyes hurtled towards the forefront of your thoughts. The mask obscured most of his face, but his eyes spoke so much in that moment that was seared into your brain.
“Arthur,” You spoke quietly. “I- Is he around?”
“He’s- Um,” Mary Beth paused, glancing at Karen who turned and gave her a look that you couldn’t see. 
“Don’t worry yourself over him now, dear.” Susan interrupted before you could get a sure answer from anyone and ushered you to lie down completely once more. “Get some more rest. Mary Beth, get her something to eat please. Karen, some fresh water for the bucket.”
You raised another hand to your face, hesitantly touching at the bandages that covered the expanse of the left side, including your eye. Relieved to find you could blink under the bandage, you tried to move some of the muscles in your face, wincing at the sharp pings that followed. 
The reality that bandages were not only on your face, but your arms and chest as well, under your clothes, was now dawning on you. With the passing seconds came more realizations, feelings of pain growing all over your body. You took in a shaky breath and forcefully blew it out in an effort to calm yourself down.
When Susan’s shadow moved you looked up to see the woman leaving the tent.
“M-Miss Grimshaw!” You tried to raise your voice, only for your voice to crack. “Miss-”
“Quiet down now, what.” She returned to the stool next to your cot.
“How do I look?” You asked.
“Pardon?” Susan looked confused for a moment before she tsked and patted your hand. “A little worse for wear at the moment, dear.”
“No, I mean-...” You bit down on the right corner of your lip. “How bad… How bad is it?” Your voice shook as you voiced the question.
You watched the woman’s face intently, straining to see every detail and shift in her expression before she looked down and away, giving your hand a squeeze.
Oh god-
“Too soon to tell dear.” She responded quietly. “You’re doing better, that’s the important part.”
The burn of water welling up in your eyes was hard to hide as you looked away from her and to the top of the tent. 
“Miss Gaskil!” Susan called, getting to her feet before leaving the tent. 
You felt tears escape your right eye and slide down your cheek, while those on the left were quickly soaked up by the bandages.
You slowly turned to the side, as much as you could in light of the growing pain all over your body and clutched tightly at the pillow. 
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Two Months Ago…
The sound of heavy, winded breathing occupied the tent. Second only to the wind that howled outside; the soft flaps of canvas that belonged to the tents that circled the small encampment was most welcome. 
You were particularly thankful for it, but your mind was torn on whether or not to care as the buzzing warmth that radiated throughout your body occupied the forefront of your thoughts. You began to catch your breath while the both of you wind down.
“God damn,” The sound of Arthur’s voice brought you back down to earth as you felt a somewhat coarse fabric swipe along your stomach a couple of times before the man sighed heavily and molded his body back down against you. You could feel the light layer of sweat upon his chest, as well as the racing of his heart that closely mirrored yours. 
He began pressing wet, lazy kisses along your jaw, ear, and neck.
“You’re gonna be the death of me.” He mumbled.
You turned your head to the side, knocking it lightly against his as you brought both hands up over his bare shoulders, carting one through his hair to scratch along his scalp.
“You’re making me less- and less excited- to go into town tomorrow.” You mumbled through breaths, feeling a smile growing on your face as you closed your eyes.
“Think,” There was a pause from him before he continued, “Think Grimshaw’ll notice if you didn’t show?” 
“I think she’d notice the lack of money made tomorrow,” You offered, chuckling alongside him. “So, yes, I think she’d notice.”
“Mmph,” You felt the vibration deep in his chest as he settled down into you more; his bent arms on either side of your head no longer supporting him now as he rested upon you with a deep sigh.
You didn’t mind. It was nice in a way; it helped ground you and calm you down in the following minutes.
Arthur always took care of you when he called on you. 
There was a sort of spoken rule within the Gang that the men weren’t really supposed to be intimate with the ladies. At least not too often. If they needed the itch scratched, they were to go into town on their own dime. 
While the rule wasn’t exactly set in stone, Susan had made it clear she frowned on it, as you were supposed to save your strength and best hours for the johns that would actually be paying. 
What you and Arthur were, was what some might call…complicated. 
You were best friends. And both lonely in your own ways. You wanted a man that had enough decency to make sure you enjoyed yourself too. And Arthur, well, he was more than willing to fill that role. 
And as far as what Arthur wanted, you knew he wanted something more. You were just a temporary filler, someone to absorb the baggage until he found someone for the long term handling.
Your mind toyed with the thought, eventually feeling the need to speak up. 
“Have you gone to see that woman in town yet?” You continued to cart your hands through his hair, playing with the brown locks as you thought over the topic.
“Rmph…”
It was the only response you got out of him, and you eventually found yourself smiling as you tried to adjust yourself while still under him.
“Arthur,” You spoke up again, being careful to keep your voice down. The vast majority of camp should be asleep, and you wanted it to stay that way.
“Mm.”
“Did you go see her?”
“No,” He grumbled.
“Oh… I thought she was cute,” You offered the statement, hoping to evoke more from him.
“Too innocent.”
“Innocent?” You chuckled, feeling his head move against you as you did so.
“Mm- yeah.”
He breathed in deeply before lifting himself a few inches, bringing his head down so he could trail a line of kisses along your collarbone.
“Meaning?”
He chuckled deeply, nipping at the corner of your collarbone before kissing in between the two. “She’d never have me,” He mumbled before continuing down further.
“Hey, you don’t know that.” You gave a halfhearted tug on his hair to get him to look at you, if not to at least deter his statement.
“Trust me,” He placed a kiss between your breasts before meeting your eyes for the briefest second, continuing, “I know.” He chuckled before proceeding with the path of kisses back north.
“You always say that.” You shook your head, letting it fall back against the flat pillow beneath you.
“And I’m usually right.” You caught the slight cock of his head as he continued the kisses back up to your collar bone before continuing up your neck.
“Honey, mrph-” You went to look up, Arthur’s lips connecting with yours before you could voice your comment.
Following a second’s hesitation, you kissed him back for a time, the familiar taste of rum, cigarettes, and what you’d only ever been able to describe as - Arthur - enveloped you.
Bringing both of your hands down to his face, you run them along his scruffy jaw before bringing a couple fingers around in between yours and his lips.
He chuckled as you put space in between.
“Compared to the men I see, you're a catch.” You made clear, both amused but also a bit flustered when he laughed quietly and shook his head.
“I’m serious, it ain’t funny, Arthur!”
He leaned his weight onto one bent elbow, grabbing your hand away from his face, pushing it down into the cot with a hum as he leaned back in.
You huffed and leaned back to allow him to continue.
“Most of ‘em aren’t murderin’, no-good outlaws I take it.” His tone fell low as he voiced the statement, his breath tickling the side of your jaw before the rub of his scruff brushed against it.
“No, worse: most of ‘em are married, drunks.” You deadpanned before shaking your head, eyes on the tent above you. “They don’t hold a candle to a cowboy like you,” You chuckled as you ran a hand through his locks again.
“Maybe I should take you with me t’go see that girl. You’re sellin’ me pretty damn well.” He met your eyes with a grin, causing you to roll your own. 
He breathed deeply as he turned his attention back down to you, nosing the side of your jaw before settling himself back down against you.
The full weight of him on top of you was… oddly nice in a way. For the few minutes that you’re able to retain your breath that is. You knew he’d eventually get too heavy and you’d have to ask him to move.
You had little problem doing the work with the johns in town. But one thing you weren’t particularly fond of, was when they would lie down with you after finishing. By that point you just wanted to get the money and get them out of your bed.
Arthur was an exception though, and he knew that well. You joked that he was your- special client. That's all it was after all. At least that’s what the both of you had agreed upon. Just sex. Nothing else. You each had an itch that, as you both discovered, the other had a unique ability to scratch. Two birds with one stone, so to speak.
Arthur desired more intimacy - and someone he trusted to be intimate with amongst other things - and you simply desired a competent man every once in a while. 
It worked. You remained good friends, and nothing more.
Tempting a deep breath, you scrunched your nose when you found it difficult to get enough air in. 
“Arthur, hon,” You couldn’t help but chuckle, “you’re crushing me,” You tried to remain quiet as you took a gentle tug at the hair on the nape of his neck. 
“...sorry,” He grumbled lazily from where his face was buried into the side of your neck. 
Seconds passed before he began to shift his weight to the side, off of you and to the side of the cot before he pushed himself up onto his bent arm.
“S’okay,” You smiled.
Your eyes found him for a time before they traced the curve of his jaw, down his neck, and over his shoulder. 
Giving it little thought, you lifted a hand, tracing a finger along the line of muscle in his upper arm, and down along a couple of scars adorning his forearm.
You loved the imperfections that decorated his body. Each told a story. You loved inquiring about them, tracing them with your fingers, and placing gentle kisses upon them when Arthur allowed you to. He needed it: The reassurance.
Something you noticed after the two of you became intimate was the occasional tell that he was self conscious. Whether it be leaving himself clothed sometimes during sex, or gently taking your hand away if you were tracing the scars and blemishes that adorned his skin, you weren’t naive to the fact. 
You were a woman. 
It was the essence of your job as a working girl, that you do your best to cake yourself in so much paint that any imperfection in your skin was invisible to the wandering eyes of man.
Every man you saw during work in town needed something. Recurring visitors offered you the opportunity to find out what. If you found it, some men paid extra, and on rare occasions, it made you feel good knowing you could help in some way.
What Arthur needed was love. You already cared for him. He was your closest friend after all, but the physical side of your alls’ relationship was just a simple agreement that helped satisfy the both of you for the time being.
“What is it with you?” Arthur breathed under his breath before a chuckle rumbled deep in his chest.
You couldn’t help but smile as you continued to trace a couple more marks before tracing down his knuckles, “We talked about this.” You mumbled quietly.
“I know we did, but they’re just old cuts and scrapes healed over,” He responded.
“They all have their stories though,” You countered his response as you met his eyes. “Each one; a paragraph, a chapter. Each one’s added something. They’ve made you who you are.”
“...Uh huh.” He was trying to hide a smile at your passionate talk.
