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[dixidin]

♰𝒜𝓇𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃𝓈! /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿

Notes: I promised you guys I'd give them to you, so here we are. Anywho! Here's all the Argenthill (Argenti/Boothill) headcanons that I have. If you'd like, drop some other scenarios for these losers that I can use next time <3 (FYI, sorry if the formatting is a bit weird! Will potentially change it in the future)

Pet names (for each other)

Boothill: Darlin', rosey, hun', sweetheart, cutie, pretty boy, sugar, dimples (my hc for Argenti!), snookums (joke)

Argenti: Dearest, my rose, honey, lovely, dove, beloved, loverman (yes, based off the Ricky Montgomery song)

Hands

Boothill (when he had human hands): Pretty rough and calloused, maybe a few old scars here and there, wears rings a lot, probably bites his fingernails (causing them to be very jagged or even bleed due to his shark teeth)

Argenti: Very smooth and well taken care of, occasionally painted nails, but always trims them, a few moles here and there

Sleeping positions/habits

Boothill: Snores, knocked out like a light every time he sleeps on top of Argenti (wasn't really held that much), only wears red flannel pants to sleep (....whore...)

Argenti: The only one used to it, occasionally drools, usually sleeps on top of Boothill due to his robotic body, always gives Boothill forehead kisses when the outlaw does sleep on top of him. Night gown, bunny slippers, sleeping mask, you get the gist.

Both pretty light sleepers, but Argenti is definitely a bit heavier than Boothill

Both/Customs: They normally hold hands and face each other's foreheads when sleeping

Mornings:

Boothill usually wakes up before Argenti (which results in Argenti to stir and wake up himself), but Boothill always gives him a kiss to the back of his head and whispers a "Rest easy, hun'" or "Get some sleep, darlin'"

Random "opposite" headcanons

Boothill: Likes Venus fly traps. Collects bottles caps, lighters, hour glasses, and marbles

Argenti: Likes white roses with red tint. Collects small potion like bottles, candles, pocket watches, and jewelry

Drink dates:

Boothill takes Argenti out to bars, while Argenti takes Boothill out for tea parties. It's unusual to see an outlaw like Boothill sip from a tea cup, and weird to see a knight like Argenti to sit at a large stool sipping some wine. But it's a wholesome moment between the two and pretty healthy by introducing each other to stuff that they like that the other might not be too used to. (They make me ill)

Movie nights

Boothill's main movies: Django unchained, The harder they fall, Silence of the lambs, and The man who knew too much (Action, Thriller, Western revenge, and occasional Sci-fi)

Argenti's main movies: Pride & Prejudice, Her, Melancholia, and Elizabeth (Drama, Fantasy, Crime, and occasional Period romance)

Together, they create Brokeback Mountain (they sob everytime they watch it)

Dancing

Boothill: Tango, Quickstep, and Waltz. Literally flustered the entire time

Argenti: Ballroom dance, Foxtrot, and Waltz. Helped Boothill learn how to waltz

Cooking

Boothill: 4/10. Considering he's mostly robotic and usually gets drunk, he doesn't have that much knowledge when it comes to cooking. The worst is it being extremely burnt, and the best is when it's edible and helps you live long enough

Argenti: 6/10. Just a smidge better than Boothill, still a bit clueless when it comes to cooking. Rather a baker than a cooker

Carrying each other

Boothill: 8/10. Literally so easy. The only -2 points are that he can still slightly feel the weight (more noticeable when Argenti is wearing armor) and if Argenti has collapsed or is injured in his arms

Argenti: 7/10. A bit harder to carry cause of the large amount of metal (he's a strong boy, so dw), maybe a bit shaky the first few times Argenti picked him up

Random extra hcs and I don't know where to put </3

Boothill has flirted with Argenti many, many times when drunk, not even realizing that's his partner. Argenti always teases the cowboy about it the next day.

Boothill: .... why do ya' have.. mushrooms?

Argenti: I just think they're neat!

If you repost this on another website, please give credit. If you get inspired off my writing, please give credit. Do not put my work in any ai or repost it as your own work. Any like or repost is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading! -dixidin

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[burning-omen]

Kinktober day 7: Cowboy au + Obi-Wan Kenobi

Obi-Wan Kenobi x male!reader

Kinktober 2023 List | Day 1 | Day 8

(a/n: I KNOW ITS LATE EVERYBODY SHIT THE FUCK UP)

Summary: You’re a bounty hunter, just trying to make it through the world, with the most annoying bounty alive

Warning: sex, outdoors sex, obi-wan is hogtied but not in a sexy way, reader is deep in the closet, formatting errors to be fixed LATER

Camping out with your bounty wasn’t something you did frequently, you’ve only had to a couple of times, and through all those times they’ve been knocked out cold through the night and into the next morning. Not Kenobi though, despite being clocked in the head with the butt of your gun and being choked until what you thought was unconsciousness, only for him to spring back up the moment you let him go, he seemingly never went down.

“Did they tell you want the bounty was for?”

“No..”

“How high was it, I bet that would give you a cl-“

“You know, bounties don’t usually talk this much.”

“I’m not the typical bounty.”

“Clearly..”

The moon was set high in a star filled sky, the make shift camp you’d made for the two of you was small, but manageable. You were far closer to Mr. Kenobi than you would have liked to he, but you can’t fight physics or the limitations of the space you were in, and you didn’t want to pack up and move, so you stayed put, laying flat on your back just mere inches away from the man who you were taking to his death, you’d be much more worried if it weren’t for the fact he was hogtied right now.

A short moment of silence passed as Kenobi rested his head on the dirt. It didn’t last long.

“You have a peculiar accent, where are you from?”

“Oh my accent is peculiar? Mister, you sound like you just got off the damn Mayflower.”

“Ah, a guest your right.”

Another silence passed, this one longer, you might have even found yourself falling asleep if it weren't for Kenobi’s non-stop movement. Even though he wasn't touching you, you could still feel him moving.

“Will you stop?” you said sternly.

“Well I'm sorry, but you've left me in an extremely uncomfortable position.”

“You'll live.”

He groaned and continued his fidgeting.

You let it continue for another minute before sitting up and grabbing your knife from your bag, climbing over the man, pressing his shoulder hard into the ground, and cutting the rope. You were so caught up in the familiar motion that you hardly noticed him tensing up, or the sigh of relief he let out when you set him free.

“There,” you laid back in your spot, “will you please go to sleep now.”

After removing the tangles of rope from his wrist and ankles he asked, “You’re not worried about me running away?”

“You’re bounty isn’t high enough for me to care..”

“And yet you still came after me.”

You sighed, “I was just curious..”

“Curious?”

“‘Found your bounty up in Karma, thought it was weird ‘cause you can get away with practically anything there, just wanted to know what you did to get your face plastered on every building in town. But apparently you don’t know.”

“Karma…? Ah, yes. I didn’t do anything wrong, really. Not to me at least.”

“Most criminals think there in the right.”

You rolled over to face him.

“But what did you do?”

He stared up at the stars for a long moment, his face void of emotion.

“I had-“ he cleared him throat, “certain relations with their mayor. He didn’t seem very happy with that information being made public, I though he’d get over it with time but apparent not.”

You sat straight up, staring dead at him, your mouth hanging open and eyebrows raised high.

He glanced at you, letting out a short laugh.

“Don’t look so shocked..”

You took a moment to try and collect yourself before saying, “that’s…oh. I’m…sorry..?”

He laughed again, “don’t be, you’re just doing your job.”

“I’m not..”

He looked up at you, confused.

“I’m not..doing my job, I’m not taking you to Karma, you’re free to go.”

He breathed out softly.

“…thank you.”

You laid back down, facing away from him.

“Don’t mention it.”

Time passed, you never turned back to face him, you figured he had fallen asleep while you were unable to. The universe was really unfamiliar sometimes, now being one of them.

You could feel his shifting and moving behind you, you figured he was just a tricky sleeper, but you were proven wrong a second later.