You halfheartedly push his shoulder in amusement before you look away, bringing your hands to your stomach.
The brush of his fingers, and then his knuckles, across your arm slowly brings your eyes back to him. You follow his actions with your gaze as he runs his hand along your arms, and then back up to your face.
You met his eyes as he brushed along your cheek and he breathed out quietly through his nose.
“God, you are beautiful.” He murmured.
You smiled, despite hearing it from him on multiple occasions, as well as from men in town, there was something so different that you felt when it came from him. What it was - you weren’t sure. But what you’d come to realize about Arthur was that it wasn’t only love that he needed- but he needed someone to give it too in turn. 
It surprised you; when the two of you first became intimate. Hearing the compliments come from him, at first you just assumed was part of the sex high he was coming off of. Most men had it. But the compliments from him just seemed… different. You’d chalked it up to him just being your friend- making it seem more odd to you to hear than normal. 
“Perfect,” He supported his head with the heel of his hand, his upper body supported on his bent elbow as he looked you over.
“You’re a little dramatic for someone so self-deprecating,” You raised an eyebrow. “But hey, let’s call this good practice for when we get ya a girl.” 
He instantly rolled his eyes, unable to hide a smile before sliding to the side so he was on his back next to you.
It was a bit of a squeeze on the one-person cot, but the closeness was acceptable to you.
Reaching over with your opposite hand to him, you ran a finger over his chest, knowing full well he’d begin flinching at your light touches as you grazed over the hair on his chest. You chuckled as you watched the muscles in his torso tighten and he finally swatted at you.
“Woman-” He grumbled in a whisper as he caught your hand soon afterwards and brought it to his mouth, placing open mouth kisses along the side of your wrist.
You watched him quietly as he did so. You often didn’t mind the intimate displays, especially when you were both a bit more preoccupied with each other’s pleasures. But afterwards, you felt it weighing heavier on you as he continued to lather you with affection and tender gestures of passion.
This was when you knew it was time to draw the line. As much as it pained you to do so at times. Especially now. He had so much to give. He just needed to throw it on someone, and you were happy to take some of it. But he needed to save the rest for a long term partner. 
You found yourself whispering the statement not long after the thoughts gathered in your mind, “I should go.”
His actions slowly came to a stop; lips grazing over your arm before he placed one more kiss that lasted noticeably longer than the previous ones he’d placed, and then let go.
“If you insist,” He nodded and sat up to allow you to more easily get off the cot.
He’d offered you the option to stay more than once. You, on the other hand, knew that probably wasn’t the best idea. You’d never turn down a good cuddle now and again, but falling asleep next to him carried a different kind of intimacy. One you also drew the line at, and he respected overall.
You swung your feet off the side and grabbed your chemise from where it had been thrown over his clothing chest. 
You could feel the rustle of the cot as Arthur was sliding his union suit back on; it had been discarded rather carelessly at the bottom of the cot somewhere.
You slipped your chemise over your head, pulling it down your body and over your legs hastily before standing up.
You sighed quietly, bringing a hand up to lightly scratch the back of your head and neck before giving him a smile.
He’d since laid back down, his hands behind his head, one leg bent upright on the cot he’d now since occupied the middle of. 
“S’been a pleasure, as usual.” You gave him a curtsy, much to his amusement as he grinned and reached for you.
You caved, allowing him to take your hand as he pulled you a step closer to his cot. Turning your hand over, he placed a kiss on your palm, chuckling at the involuntary tug you gave. 
He knew damn well his facial hair tickled many spots on you, your palm being one he’d discovered.
“Thank you,” He grumbled quietly before meeting your eyes, still keeping his hold on your hand. 
The level of depth you always saw in his eyes afterwards was almost overbearing at times. 
He felt this odd sort of indebtment to you every time without fail, and it showed in the number of times he felt the need to thank you for having him- like he was a big enough burden to warrant the amount of expression of his gratitude. 
He owed you nothing; you’d reminded him time and time again. This was a mutually beneficial agreement, he knew that as you did. 
If you could have but a minute to see him for how he saw himself, maybe you could fix the harsh judgements you knew he held about himself.
You gave him a smile and squeezed his hand that held yours before letting go. You felt the split second hesitation as he let go of your hand in turn.
“If y’need me, you know where to find me.” You whispered as you approached the opening to his tent. 
Looking over your shoulder, your smile fell slightly at the sight of Arthur looking away, his eyes on the opposite side of the tent.
“Arthur?” You whispered.
“... Don’t go.” He finally muttered quietly, eyes still away from you.
You clenched your jaw and looked down briefly before grasping the closed tent flap.
“Arthur,” You sighed quietly. “You know I-”
“Come here,” He turned and reached over, grasping your arm. He quickly pulled you away from the tent opening, causing you to stumble down to a seated position on the edge of his cot.
“What?” You quickly looked at him and then again around the darkness of the tent before looking at where his eyes had been.
“Thought I heard somethin’, but…” He started before looking around again.
You both listened quietly, waiting to hear anything further when the light crunch of grass and twig came into hearing range.
“You good to take the next shift, Javier?” 
“God damn it, Marston.” Arthur sighed before sitting up further.
“Sure thing, brother.”
You huffed under your breath, your posture slouching as the boys got caught up in conversation somewhere outside the tent.
“They’ll… Probably be there a while.” Arthur grumbled, lying back down.
“I assumed.” You responded under your breath before looking around and then back down at Arthur.
“I promise I won't bite. Well- I won’t right now anyway.” He opened his arms to you with a cheeky, lopsided grin and you couldn’t help but smile back as you looked away.
After you stubbed out the last whispers of reluctance in the back of your mind, you let yourself get back on his cot, lying parallel to him, you turned over so you were partially on your stomach, your face resting off-center of his chest.
You felt the warmth of his arms wrap around you and allowed yourself to bask in it, if not this one time.
“Don’t let me fall asleep.” You made clear, lifting your face from his chest to meet his eyes. 
“Ain’t gonna promise you nothin, but I’ll try.” He responded, eyes already closed. 
You sighed quietly before resting your head back down, getting comfortable. You closed your eyes and tried to conjure up a way to occupy your thoughts for the next fifteen or so minutes when you felt light touches against your cheek. 
“Hm?” You cracked one eye open to see Arthur looking at you as he stroked your cheek with his knuckles, and then traced your brow and cheekbone with a finger. “What’re you doing?” You whispered quietly, closing your eyes before opening them again. 
“It’ll help me stay awake, jus’ let me.” He responded. 
You watched him for a little longer, admiring the relaxed set to his features; how the tightness of his brow was gone, and his eyes and slightest smile showed warmth you rarely ever saw before taking up intimacies with him. 
It was a part of him you knew very few people saw, and it warmed your heart to know that you could help bring out that side of him. At least until he found someone else to do so indefinitely. 
You finally sighed quietly and closed your eyes. “Just a few minutes more… Tops.” You mumbled. 
You felt the soft touches continue as he switched between stroking your cheek, to tracing a finger along your features. 
“Stay as long as you want, darlin’.”
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The feeling of something brushing against your face is what brought you to wakefulness as you brushed your hand against the side of your head, instantly alarmed that it wasn’t a hand, or fingers stroking your face, but a series of fabrics wrapped around you.
You tried to sit up as your eyes opened, a hard wince leaving you as you involuntarily clawed at the wrappings.
It only took seconds for everything to come back to you. You felt mildly aware of the last time you woke, sharing a few words with the girls about the job and your current state. 
You’d gotten hurt.
Arthur’s state wasn’t disclosed. The thought and lack of information was enough to push you into a seated position as you looked around, squinting partially through your weakened gaze. You were thankful it wasn’t your dominant eye covered. 
Your body felt oddly fragile, like glass; every touch and glide against fabrics and materials as you carefully brought your legs off the cot made you wince and caused your breath to catch as you did so. 
The flaps to the tent were closed, only a dim lantern lighting the space. 
You tested your legs, leaning your weight forward on them before going to stand. 
“Oh wow,” You breathed shakily as you slowly but surely got to your feet, grasping the side of one of the stacked crates at the bottom of the cot for support. 
Your vision became mildly fuzzy as you stood on two feet and struggled to remain balanced.
“Hello?” You tested your voice, thankful it didn’t sound terrible, if not a bit crackly. 
Time seemed to skip as you found yourself pulling the flaps of the tent open, and soon enough you found yourself wandering across camp.
The fuzzy colors of the campfire were a ways off, maybe 15 yards as you made your way on shaky feet.
Your vision briefly focused as you spotted a few familiar faces at the fire, and you felt relief flood you at the sight of Arthur on the opposite side of the fire, sitting near Javier and John. 
“Arthur?” You spoke up, voice coming out more of a question than you intended.
God, it was a relief to see him okay. He looked okay. Good enough to be drinking with the others at least.
Every head at the fire seemingly rose at your voice, but only a few proceeded to physically rise from where they were seated. Arthur’s eyes had found you before you spoke, but you had little time to take the fact in.
“Good heavens, girl, what’re you doing up?!” Grimshaw was suddenly in front of you, stopping you in your tracks and blocking your view of the fire.
“I was just-” You had to really focus to adjust your eyes as you closed them tightly before blinking. “I wanted to see-”
“Back to bed with you,”
“Miss Grimshaw?” You heard what sounded like Karen before the woman appeared over Grimshaw’s shoulder.
“Girls, take her back to bed.”
You noted loose profiles of Tilly and Karen as you were turned away from the fire and directed back.
“I- is everything okay?” You mumbled groggily as you blinked through darkening vision. 
“Best you not strain yourself.” Tilly spoke. 
“Is Arthur-” You tried looking over your right shoulder, noting him still seated at the fire with some of the guys. 
“The man’s fine.” Karen stated rather flatly, you noted.
Your thoughts were too hazy for you to linger on Karen’s response for too long as you found yourself back in the tent. 
The two helped you down to a seated position and you were thankful. The more time ticked by, the heavier and more sluggish your body felt.