“Having trouble sleeping?”

“Something like that, just..thinking.”

“About?”

You scoffed, “like I'd tell you..”

“Well seeing as your not taking me back to Karma-”

“-you didn't do anything wrong, I wouldn't-”

“-and you have yet to kick me out of your camp-”

“-it’s late-”

“I think it's only right that we get to know each other.”

You turned onto your back, glaring at the man, who sat up, looking down at you.

“Come on, I don't even know your name..” he said softly.

You held his gaze for as long as you could before looking away.

“My name is y/n..”

“Y/n l/n?”

You sat straight up, glaring at the man, only to see him holding your hat, which you sat with the rest of your supplies. There was a tag sewn on the inside that had your full name on it.

“If you were just gonna go through my things, why would bother asking?”

“Just wanted to see what you’d say.”

You groaned, snatching your hat out of his hand and setting it down next to you.

“So, Mr. L/n..” he paused for a moment “are you queer?”

You sucked in deep a breath, trying not to react too much, your body became rigid and tense for a moment.

“What kind of question is that?”

“A reasonable one.”

“Reasonable for who?”

He laughed, “you of course. Most men would have been ready to serve me to Karma of they'd heard what I'd done.”

“You did nothing wrong-”

“I’m aware. Most people don’t think that, most people would have shot me, not let stay at their camp, and definitely would not have let me sleep this close.”

You glanced at the man quickly before looking away, seeing him staring dead at you.

“So what are you trying to say, you think I got some little crush on you?”

He laughed, “Maybe..”

Suddenly, he was in front of you, leaning far closer to you face than was appropriate.

“Maybe you’re just lonely and need someone likeminded to talk to, even if it is only for one night.”

You tired to shrug him off, let his words go in one ear and out the other, but he was right- and he made it so hard not to admit that to him.

“You’re insane..”

“Possibly.”

His hands came up on either side of your face, holding you just a few inches from his, but he did nothing beyond that. He wanted you to do it.

The reasonable side of your mind was loud, telling you to push him away, that you weren’t lonely, that you didn’t need him, but a much louder part of you mind screamed it years of absence at you. You decided to listen, pressing forward, kissing Kenobi hard, like you were drowning and you could breath the air in his lungs if you tried hard enough. Kenobi responded in kind, seated in your lap as you drew him in closer and closer.

The kiss was long and desperate. You could hardly think straight with his entire body pressed against yours. The fire, so vibrant in the black night, illuminating him, as well as cast a dark shadow where ever in couldn’t reach.

You pulled back in a panting disarray, your heart pounding in your chest. It was hard to think with him thins close, so you didn’t, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into another kiss.

You didn’t know where to go from there, you’ve never gone beyond kissing with a man, this would be a hell of a lot easier if he was a woman, at least you’d know what was expected of you, where to put your hands and the like.

But you didn’t want him to be a woman. No, you liked him like this. Hard and heavy in your lap. He seemed to know exactly what to do, resting his hand over the growing bulge in your pants, leaning down to kiss you again, not making a single move until you kissed him back.

Grinding down in your lap, moaning against each others lips as you found a steady pace together. Still fully clothed, rocking against each other as your pants grew tighter and tighter.

He pulled back, pressing kisses all down your neck, unbuttoning your shirt, running his hand across your chest with a satisfied hum.

He was definitely more experienced than you, drawing reactions from you easily with his hands and mouth. You let him work. Kissing and bitting any uncovered skin he could find.

His hand making light work of your belt and pants, pulling them just below your waist. You didn’t complain, despite the loss of contact, as you watched him scoot back on your thighs and unbuckle his own belt, pulling his cock out of his unbuttoned pants, then scooting back up your thigh.

For a moment, your mind yelled at you, this was a stranger- you didn’t know this man, he could do anything to you, you can’t just let him control you-

All thoughts seemed to vanish suddenly as you felt something against your cock. It was impossible not to look at Kenobi, with him stationed barely a few inches from your face. Looking down you could see your cocks pressed tightly together, he wrapped his hand around the two, giving an experimental squeeze, making the two of you buck into his hand simultaneously.