Maybe Grimshaw was onto something with her reaction. You weren’t strong enough to be up and about. Not yet. 
“Get some rest, and don’t go running off on us now.” Karen arched an eyebrow as she smiled before leaving the tent.
You grasped the bridge of your nose, closing your eyes before opening them again in hopes to have clear vision. Nope.
“Maybe tomorrow we could take you over to the fire. See some folks.” Tilly offered, her hands clasped in front of her.
“I’d like that.” You breathed, shaking your head gently as it had begun to pound. 
Tomorrow sounded good. Maybe by then you’d be able to at least make the walk without almost fainting. You needed to check in with Arthur at least.
“Could um- Tilly, would you mind letting Arthur know I’d like to speak with him tomorrow?” You looked up at her, your one exposed eye squinting despite the dim light.
“I-” She seemed to hesitate, her eyes wandering away for a time before she smiled and nodded. “A’course.”
Lying back down on the cot, you breathed out slowly, resting your head back.
“Get some more sleep,” She patted your arm.
“I’ll try, Tilly.” You made an attempt at a smile that was stunted by the tightness in the left side of your bandaged face. 
You found your eyes tracing the top of the tent after she left and the flaps of the tent were closed once more, making the air more stagnant then you would like. 
Maybe it wasn’t Arthur at the fire. Although you were sure it was him- your vision wasn’t that blurred. But… You couldn't lie to yourself that you would expect a different reaction. You assumed he’d most likely checked on you while you were out. Seeing him while you were awake though was something you favored.
You’d make sure to talk to him tomorrow. 
Closing your eyes, you focused on slow, even breathing. Letting your body descend back to a calmer state, you let sleep take you.
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Four Months Ago…
It was on the upper balcony of the saloon where the idea first came to life, if not in its premature stage. It started with talk of your work schedule with the johns in town. Arthur had wanted you for a job, and your response was one of uncertainty on account of Grimshaw’s schedule for you.
Arthur seemed to hesitate to go further following your explanation. You credit the liquor with how the conversation continued.
“Does-szzz… Hm,” He’d wiped the dribble of the beverage from his chin with the back of his hand. “The work- Does it tire you?” He had asked.
“Not really.” You’d responded while downing the beginnings of your beer, which one you were on, you’d lost count. “Ph-physically sometimes, but I don’t mind. Takes the fun outta sex though,” You remember having hiccuped somewhere in the sentence. 
“Well alright then.” You remember he had laughed. 
“S’true!” You spoke loudly. “Never in aaalll the work I done, has a guy ever gotten me to finish.” You had thrusted your drink out over the balcony. You knew some of it had spilled on account of angry yells from below somewhere.
“Wait- really?”
You smiled at the thought when you remembered the genuine curiosity in his voice. 
“Mm mm!” You hummed through your drink.
“Not once?”
“They ain’t exactly paying for me to have a good time.” You had leaned towards him as you spoke and he couldn’t help the cackle of laughter before nodded.
“I guess you’re right.” He had drawn out.
“Wha ‘bout you?” 
And that’s when the conversation had taken its fateful turn.
“Me?” 
“Any girls you prefer in this town so far?” You gestured with your head to the side.
“Oh uh, no. Not- not really.” He had chuckled and tipped his hat further down on his face. It wasn’t lost on you, the color rising in his cheeks.
“You had any of 'em yet?”
“Nah,” He had shaken his head and swirled his beer around in the bottle.
“Really? Why not?” You had been so genuinely curious that evening. The drink had loosened you up. You and Arthur had developed such an easy-going relationship. You had been his wingman on a few occasions, directing other girls in the saloons at him just to see him blush.
“Guess… I ain’t as about that s’much I used to be.” He had shrugged again while slurring over his words a bit.
“What, sex?”
“It ain’t special with just anyone, y’know?” He had thrown his hands out, elbows leaning on the railing. The empty bottle fell from his hand with a crash down below.
You hadn’t batted an eye, and the memory made you laugh.
“It gotta be special?” 
“Well, I dunno,”
“Nothin’ wrong with that!” You’d stumbled out quickly. “S’nice actually. I knew you was a lil reserved but if that’s it, I can help!” You’d announced it confidently. “You want me t’get ya someone that ain’t a workin girl?” You had offered blatantly.
“Naaahh,” He had drawn it out, eyes blinking slowly before he laughed. “I think I’d scare any well meanin’ girl off.”
You had swung around unevenly, pointing in the vicinity of his direction as you leaned on the railing. “You-” You recalled a hiccup. “Er’hot shit- Arthur Morgan.” You had stated the sentence with such confidence. “I’ll find y’someone. Mark m’words.”
Where the conversation went from there- you weren’t entirely sure. Because the next thing you remember about the discussion was the two ordering more drinks, getting more drunk, and eventually renting a room in a brief state of clarity to hopefully deter the two of you from buying more drinks. 
“I know I said I-” He had let loose a hiccup then. “I like special. But… Damn do-er I- I miss the- feelin’. Y’know?” They two of you had been sitting on the floor, backs against the bed as you drank from large glasses of water.
“S’good ain’t it?” He’d asked.
“You ever need someone to carry you over til ya find a girl, jus’let me know.” You’d stated. “I gotcha.”
“You’d- You’d have me like that?” Arthur had seemed pleasantly surprised in that moment. The blurry memory made you smile. 
“Y’er m’best friend. Course I would!”
Somehow the two of you hadn’t gotten caught over that statement. 
“Naahhhh. I’m,” A hiccup, “I ain’t got faith in m’bilities to show ya a good time.”
“Who said y’gotta show me a good time. S’for ya.” You’d gestured at him. “I owe ya for the last train job anyway. If there’s anyone who wouldn’t be judgemental- s’me.” You’d guzzled more water, some of it spilling down your chin and shirt. 
He’d looked at you.
You’d looked at him.
You honestly couldn’t remember what happened. All you knew was that the two of you didn’t even end up having sex that night, not for a lack of trying. Most of the clothes hadn’t even come off either of you when you both woke up in each other's arms the next morning. You were sure there had been some shameless, somewhat sloppy, making out before you both fell asleep. The casualness of the situation would forever make you laugh.
That morning, despite being hungover, was when the two of you formed the agreement; as loose and quick as the conversation was before you both proceeded to have what originally started as slow, lazy, hungover sex. 
To Arthur’s very visible disappointment, he hadn’t lasted long. Which hadn’t mattered to you in the slightest. The gruff, broken moans you’d managed to pull from him was payment enough. You felt some sort of giddy pride knowing you could make your best friend truly enjoy himself for once.
What happened after that makes even you blush at the memory; recalling how he had proceeded to make sure you reached the climax of sexual pleasures more than once - making himself the first man to do so.
Following a brief period of ecstasy that you knew the both of you basked in quietly for a number of minutes, a harsh knocking on the door from one of the guys was what interrupted the two of you.
“Arthur are you in there!?” It had been a ticked off Marston that had yelled through the door. “Thought we was gonna hit the homestead of the north before dawn, what the hell are you doing?!”
It had been rather late in the morning by that point- that much was clear. 
Through a series of quiet curses, and a quick agreement, you hid in the room out of sight while Arthur collected himself, and his things, before leaving.
And here you were. Waiting a mile or two off of camp, a little before dusk, having agreed to meet Arthur here the following day.
You knew the two of you needed to most likely reiterate this agreement the two of your drunken selves had made. 
“Hey,”
You turned and looked over your shoulder, seeing Arthur trotting up on his mare. 
You smiled as he came up beside you, bringing his horse to a halt.
“How’d the job go?” You were quick to start up casual conversation. You already knew he’d be more reserved on the topic of your alls’ drunken - and hungover - shenanigans. 
He breathed out a sigh as he patted his horse before sitting up straight. 
“Was alright; made out with a few hundred. Not bad.” He met your eyes with the same, friendly look you were so familiar with, but something else sparkled in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before.
S’good,” You smiled and nodded, finding further words stalling in the back of your mind as the both of you looked at eachother awkwardly.
You laughed first, and then he followed, if not a bit awkwardly as well. 
“Sorry.” He looked away briefly before pulling something from one of his saddlebags. “I uh-... Here. These are f’you.” He held out a small bushel of flowers.
“What’s this for?” You chuckled quietly as you took them.
“It’s- well, s’for you.” You looked up to see him scratching the back of his head. “Thank you fer’having me.” He nodded to the side, before giving a mildly amused smirk. “For the other night, I mean. Thank you for havin’ me.” He repeated, clearing his throat as he looked at your horse, the ground, his horse- everywhere but you.
You looked from him, to the flowers, and then back up once more.
“Arthur, you don’t need to thank me.” You almost whispered the statement as you watched his cheeks redden. “I told you it was jus-” Your eyes caught the flowers again and it caused you to stop.
“These are-” 
“That’s the one right?” He mumbled quietly.
You could feel his eyes on you as you gently touched at the flowers that adorned the plant with your other hand, the reins abandoned around the saddle horn. It was one of your favorite plants, not technically a flower, but a tall standing herb that was adorned with countless small, beautiful flowers.
“Y-Yes,” You laughed gently as you looked up to meet this eyes, “yes, this is broadleaf lupine, but- where on earth did you find it?”
“Homestead up north had em growing near the treeline.” He explained quietly, seemingly watching your reaction.
“Oh, Arthur-” You sighed quietly, unable to contain the smile that erupted across your face.
“Just wanted t-...” He sighed and shook his head before shrugging. “Thank you.”
“You already said that.” You smiled as you lifted the flowers to your face playfully, breathing in the earthy scent.
He watched you with parted lips before looking down, obscuring his eyes under the brim of his hat.
“What is this really?” You chuckled. “Aside from a thank you.”
“I guess its…” He looked away briefly before meeting your eyes. “S’an apology for… You know.” He didn’t want to meet your eyes after the last addition to his statement and it tickled you beyond words when the realization hit you.
“Oh, honey-” You laughed, your head falling backwards as you cackled.
“Yeah, ha-ha.” He raised his voice sarcastically over your laughter.
Granted it wasn’t like he got off the second the penetration had started. Maybe five minutes in or so. You felt terrible for laughing, but the fact that he felt the need to not only apologize, but bring you your favorite flowers, was the cutest shit you could never have thought up on your own.
“That’s not- Don’t apologize.” You wheezed as you covered your mouth. “S’nothing to feel bad about. I take it as a compliment, if I might say so.”
“Well-...” He seemed to really process what you said before he narrowed his eyes and looked away. “Alright, I guess I can take that.”
“S’something we can work on if y’want.” You chuckled as you got yourself back under control, watching as he met your eyes rather quickly.
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah maybe we should,” You gave a quick tilt of your head as you met each other's eyes. “Talk about that? The terms of the agreement… At least if you’re still interested!” You stuttered over your words rather quickly. “I’m sorry, maybe I should’ve started there.” 
Nice one.
“The agreement, right.” Arthur nodded, eyes looking out over the landscape ahead before he leaned down, his forearms supported on the saddle horn. “I uh,” He cleared his throat, “my mind chose to remember much different details from that morning than what we talked about,” He was trying to fight the sheepish smile breaking at the corners of his lips when he looked at you.
“Okay, what if, um,” You thought over the wording quickly. “We just- start throwing out some ground rules and deal breakers?” You tried. “S’just casual sex. Doesn’t need to be anything crazy.” You shrugged, eyes on your horse’s mane before you met his eyes. “Could be that you don’t like me touching your feet. That could be the first thing for all I care.”
“Feet.” Arthur stated, an eyebrow raised just visibly under the brim of his hat.
“Had a guy that was adamant that I didn’t touch his feet. I dunno,” You shrugged, unable to stop yourself from laughing at the look Arthur was wearing. “What about privacy?” You quickly furthered the conversation. “Keep this- between us?”
“Mm, yes.” Arthur nodded, looking away for a brief time. “Probably best. For both of us.” He nodded to the side.
You watched him quietly, gaze dancing over his features.
His face was still flushed, but he looked like he was beginning to relax into the topic of discussion. You two had talked sex before, but this was definitely different.
“Anything you want me to know?” You tried.
He met your eyes again, a lopsided smirk covering his face as he chuckled quietly.
“I uh, I ain’t too sure. Honestly I-” He looked away briefly, seemingly nodding discreetly to himself before he met your eyes again. “I could- show ya, if yer not busy.”
The statement caught you off guard with the sudden growth of confidence from him.
“Show me?” Your eyebrows had risen, a smile evident in your expression. You could feel the heat in your cheeks as you tried to meet your best friend's eyes. “Mr. Morgan, I thought you only reserved that confidence for jobs and drinkin’.” You chuckled as you gently placed the flowers into your own saddle bag.
“I’d like t’try and make it up to ya.” He smirked, eyes following you as you pulled your horse around to the other side of him.
You looked him over playfully before acknowledging the canvas strapped to the back of his saddle.
“Got a location in mind?” You chuckled.
“Maybe.”
You knew more needed to be discussed. But you trusted him. And you knew he trusted you. The logistics could be worked out and hell- maybe working it out in the process would prove an easy way to acknowledge things on the fly.
“We should probably talk about some things on the way there, then.” You gave your horse a small nudge, causing Arthur to do the same with his mare. “First off, this ain’t permanent.”
“Just sex.” He nodded in agreement.
“Yep.” You popped the ‘p’. “We need t’find ya a woman.” You nodded, as you shot a look his way. “You’re totally husband material.”
“And you?” You detected the smile in his words. “What’d you get outta this?”
“Pfft,” You breathed and chuckled, “Honey, you get me off like you did every now and then and I’ll be beyond satisfied.”
“Hm… Simple, easy to remember.” He noted.
“I aim to please,” You grinned at him. 
“And in the meantime?” He met your gaze with a laugh as the two of you rode along.
“Make each other feel good? I guess?” You shrugged your shoulders, waiting for his addition.
“In very simple terms then,” Arthur elaborated as he gave you a grin.
“We’ll figure each other out.” You defended your statement with a laugh. “Until then, we can call it what it is. Just sex. Nothing overtly romantic or intimate. We keep it simple. Uncomplicated. No public displays of our goings on. We stay friends and just- have physical relations now and again when the mood hits… But! Hey,” You met his eyes. “If there’s ever any tension or if things change- lets just cease any physical activities. At least until getting on the same page again.”
He chuckled before tipping his head with a nod.
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
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Though quiet, and barely above a whisper, the voices coming from nearby were what pulled you from your slumber.  Quiet, yet distinctly familiar. Through your doze, you could hear the muffled conversation, but had too little function to fully process what you were hearing.
“She’s just dozing. Maybe you should at least say hi before you leave.”
There was a pause.
“I really don’t have time, Tilly. Just… Give’er my best. I gotta go.”
“You’ve been acting weird about her since you got back from the bank job. Did something happen with you two?”
You had already struggled to sit up, vision still blurry as you tried to blink yourself to full wakefulness. The streaks of morning sunlight struggling to penetrate the canvas were evident.
“Arthur?” You had to force the word through your lips; it was quiet and almost a wheeze as you cleared your dry throat.
“See- She’s up-”
“I gotta go. Give’er my best.” 
“Wait- Arthur!” Tilly called.
You were barely able to get your feet off the cot when Tilly pushed past the half draped canvas at the entrance to the tent.
“Is he out there?” You swallowed thickly as you gathered your bearings, meeting her eyes.
She seemed to think over her words before she sighed quietly and shrugged.
“Dutch got a last minute lead; wanted Arthur along for the trip er’something.” Tilly responded.
You blinked, brow furrowing as the seconds passed.
“And he just- left?”
The sound of the words so foreign coming from your mouth- the doubt laced through them that is. Doubt about Arthur. It wasn’t like him. Sure, he had distanced in recent weeks. Which you understood considering the circumstances. But this? What happened? You’d have expected… something different from him.
You’d just called his name. He heard you. He had to of. You heard Tilly even acknowledge it.
“He came by while they were getting ready to leave. He was probably just in a hurry.” Tilly offered. 
You appreciated the attempt she was making. But it only made your throat tighten further with confusion.
It wasn’t like him. 
“I-” She paused, but got your attention rather quickly with her hesitation. “S’not my business to ask, but… Is everything okay with you two?” There was genuine concern in both her voice and her expression. 
It only instilled the idea that you weren’t imagining all of this. Something was definitely… off.
“I-” You swallowed as you thought the fact over, your eyes coming to land on the crate at the end of the cot. Upon it rested a single strand of broadleaf lupine. “I don’t know.”
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A/N: I hope the non-chronological time jumps/flashbacks weren't too confusing. I'm a bit out of my element and I know I'm probably gonna disappoint some of the people that were excited for this fic, so I apologize. I am open to suggestions if anyone has feedback, but please let me know if you enjoyed reading- means a lot to us writers 💗 also if you're now finding this fic isn't your cup of tea, it's okay, just lmk, I'll take you off the taglist
Tagging: @divergent-llamas-03 @photo1030 @elifsukirdaghehe @immajustvibehere @reaveries @ao3sub @cowboydisaster @iwantmethgivememeth
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hajimehinata · 8 months
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gone fishing
day 9 : wound ( from @adfaugust )
this isn’t the war they were promised, not even close. no safety in trenches, no bombs deployed from the air, far away from any damage. instead, they’re thick in the jungle, getting their heads blown off by traps, assailants nowhere to be seen. paul didn’t even want to be here, fought the draft to the last second, and now here he is, clutching a rifle and feeling sick to his stomach. wishes, not for the first time, that he’s just one of the ladies in the sick bay. sure, the injuries are horrible, but it’s better than being out here. 
he’s playing nurse right now, surprised by his own strength as he starts lugging bear to the bushes, rifle swung dangerously over his back, where he can’t take it out if someone attacked. he needs his arms, anyway; bear’s in no shape to walk. he’s losing blood fast, a bullet in the side. and when paul pulls up his shirt to check, there isn’t an exit wound. considers, stupidly, if he could just pluck it out with his fingers, but he knows that’ll be worse, that he’s gonna give bear an infection. which he’s sure the poor guy already has, or maybe he’s just delirious from the pain.
“paul,” bear coughs, and he shows his teeth in a smile that’s gnarly, but not in a good way. it still seizes paul like his hand’s got a heart in its vice grip, and the sight of him must do something for the guy, since that grin only gets wider. “at home, in the barn… we got this kayak.”
bear’s got a tone in his voice that tells paul he’s on some long-winded story. he debates telling bear to save his strength, but there’s a real chance he’ll die out here before paul can get him help, so he lets it go. “yeah? what … what kayak?”
“beautiful — ” and bear cuts himself off with a series of coughs, blood coming up on his shirt in a way that makes paul feel faint — “beautiful boat. some men like their fancy cars and impressing women with ‘em. like their… their speedboats. but there ain’t no better joy than being the engine to your own vehicle.” still smiling broadly, bear claps a hand over paul’s. “i’ll take you out one day. once the war’s over. once the fish come back.”