“Okay..” he breathed out, “Are you ready?”

Unsure of your voice, you nodded.

He gave you one last looking before shifting his focus, starting slowly, stroking from the base of your cocks all the way up to the tip, then back down again.

You let out a slow, shaky breath, your eyes fixated on his hand, his other was rubbing large circles from your hip to your thigh. You figured you needed to do something with yours instead of just leaving them at your sides. Shifting your weight around before you settled on placing your hand on Kenobi’s waist, slipping it just under his shirt. It was…something at the very least. Makes you feel less vulnerable.

You watched him smirk, then speed up, both your panting increasing tenfold at the sudden change of pace. Your cocks sliding against each other as the two of you struggled to remain still.

“Kenobi..” you groaned.

“You’re being impatient.”

“You’re being-“You held your tongue, your words devolving into a groan, not wanting to actually insult the man considering what he was doing for you right now.

Breathing in sharply and letting it out slowly, you watched the man work intently.

You tried to sit perfectly still for him, the only move you made being your hand tightening on his waist, or the involuntary sputter of your hips whenever he stroked you just right.

Some small part of your mind wanted more, wanted to pin him to the dirt below and fuck him until you’d both had your fill, but you didn't, that took work, and experience you didn't have. So you took whatever he gave you, you didn't mind, his hands were skilled, seemingly hitting every nerve with ease, making pleasure shoot through your body.

Your ability to be still and quiet seemed to waver as the tight pit in your stomach started to come apart in his hands.

“Almost there..?” He asked quietly.

You panted, looking up at the man, “You don’t know that-“

“I can tell, you’re shaking-“

“I’m- mhh, I’m not-“

“Yes, you are” despite his words and his light teasing, he was right there with you, chest rising and falling rapidly. Not wanting to prolong the inevitable, he sped up, his pace was unprecedented and it made your whole body tense, a constant stream of joint moans filled the small area.

Your hips bucked up into his hand, he did the same, not slowing down even when your rabidly approaching orgasm hit you, even as cum splattered all over his hand and cock, he kept going. Moaning and whining under his breath until he finally he came, moaning loudly as his own cum mixed with yours, further covering both your cocks, and his hand.

The realization hit you a minute later, after you were able to calm down and you didn't feel like you were burning inside your own skin anymore.

You were just intimate- very intimate with a man, and you didn't… die? You didn't know what you thought would happen. You didn't know what you were so afraid of.

Kenobi didn't seem to be going anywhere, still in your lap, his arms wrapped around you and his head resting on your shoulder.

You figured that you could spiral, mostly about your years of absence coming to an end, later. Enjoying the company of Kenobi for now.

———————The next morning——————-

“Kenobi, do you think-”

“Why do you keep being so formal with me? You can call me by my first name, I hope you know that..”

“What? I thought Kenobi was your first name?”

“No, it's my last name.”

“Seriously, it's the only name your poster said so I figured-?”

“No, no, my first name is Obi-wan.”

“Oh well now I see why they left it off your posters- ow! Throwing things is very immature!”

“You’ll live.”

[animasolaoriginal]

(13) I n n o c e n c e L o s t

He finds her in a brothel of all places. A chance encounter, but one that will change his life – and hers – forever. – or: A story about a cowboy who falls in love with a prostitute, who happens to be so much more than that.

GENERAL TAGS: NSFW! Explicit! Size difference, age gap, slow burn romance. Cowboys, outlaws, prostitutes. Historical inaccuracy. Horses, guns, violence.

Chapter 1▫️2▫️3▫️4▫️5▫️6▫️7▫️8▫️9▫️10▫️11▫️12▫️13 ...

Chapter 13: The Rage

m!OC x f!OC -- WORDS: 5.5k -- READ ON AO3

when memories make everything worse

Chapter 12 -- Chapter 14

Ben wakes up on the floor. The light is too bright, his head too heavy, his tongue swollen to double its size. He feels awful, his back hurts, his jaw is tense, there's a weird taste in his mouth. Somehow he manages to sit up without throwing up, gripping the edge of the bed to steady himself. He's squinting, fighting the brightness of the day, looks around through the hammering pain inside his skull.