“you’ll get there,” paul promises, shirt off so he can use it as a bandage, ripped all the way around and then some so he can get it wrapped. bear’s always been a big guy, hence the nickname, but he’s stronger than anyone else paul’s ever known. a little rough around the edges, and dante never liked him, but paul’s never liked dante much either. at least, he don’t got a lot of faith in the guy. paul didn’t know much about bear before getting drafted, where bear was already on his last few years. seemed like, if all went well, paul’d get out of this place four months before bear’s time was up. he signed up, twice — but he’s still in the trenches like all the other draftees. makes paul wonder if there was ever much of a choice. but bear sticks up for the little guy, and he prays with whoever needs it. lotta guys here are turning to faith. hard not to when people’s legs and arms are getting blasted off, when they go flying. and bear always matches paul drink for drink, indulges him when they get too drunk to keep pretending there ain’t an issue with what they’re doing.
he remembers now, suddenly, how many times bear has clapped him on the shoulder and told him he’s a good man. asked him earnestly if he’d make sure sharon’s cared for if he don’t make it back. paul has to wonder if bear knows. if he knows what feelings paul’s had for his girl. what feelings he used to have about bear — jealous and envious and hateful and awed all at once. similar, he guesses, to how he feels about his cousin. 
bear squeezes paul’s hand. “we’ll get there.” paul’s always wondered why bear talks like he’s older than he is, like he’s on his deathbed. it makes it all the more chilling, knowing this is just a normal conversation, that bear could be anything, could be drinking or taking a swim or laughing by the fire, but instead, he’s dying and he talks the same.
paul flags down a tank and a couple of guys work to hoist bear up onto it, planning to take him out to where the copter can pick him up, take him to a hospital. can barely bring himself to let go of bear’s hand. “just take it easy, buddy. don’t you dare die on me.”
the guy only laughs, soft and self-loathing. “take care of sharon for me. take care of her.”
and when paul sees joyce with the bottle of alcohol, his lips twitch. gaze drifting to the woman bleeding out on the couch. and when he’s asked how she’s doing, he says, hard to say. i’ve seen it go a lot of different ways. cause it’s true. what’s also true is that a lot of those guys that made it still strung themselves up in the end, or took a bullet to their skull, or drowned themselves in drink. sure, the physical wound mended up, no infections, but what they suffered up there? in their minds? it ain’t as easy as getting an operation done.
see, paul and bear both made it out of vietnam. but they never went fishing on that kayak.
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grey-writes-stuff · 5 months
Text
Siblings
@divoha4
The last sounds of gurgling and growling died off as the duo killed the undead that surrounded them.
“Ugh. You never get used to the smell…” ”Uhm…Storm…?”
Storm looked over at Ferret, who looked suddenly pale and meek.
“Ferret? What is it?”
Ferret shakily showed their wrist. On their wrist, a clear as day bite, dripping with blood.
Storm didn’t hesitate. They took their clean knife out, and cut the wrist clean off, prompting a screech of pain from Ferret.
Storm apologised repeatedly as the wrapped the arm in a tourniquet and scraps of gauze.
“It hurts!” Ferret squeaked.
“I know. I’m sorry!” Storm repeated a few more times before taping up the gauze.
“Here.” Storm handed Ferret a small bottle of vodka, which the duo had grabbed from a downed plane. Ferret took it and chugged it instantly.
When Ferret discarded the bottle, they noticed Storm acting off. Their shoulder was in an upwards position, their neck slightly tilted to that side.
“Storm? Is something wrong…?” Ferret said in a shaky voice.
Storm hesitated. They let out a long breath before relaxing their shoulder, and moving their neck into an upright position. A deep bite was on their neck, like an undead had tried their best to rip the chunk out.
“S-Storm?”
“I don’t think anyone can cut this off…” Storm sighed, sitting on the ground.
“M-Maybe we could cut around it?” Ferret stammered, but Storm shook their head.
“Already in my blood stream, Fer. I’m done.”
“No! We told Moose we’d make it back safe!” Ferret protested, shaking Storms shoulders.
“And I told him I’d keep you safe.” Storm replied.
Ferret’s shoulders slumped, their eyes filled with Grief and despair. “W-What do we do…?”
“I’m going to get you as close to home as I can. I wanna see familiar places before, well…yeah.”
Ferret let out a whimper, which prompted Storm to tightly hug them.
“Hey. You’re gonna need a hand getting home anyway.”
“Not the puns…” Ferret whimpered.
“Could always say I’m armed.” Storm snickered.
The walk back was slow for them both, due to Storms bite, and Ferrets missing arm, which sometimes sent shocks of pain through them.
“How’s it feeling…?” Storm ask raspily. They had steadily grown weaker during the walk.
“Hurts sometimes.” Ferret admitted “Healing is probably going to be a bitch…”
They then took a breath. “What about you?”
Storm hesitated. “My necks gone a bit numb. Kinda like when a limb falls asleep? But I can feel it pulsing, like a heartbeat. I won’t lie, it’s an interesting experience.” ”That’s…one way to put it…” Ferret mumbled.
Suddenly, Storm stumbled, and Ferret immediately put out their good arm to catch them.
“If you need to take a break…”
“No. We keep going.” Storm insisted.
Ferret lowered their gaze and nodded.
They walked for another two hours, before eventually, Storm fell, and struggled to get back up. Ferret helped them up, and guided them to a tree, that had all of its leaves still despite the coming winter.
“Man, I did not think I was gonna go out like this…” Storm croaked as they were set down against the tree trunk.
“W-What do I do…?” Ferret asked with a small whimper.
Storm nodded to Ferrets gun.
“W-What?! I-I can’t!” Ferret fretted.
“You have to. I ain’t walking around with those things, causing issues. I prefer doing that when I’m alive.”
“You’re my sibling. I can’t…” Ferret’s voice cracked.
“You have to because you’re my sibling, Jo.” Storm replied quietly.
“What am I going to tell Moose? Bes even?” Ferret asked quietly.
“The truth. That my luck ran out, and you gave me the easy way out. Beats all the Lumi crap, I won’t lie.”
Ferret whimpered, and gave Storm a tight hug, hesitant to let go.
“I-I’m going to miss you…” Ferret whispered pitifully.
“Yeah, I’ll miss you too, Ferret.” Storm responded softly.
Ferret withdrew from the hug after a few minutes, and only now noticed just how exhausted Storm looked. They looked pale, dark marks under their eyes.
“Just…make it quick, yeah? Seen too many people miss during their killing blow. Not fun.”
Ferret took out their pistol and took a shaky breath.
Storm gave them a weak smile. “Tell them I wasn’t scared. Not one bit.”
“I will” Ferret whimpered. They aimed the gun and looked away.
A shot fired, and then silence.
“You sure Soap and Ghost would want to go to the warehouse? It’s full of rats, and Soap squealed like a little girl.”
“Moose, you and I both know they’re the quickest we have right now for the Warehouse run.”
Moose sighed, and looked around. “Those two kids should be back by now.. Where’d you send them anyway, Bes?”
Bes hummed for a moment. “Hardware store. We needed some supplies for the walls.”
Moose grunted and looked back at the map, before they heard a familiar screech of the gate opening.
“Must be them.” Bes smiled before turning around. His smile faltered.
Ferret stumbled to them, their head hanging low. In their remaining hand, was what looked to be a collar, part of it frayed and stained darker.
Moose turned, and his eyes widened. “Jo!”
He ran to Ferret, who was trembling like a leaf in the wind.
“Where’s Storm?!” Bes demanded.
Ferret could barely meet their gaze. When they finally lifted their head, there were tears in Ferret’s eyes. Shakily, they gave Bes the collar.
“They…” Ferret croaked.
Bes saw the blood, the frayed fabric on the collar, and his heart sunk.
Moose saw the collar, and his eyes widened.
All Bes could ask is “How…?”
Ferret let out a whimper, unable to answer.
Moose knelt down and tightly hugged Ferret, who let out one last whimper before sobbing into the older mans shoulder. “I’m sorry!” Ferret wailed.
Bes watched the two. He noticed Ferret’s stumped arm, and slowly began to piece it together.
“They saved you?”
Ferret meekly nodded. They forced themself to look up at Bes, and saw no anger. Only grief.
They were one member down, and that member, was family.
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sassy-ahsoka-tano · 1 year
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DADDY ISSUES - Part Seven: Friends
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Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)
Prompt: Now that you're all moved in and set up, what do you have to look forward to in your relationship as Elvis Presley's sugar baby? [ Fem!Reader ]
TW: sad reader, angst, guilt/shame as a result of sexual activity, elvis being a bit of a fucktard ngl
Rating: M || Word Count: 3985
A/N: i hope y'all are enjoying still!! i can't tell you how many ideas spurred while writing these chapters. i literally had a web of ideas that i somehow managed to weave all into this little fic lol
Song Rec: friends - anne marie and marshmello
This is Part 7 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!
[ masterlist | taglist ]
🦋 mila
─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────
“Am I allowed to date or see other people or is this an exclusive thing?”
Elvis’ eyebrows shoot up when you ask the question and you can tell that he wasn’t expecting it. His eyes drop to the floor and eyebrows furrow as he considers what you’ve asked. After a few moments of tense silence, he clears his throat and glances back up at you with a tight smile.
“Course you can see other people. We ain’t an item or nothin. It’s just a convenient relationship for both of us. Doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, but doesn’t mean we gotta be lovers neither.”
You nod, offering a small smile. His eyes fall to your finger and he smirks.
“That’s a good girl. Lemme see,” he says, scooting forward and holding out his palm.
You drop your hand into his and he gently runs his fingers over it with the hint of a smile on his face. His calloused fingertips ghost over your knuckle and then onto the ring resting snugly on your finger. You take a deep breath, the feeling of your touch on his palm making you giddy and excited.
“See you doin so good already followin my rules. This ring’ll tell everybody important that you’re with me. Looks good on ya, princess,” he says with a nod. “You like it?”
“Oh absolutely, Mr. Presley,” you say, automatically defaulting to his proper name. You feel like you should treat him respectfully, or maybe you’re addressing him as your boss? You aren’t sure but the urge to be formal is suddenly extremely present in the room. “It’s the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen and definitely not something that I could ever afford on my own. Thank you so much for gifting it to me.”
“Don’t mention it,” he says, waving dismissively. “It’s payment for our first appointment. This was the arrangement we agreed to and I stick to my promises. There’s more to come, I’m sure.”
Your lips part as you watch his gaze fade from sunny blue eyes to a dark, serious expression. He emphasizes the word come, pausing after he speaks the word. He draws it out, licking his tongue over his lips before finishing the sentence. You desperately hope you’re not reading too much into it, because you do desperately want him to be talking about you.
Everything in your body wants him to touch you and make you feel things you’ve never experienced in your life. The first time you saw him in 1956, you wanted him. Other girls may also want him, but not like you. They don’t want him like you do. The lust he planted then has done nothing but grow since that day. For god’s sake, it possessed you, the most unlikely person in the world, to slide out of your panties and offer them up to a complete stranger who you’d probably never see again. Elvis’ voice jerks you out of your awe.
“Which reminds me, what sorta payments do you want? I don’t wanna get you nothin you dont like.”
“Oh, uh, I guess I’ve never really thought about it. Well, I like necklaces and rings. Um, I’m more of a pants girl than dresses but I still like nice dresses and things. Um…”
“Noted,” he replies.
Silence settles as his eyes trace over your figure. You’re becoming more comfortable with him doing that, since he does it pretty constantly. The little problem of your debts and bills rises to the forefront of your mind and you consider adding to the list since that’s what you really need to be paid off, but before you can say anything else, he curls his finger and motions for you to come over to him.
Your core starts to swell with excitement and you actively fight the smile that wants to cross your face. You take a few steps closer to him and sit down on his lap, just as you had the other day. You already feel a bit more comfortable this time as you rest your hands on his chest and his hands gently cup your thighs. You stay still, waiting for instructions which he promptly provides.
“Tilt your head up for me,” he says and you gulp before obeying, lengthening your chin out so that he can see your neck better.
His fingers gently rise up toward your skin, ghosting across your throat and the sensitive skin underneath your jawline. Your eyes flutter and threaten to close but you force them to remain open. He just gently closes his fingers around your throat, not all the way but enough that your breath audibly shudders. You gulp your nerves down as your pussy begins to throb with desire for him. Just as you’ve resolved to lean down and kiss him, he pulls his fingers away.
“You got a pretty neck, princess. Perfect for my hand. I think a necklace would work nicely for you.”
You hover in the space between you, resisting the strongest urge to smash your lips against his. Your entire body is slowly aching for him, but is it okay for you to make a move? Despite his loveliness in answering your questions, you’re still confused as to how all of this works. Plus, now that you’re relying totally and completely on Elvis to sustain you financially, you’re terrified of making a mistake that’s unfixable. Just as your head begins to bob forward with a burst of confidence, your nerves get the better of you and you just hover anxiously. You clear your throat and Elvis continues the conversation.
“Is jewelry what you like best? Or dresses or what?”
“Um, I guess I’ve never really thought about it, honestly. I…don’t have much of a preference,” you reply with a lackluster shrug. “I could use some new clothes. But, of course the jewelry is also very nice. Um…sorry, I just feel very awkward saying these things.”
You laugh nervously but he shakes his head.
“Why’s that?”
“Well,” you suddenly laugh as you realize what it feels like and that image begins to surface in your mind, “honestly, it feels a bit like sitting on Santa’s lap and telling him what I want for Christmas. I’m just not very used to asking for things, like material things.”
“But that’s how you get what you want. Y'ask for it.”
“I guess so, yeah. But that’s usually not how it works for normal people, and it’s certainly never worked out that way for me. I hardly ever get what I ask or pray for. God has favorites and I really don’t think I’m one of them,” you reply with a weak chuckle. “Besides, I’m just not the kind of person who places a lot of value on material objects or gifts or anything. I don’t need all that many things, to be honest. Just the basics, although these are very tempting and it feels good to own them. They’re not really necessary in the grand scheme of things, you know what I mean?”
“But that’s what I’m here for. I ain’t got no issue giving you whatever you want. All you gotta do is ask, princess, and it’s yours.”
“I’m not used to that. People like me don’t just get the things we ask for. We have to work for them.”
“Not anymore, doll,” he smiles, leaning forward to whisper against your cheek. “Ask and it’s yours.”
You smile in awe as Elvis pulls back.
“Stand up, over there,” he gestures toward the middle of the room. You nod and carefully remove yourself from his lap to stand on the mark he’s given you. Once there, you await his directions. “Take the dress off. Just the top. I wanna see you better.”
You nod and turn away from him to spice things up. You shakily lift the strap of your dress up and off of your shoulder, glancing over your skin at Elvis who watches you hungrily. You let the strap fall, exposing the skin of your shoulder to him. The slow speed with which you’re stripping is putting both you and him through an uncomfortable tenseness that only grows when you drop the other strap down. The dress, being held up mostly by the straps, elegantly falls off your chest and pools around your waist where it’s cinched in a little tighter. You reach up for the strap to your bra, but Elvis stops you.
“No. There’s good enough,” he says. “Turn around.”
You obey him, spinning around so he can get a good look at your entire body. He rubs his slender fingers over his lips, tugging them out lazily. You stand still like a statue before him until he gestures for you to come closer.
“Come here. Right here. All the way this time.”
He points to the space between his legs, a spot that has become rather familiar to you already. You can’t help the smile that spreads onto your cheeks as you step toward him.
He leans forward, his fingers taking hold of your waist. They gingerly trail up the bare skin of your waist, so lightly that you feel goosebumps spreading across your skin. He traces his fingers around to your front, ghosting over your breasts underneath the bra. He curls his fingers around your chest and squeezes firmly. You release a contented breath and close your eyes at the sensation, what little of it there even is. It’s more than you’ve gotten from him so far. He squeezes a few more times, saying nothing, before he releases your breasts.
You instinctively follow his grasp as it retreats. Your eyes fly open in disappointment and he slides further down into the red velvet chair. He tugs gently on the zipper to his jumpsuit while staring intensely into your eyes.
“You know what to do, darlin."
Unfortunately, you do know what to do, although you’d love to do something else right now. It might only be the second time you’ve sucked him off, you hope this time will be different. You hope this time you’ll get to share in the receiving end. Glancing up into his bright blue eyes, you have an idea. You lean over him, trying to push your breasts near his face in the hopes that you’ll tempt him enough to put some effort into pleasing you. You pause for a few seconds, waiting for him to grasp your chest.
When he doesn't respond, you reach down to grasp the zipper. His hand snakes onto yours, gripping your fingers away from his suit. You glance up at him in confusion
"I liked what you did the other night with your teeth," he says, his eyes falling down to your lips. "Do it like that again."
You gently maneuver yourself onto the floor on your knees and catch the zipper between your teeth. This time, you unzip the jumpsuit slowly, maintaining eye contact with Elvis all the way down. You spread the leather of his jumpsuit aside so you can access him. His white boxer briefs are familiar to you now. You glance sneakily up at the clock in the corner of the room to see that you only have about five minutes until show time.
As much as you appreciate his trying to get to know you better, you’re desperate for some physical attention. You’ve been responsible for taking care of yourself for the last five years or so and, quite frankly, you’re just tired of it. Having a man touch you for once is a need that’s rekindled every time he dares to touch you.
But with only five minutes left, you waste no time, yanking his underwear off and wrapping your fingers around his length. You immediately start to pump him, licking the tip of his dick with your tongue. He releases a satisfied sigh and leans back into the chair. You glance up to see his head tilted toward the ceiling with his eyes completely closed. You feel pleased with yourself but frustrated at his passivity. You yank him into your mouth and harshly bob your head up and down on top of him.
He groans and moans in approval. Your eyes flash wide when his hand sneaks down your chest to massage your breasts through your bra. You hum against his length as he pinches your nipple between his fingers. You shift closer to him, hoping he'll touch you harder. While the sensation is very welcome, you need so much more.
As your head bobs up, your eyes flick up toward him again to see that he hasn’t moved, other than his hips which are beginning to buck up into your mouth as he matches your pace. You squeeze your eyes shut, suddenly feeling the urge to cry. You continue to bob up and down on his dick as you fight back the emotion that’s flooding into your chest painfully.
You feel him start to twitch in your mouth and pump your hand harder on his length. A few seconds later, his hips are bucking into your lips and his hot cum is slipping down your throat. You gulp it down begrudgingly, the taste almost sour on your tongue. Your body shudders with the displeasure of the action and the taste but mostly with how it made you feel at the moment.
You drop your head immediately, focusing on the floor below you as Elvis reassembles himself to go back out for the show which starts in just a few minutes. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, wanting to transport yourself completely from this situation into a different time and place, somewhere you’re safe and alone. On his way out, Elvis places his hand on your head and gives your hair a little muss. His fingers slip down to your chin, lifting your gaze to his. You reluctantly open your eyes and he smirks down at you slightly.
“Such a good girl,” he murmurs before making his way toward the door.
You keep yourself upright until you hear the door shut behind him. As soon as the lock clicks, you feel your face screwing up. You keel over onto your hands and knees, your arms shaking with the emotion that is coursing through your body. You curl onto your knees and sit back on them, resting your forehead on the scratchy carpet below you. Tears start to pool by your eyes and you don’t stop them as the warm liquid falls from your eyes to stain the carpet below you. You curl your arms around your shoulders as your body shakes and you cry.
He had his chance to pleasure you and he didn’t take the hints, which you thought were very obviously being given to him. Now, it’s too late. You feel worthless, disgusting, dirty. You understand that you wholeheartedly gave yourself up to Elvis when you agreed to become his sugar baby but you assumed the arrangement would be mutual.
You should be stronger than this; this shouldn’t bother you so much. You are the one who agreed to this, who decided to accept the proposal. You’re just reaping the consequences of your actions, the ones Steve warned you about. But for some unplaceable reason, it hurts. A lot.
On the other hand, while you realize how silly and dramatic it is to be upset when you’ve just begun, the emotions that are running through your veins are so strong. And considering that you’ve relocated your entire life over the last week, it’s probably understandable that you’re feeling so overwhelmed.
After a few more tears sneak out, you sniffle and wipe your runny nose on your arm, not caring about the stickiness spreading onto your skin. You don’t have anyone to look pretty for anymore. And the one person you did choose to look nice for doesn’t seem to have any interest in you other than using you as a personal fleshlight. As moments of anger and embarrassment pulse through your veins, you pull yourself together with a few deep breaths.
You weren’t really in the mood for giving him a blowjob even when you got dressed to come downstairs tonight. But he asks and you provide. As he said earlier, ‘all you gotta do is ask and it’s yours’. As you dry your tears, that phrase starts to circle in your brain. Ask and it’s yours… If that’s what he wants. That’s what he’ll get. Why can’t you take the reins a little? You’re half of the deal, after all.
You stand, fix your hair and your dress, wipe off your tears and snot and grab your purse. You exit the dressing room with the confidence of someone who simply doesn’t have the will to care anymore.
As you trudge out of the dressing room, not bothering to pause before the door to listen for anyone passing, you keep your eyes glued to the floor beneath you. You shrug your bag over your shoulder and pull the bottom of your dress down harshly, trying to get the stubborn fabric to stay put. When your body slams into another, you momentarily lose your footing and feel yourself careening toward the floor. Luckily, whoever you bumped into manages to catch you at the last moment. With a panting breath, you glance up to see one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen in your life. He helps you to your feet as you feel heat creeping into your face.
“Uh…thanks,” you say nervously. “I’m so sorry about that.”
He chuckles, leaning down to pick up your purse, which you hadn’t even realized you’d dropped during the collision. Your eyes widen as you notice the black lingerie poking out from inside the bag. You wonder if he notices, although he doesn’t mention or allude to it at all when he carefully hands the bag back to you. You snatch it quickly from his hands, sneakily reaching your hand in to push the lingerie back into its hidden place.
“It’s no big deal. It’s my fault for being so clumsy,” he says, flashing a crooked smile at you.
As his straight white teeth sparkle in the light of the hallway, you can’t help but grin back at him. A few moments of silence pass before one of you gets the courage to say something else.
“So…do you work here?” he asks, gesturing to your outfit.
“Oh, uh, sorta. I’m part of Mr. Presley’s…” your eyes wander quickly around your environment, desperately searching for an excuse that doesn’t involve your chest and face being covered in Elvis' cum. You suddenly see someone pass carrying a case of makeup and your face brightens. “...makeup crew. I’m one of his makeup consultants.”
“You do his makeup?”
“Well, I just sort of check it to make sure it’s up to standard, you know. The eyeliner and such,” you pull out as much knowledge of makeup as you can possibly access in your brain as your heart beats rapidly in your chest.
You know you shouldn’t be embarrassed to admit what you really do here, but you still feel too ashamed to fess up to it. You know there’s no way that this stranger is actually buying the idea that you’re a makeup artist for Elvis, considering what you’re wearing and the fact that your own makeup is probably smudged hideously from the crying and snotting all over.
“Cool. I’m one of the stagehands, so I carry some of the props onstage and help with the curtains and all that.”
“Oh, that’s super cool!” you say, folding your arms over your chest. “How did you get into that?”
“My mom was a singer back in the day, so I’ve always been around sets. How did you get into…what you do?”
“Oh, it’s just a job for money. There’s nothing that special about it, honestly.”
“Working that closely to Elvis Presley isn’t special?”
“He’s not as amazing as you’d think, actually,” you reply with a curt smile as you reflect on all the disappointments you’ve already experienced since becoming his sugar baby. “But it pays the bills.”
“I can understand that,” he says, staring down into your eyes.
You’ve been truthful with him, besides admitting what you do. Although you can’t explain why, you want this man to think highly of you. Elvis did say that you could date other people, so why shouldn’t you take a stab at this one. He’s handsome with curly brown locks, deep brown doe eyes, and a nicely shaped face. He’s very tall and decently built; you guess he has to be pretty strong to be able to toss set pieces around.
You abruptly stick your hand out for him to shake. His eyebrows raise but he takes your hand in his, giving it two solid pumps. You wiggle your fingers, assuming he’s going to release your hand but he holds onto it for a few seconds longer than you’re expecting. You smile sweetly as he releases your fingers slowly. You drag them across his palm and resist the urge to shudder with excitement.
It’s been upwards of five years since you last had a serious boyfriend, so the thought of maybe finding someone after all this time is extremely appealing. Not to mention that you’re desperate for some physical pleasure. With all of this teasing and leading-up to nothing, you’re starting to get fed up and very tired of the constant lack of tension relief.
“I’m Y/N,” you say.
“I’m-”
“Max!” someone shouts from a different spot in the backstage area. “Stop flirting and get your ass over here to help with the curtains!”
Your eyes shift toward a man yelling orders who you assume is in charge of the stagehands and the backstage activities. Max glances back at you with a shrug.
“Duty calls. Will I…see you here tomorrow?”
“Uh…no, probably not. I don’t think I work tomorrow and I have another job that I have to take care of on the side,” you lie, not too excited about the idea of coming down here more than necessary.
“Oh, damn. Well, what days do you work?”
“It’s sort of unpredictable, to be honest,” you can feel your palms growing sweaty with his constant questioning.
“Alright. Cryptic but alright,” he laughs, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. You bite your lip as you watch his biceps flex. If you were wondering, your question has now been answered. He’s strong strong. “Guess I’ll just have to hang out around here every day until I see you again.”
“Oh…” you drop your gaze, embarrassed and flattered by his charming flirting. “Well in that case, maybe I can make an exception for you. Here.”
You snatch a pen from the table next to you and scribble the number to your hotel room on his palm.
“You can reach me here. If you ever want to hang out or need help or, well, whatever,” you offer.
“And what if I need something tonight? I can call you then?”
You chuckle and bite your lip at his goofy smile.
“You can call whenever. And I’ll decide if I want to pick up or not.”
“Max Carver!” the stage manager shouts and Max jumps.
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Max. I’ll hope to see you again some time.”
“If I have anything to say about it, you will," he replies with a wink and a handsome grin.
You turn and start on your way out of the backstage area as you hear the stage manager shouting instructions to Max. You smile to yourself, just a little bit smitten with him.
As you pass the trash can on the way out, you click open your purse and pull the black lingerie out. You drop it into the can and get on your way back upstairs without giving the piece of clothing a second thought.
─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────
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therichantsim · 9 months
Text
Below the cut is a long-drawn-out rant. I debated long and hard about doing this but I’m tired of keeping bottled up. So, I’m about to get messy as fuck and put all my business out there. Frankly at this point, I don’t even care. I tried to let it slide because I don’t like drama unless it’s in a sims story. However, at this point I have nothing to lose since apparently the people I once called friends stopped fucking with me anyway. 
I don’t know what’s being said in the private chats and DM’s, but I notice some interesting behavior ever since @shanisims posted her “goodbye post”. I don’t normally do callout post or bring personal drama out into the open, but my intuition tells me some shit is being said about me that ain’t true. Shanisims befriended me and we began chatting in the DM’s, then on Discord. We shared story stuff, personal stuff, then we started collaborating together. We swapped sims. I did some builds for her, and we collaborated on each other’s stories. She engaged in my content and vice versa. Then one day she just stopped. Once I noticed I stopped engaging too. Then next thing I knew... I was blocked on all platforms. I have another blog I use for shitposting that I follow my favs from. I really enjoyed her story, so I quietly continued to read it from there. At some point she alludes to a “beef” when she brings my OC’s persona into her story. She mentions that Bishop looks different because of “reasons”. Then she does it again later on in the story when Bishop is featured. My question was why allude to anything? No one was asking unless you want them to ask. 👀🤨 It was passive aggressive, calculated and cunning. Mind you whatever offense that allegedly took place happened over a year ago.  So, I decided to ask her what her problem was. I sent her message from that account, and I said it was me. I didn’t pretend to be anonymous. I wanted to know what her beef was with me and if she has such an issue with me that she had to block me why continue to use my sims, my builds and my character’s persona? I told her I felt used. She goes out of her way to be extremely friendly and overly helpful online then for whatever reason she just turns on you.  In the past I’ve been told by her and a few others that I am not afraid of confrontation, and that I can come off very blunt and direct. I’m 49 years old I don’t have time for games, and I try very hard to make sure I’m understood online. However, I do think, re-read, and re-write my words many times before I hit send so that they aren’t misinterpreted online since my tone can’t be heard.  All I know is not too long after her goodbye post went up, mutuals I have had online friendships and history with stopped engaging with my post. Some even unfollowed me. I don’t know what she’s telling these people. When I confronted her, she never responded. Instead, she played victim and did a goodbye post. You would’ve thought I bullied her, pulled up to her house and was outside ready to fight or something. I’m also calling out some of my so called “mutuals” cough cough @storiesbyjes2g and @ladybugsimblr​ because in the year 2023 where online friendships are no longer considered a foreign concept, people like y’all will happily discard them instead of doing the hard work of confronting, communicating, accountability, honesty and resolving. Instead, you hid behind platitudes like “protecting my peace” or pretend to be cool just to go radio silent afterwards. But I’m just some random lady on the internet so, who gives a fuck right? This goes for anyone else that may have passed judgement on me regarding Shani without knowing all the facts. I still don’t even know what happened! Take away from this what you will but I wanted to put it out there because I’m hurt and felt like being a petty bitch. Now here is real drama you can “protect your peace” from. 
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spookyspaghettisundae · 3 months
Text
Nobody Laughed Anymore
Dusk turned to night over the Rocky Mountains. The clouds of the day’s overcast sky never cleared.
It was going to be a dark, starless night. As if to defy nature itself, tiny lights—white, yellow, green, and red—all glowed and blinked inside the cockpit and back cabin of Future Proof’s airlift. The deafening noise of rotors drowned out all conversation save for the tinny transmissions going back and forth over radio between the helmets of everybody aboard the chopper.
Mostly, Chloe Grant filled their closed circuit by asking questions, while the rest of the crew offered answers to the new recruit.
“Is there gonna be overtime pay for our away team investigating the Anomaly? On Christmas Eve?”
Pruitt, sitting in the cockpit at the controls with Sears, chuckled.
Ruiz, who was seated across from Grant, answered her. His grin was audible, even if the helmet’s visor concealed his expression.
“You really got fast-tracked into this job, huh, Graham? Bennett was supposed to brief you on accounting if Singh didn’t.”
“Name’s Grant. And I ain’t even met Bennett yet.”
Chloe Grant looked down at her operative suit. Of course Valentín Ruiz hadn’t gotten her name right. Unlike the other operatives with her in the back cabin, she was the only agent without a name tag on the fatigues. A blank Velcro bar marked her black-clad chest, a spot where the others’ names were legible.
Last update on the ETA to the drop zone?
Seven minutes.
Right next to Chloe sat the ever-quiet and burly Max Carter. He could have taken up two seats with his broad shoulders and bulk. For now, he rhythmically tapped the back of his EMD like he was listening to some music that nobody else could hear.
Next to Ruiz sat Natalya Mischchenko. She had let the others do a lot of the talking thus far, but it was immediately clear to Grant that Mischchenko took point in their squad.
“Animal control”, as Singh had introduced Mischchenko to her. Probably a hunter of sorts. Mischchenko clearly also knew her way around guns, though the weapons they all carried with a sling were nothing like Grant had ever trained to use. Too light, too small—more like toys, and outfitted with battery packs instead of regular ammunition supplies to weigh her down. They looked like a science fiction movie’s cartoonish idea of a firearm—silvered, black plastic, outfitted with flashlights and scopes, and with lots of switches and dials and little lights tacked on.
Despite the visors and helmets, Mischchenko had followed Grant’s gaze. She asked, “Do you know how to operate your EMD?”
“I don’t even know what the abbreviation stands for, ma’am,” Chloe answered.
“Call me Nat,” Mischchenko said. “Not ma’am.”
Pruitt chuckled again at the helm.
“Electro-Muscular Disruptor,” Ruiz said. “There are five types or models of the weapon to date. You’ll quickly get used to them as our primary platforms in the field.” He patted the long-barreled model slung in front of his chest. It was bigger than the one Singh had given Grant in Future Proof HQ’s armory. “This here is a Type-4. Bit heavier and bulkier than the new standard-issue Type-5 you’re stuck with on tonight’s tour, but it’s got way more range and power. In case we run into something like a T-Rex, y’know?”
“Shit,” Carter drawled out with disdain. He clicked his tongue. “It better not be a fuckin’ T-Rex.”
The circuit stewed on his comment. Nobody said anything.
Grant had so many more questions. Following the flow that night, she kept them coming.
“You had to put a T-Rex down before?”
“Nope,” Mischchenko said. “But word has it, the ARC in Britain dealt with one.”
“How the hell did anybody ever manage to keep that out of the news?”
Ruiz shrugged. “Ask Stantz. He’s Future Proof’s resident spin doctor. If the ARC’s got anybody half as good as him, who the hell knows what they’ve covered up?”
“Haven’t met him either,” Grant mumbled into her radio. “Yet.”
“Shit,” Carter repeated. “You really are fuckin’ new here. Did you sign on today or somethin’?”
Pruitt chuckled a third time.
“Affirmative,” Grant said. “Matter o’ fact, I did.”
“Shiiieeet,” Carter drawled out yet again. Everybody chuckled to that. “Real baptism by fire.”
“Speaking of which, you still haven’t answered my question, Grant,” Mischchenko said.
“What’s that?”
Mischchenko pointed to the EMD Type-5 slung in front of Grant.
“If that nerd, Singh, gave you a crash course in operating these.”
“He did not. But how hard can it be? Firearms safety first, aim the business end at hostiles, pull the trigger. Does that about cover it?”
Pruitt laughed heartily across the intercom.
“First off, we’re not supposed to ‘put down’ the dinos from Anomalies,” Mischchenko said. “Did Singh skip even telling you the Protocol?”
“I… I don’t even what that is,” Grant replied, sighing into her mic.
“Okay, Protocol first, then the operation of your EMD will click.”
Pruitt recovered from his laughter and spoke up, “Rule number one of the Protocol: preserve the timeline.”
“That’s damn right, Pruitt. Glad you still give a damn about any rules,” Mischchenko said, every syllable dripping with sarcasm. “Which leads us to rule number two: minimize temporal damage and prevent paradoxes.”
“And to do that, we have rule number three,” Ruiz chimed in. “Send any specimens from Anomaly incursions back to their original time. Alive, and as unharmed as possible.”
“Uhm, why would that matter, though? Don’t the dinos get wiped out by a meteor before the first humans are even born?” Grant asked.
“An asteroid,” Carter grumbled. “It was an asteroid.”
“God damn, look who’s been paying attention to Trémaux’s sermons,” Pruitt said with another chuckle.
“Yeah, whatever,” Mischchenko interjected. “To your question, Grant—any changes to the past can lead to cascading, disastrous effects in the present. Maybe a fossil isn’t found where it originally was, preventing a scientific breakthrough or discovery, and, before you know it, a whole bloodline of humans in the present vanishes from existence because, who knows, someone’s grandma never met her husband at a conference, or whatever. That… is why we stick to the rules.”
“Contain specimens from Anomalies if they cannot be sent back immediately,” Ruiz continued. “That’s rule number four. Sometimes, the Anomalies open up again. With a bit o’ luck, we can send ‘em back when that happens. That’s what Containment in the FOB is for.”
“The rest o’ the rules are kinda less important for our squad, more in the ballpark of the suits and lab coats,” Carter added.
“Negative, Carter,” Mischchenko said. “We always gather data from the Anomalies and incursions, secure evidence, and prevent public awareness to the best of our ability. Rules number five and six. Seven is damage control.”
“Damage control. Do I even wanna know?” Grant asked.
“We rarely reach ‘damage control’ on a tour,” Mischchenko said. “The ADS gets us on site, fast. And Stantz and his PR bla-bla, and Spencer with his connections tend to foster quick cleanups.”
“What happened at the stadium in Michigan,” Ruiz said, “that was ‘damage control’.”
“Friendly reminder unless you want a pay dock, we don’t talk about that incident,” Sears said. The pilot next to Pruitt glanced over his shoulder. A dark visor on his helmet concealed how he scanned the passengers in the back cabin, yet Chloe Grant sensed his burning gaze sweeping over her.
Mischchenko nodded. Carter nodded. Ruiz shrugged. Grant dared not drill for more on it.
At least not on her first day on the job.
“Ready for action, kids,” Pruitt said. “ETA zero. We’re at the drop zone, baby. Prepare for touchdown.”
“We’ll go over the EMD settings once we’re on the ground,” Mischchenko said with a nod to Grant.
Carabiners clicked, belts unbuckled, other straps pulled tight. The four former soldiers and hunter readied to disembark.
Cold winter air blasted into the cabin once Carter yanked the hatch open. Nylon ropes unfurled, and the squad in the back rappelled down from the black, unmarked helicopter.
Boots thumped down, snow crunched underneath them. Carter and Mischchenko set foot on the hill first, then Ruiz and Grant followed.
“Bring me a souvenir,” Pruitt said, chuckling into the microphone. Barely visible in the cockpit of the chopper above them, he performed a mock salute to send off the four operatives.
All the trees swayed and bent from the torrent of air the chopper was blasting down as it hovered in place.
“Copy that,” Mischchenko responded. “Hear they’re big on Bigfoot ‘round these parts. Maybe we’ll snap an authentic photo of Sasquatch while we’re down here.”
The chopper’s droning noise faded quickly once the airlift set into motion. It flew upwards, gaining distance from the drop zone. The away team readied their EMDs and Mischchenko turned to Grant, gesturing to her weapon.
“The setting next to the safety toggle switch there modulates your EMD’s power output. On the lowest setting, it’s pretty much a cattle prod, good enough to direct specimens back into an Anomaly. On the highest, you can knock out a woolly mammoth in three shots, and you might kill a man with it if he’s got a weak heart. Just keep in mind, if you K.O. any specimens, you gotta drag their heavy ass into the Anomaly, which is why we usually operate on the lowest settings first.”
“Yeah, they may feel like toys,” Carter said, “But they pack some serious fuckin’ punch.”
“Hey, hope you’re done givin’ Graham the quick ‘n dirty,” Ruiz said.
“It’s Grant,” she corrected him again. “Chloe Grant.”
“Uhuh.” Whatever he was staring at absorbed Ruiz and robbed him of any politeness. He did not sound like he would learn her name right this time, either.
He was kneeling in the darkness off the edge of the drop zone. Focused on something in the dark, focused on by the flashlight on his weapon.
Flashlights on the other EMDs clicked on and the squad grouped up around him. He was squatting between some boulders and tall firs. The blinking lights of the thundering helicopter gained more distance, delving the away team in a shroud of darkness, in which only their flashlight cones shed any illumination.
“Boss, I reckon we got a problem on our hands here,” Ruiz said as the other three huddled behind him. “What we were just sayin’ about damage control?”
His flashlight’s cone cast light onto blood on the ground.
Lots of blood.
Crimson spatters had pockmarked the snow. A human body, losing a lot of blood, had been dragged through there.
And between them, huge footprints littered the grounds.
“Shit,” Carter said, chortling. “Pruitt might get a pic o’ Bigfoot after all, Nat.”
Big, bare feet had left those prints. Bigger than any human could have had.
Mischchenko’s gloved thumb flicked the power output toggle on her EMD, setting it to the middle notch.
“Hominid. Big. Maybe late Miocene?” she said.
“Who cares,” Carter growled. “Leave the I.D. job to Burch after you file report.”
The large Type-4 EMD in Carter’s hands clicked as he readied it, scanning their surroundings.
Their voices now sliced through the wintry air with clarity, no longer reduced to tinny headset transmissions.
“Merry Christmas, Grant,” Ruiz muttered. At least he got her name right this time. “Welcome to the job. Bigfoot today, and who knows—maybe Chupacabras for New Year’s Eve?”
Nobody laughed anymore.
Wind howled between the trees of the Rocky Mountains. The dark forest around them stayed eerily silent.
Chloe Grant mimicked Mischchenko, adjusting her own EMD’s power output. Unlike the squad leader, she switched her Type-5 to the top setting.
The futuristic weapon’s battery whined. One tiny green bar on the lights of its side display turned into three.
A red bar flared up and joined the three green bars.
Grant took a deep breath.
They followed the trail.
They marched into darkness.
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