Cursing under his breath, he rubs his eyes, his beard, his messy hair, groans. Inhales sharply. “Fuck,” he growls, his voice just a raw little sound in the back of his throat, like stones grinding against each other. His head rests on the bed as he tries to find his bearings. What the hell happened?

Something shifts to his left, and he looks up without moving his head, only moves his eyes to the bundle on the bed. It's a familiar sight by now, the girl curled up in a blanket, a ball of limbs and hair and fabric, barely taking up any space. He extends a hand, on instinct, a reflex of familiarity, but as soon as he feels her warm body beneath his palm, an image flashes before his eyes.

Tears rolling over soft cheeks, trembling lips, wide, panicked eyes, a tiny body pinned beneath him, paralyzed by fear.

He pulls his hand back, only then noticing the broken skin on his knuckles. His confusion grows. Sitting up, his back leaning against the side of the bed, he stares at his hands, turns them, flexes his fingers, feels the throbbing beneath his skin. He can't remember it, but he knows that his fists have been in somebody's face, on somebody's body, breaking skin and bones, and the faint memory of rage fills his empty stomach.

When he shifts on the ground, he wonders for a moment why there are a handful of tiny blue buttons strewn all over the floor. He picks one up, so small he has trouble doing so, and it looks so delicate on his big palm. His head hurts when he frowns deeper, his gaze moving back to the girl on the bed. He can't see her properly, covered and curled up as she is, but something cold rushes through his body.

His breath quickens, his heart accelerating. It doesn't make sense, but he has to make sure. Connect the dots, even though they are all over the place, don't seem to match, to fit, like puzzle pieces bent out of shape. Slowly he lifts himself up, one arm braced on the bed, a knee pushing the mattress down, as he climbs closer, his other hand extended to brush against the blanket, the soft blue fabric of her dress beneath it, a small foot peeking out beneath it all.

“Nebbia,” he growls, his voice still that strange stone against stone grinding noise, deep and low in his throat. “Wake up...”

His hand is trembling when he finds her shoulder in the ball of hair and limbs and covers, and he slowly unfolds her, turns her body, shakes her gently. She inhales deeply when she stirs awake, a fraction of a pale face emerging from behind the tangled strands of hair, heavy-lidded eyes fluttering, a small pink tongue slipping out to wet her dry lips.

He's that shadow over her, waiting, watching her as she comes to, his heart nearly exploding in his chest. Her face looks normal, pale cheeks, clumped lashes, sleep in the corner of her eyes, patterned lines on her skin from the pillow and the clothes she's buried her face in. He realizes it's his plaid shirt she has wrapped around her shoulders. She rolls onto her back, blinking up at him.

And there's a tiny flinch when her eyes meet his, a small little shudder rushing through her fragile body. Her chest starts moving more, rises and falls quicker, her lips part and tremble, and her hand clutches at the shirt she's balled up between her fingers as she covers herself. He leans back, tense and on edge and with his mind racing, trying to make sense of her behavior, of his conflicting memories, of the ache in his hands and his head and his whole body, the taste of blood on his tongue.

She shifts before him, scoots back as she sits up more, her wide skirt tangled between her legs, the blanket only half covering her torso. Her long hair falls over her shoulders, and he can't unsee the shaking of them, the fear in her big green eyes. He wants to ask what's wrong, baby girl? but the words are stuck in his throat when he sees something poking past her dark locks as she turns her head slightly.

He's still too rough and uncoordinated in his movements, drunk on rage and bewilderment, but he's on her in seconds, brushing her hair away to expose her neck. She yelps, winces, a tiny sob emerging from her throat as he stares at the bruises on her soft skin, his hand fisting the sheets beneath her shoulder while she freezes under him. He breathes loudly through his nose, jaw clenched, teeth grinding together. At first he's angry, wonders what happened while he was gone, who did this to her, but then it's like a kick in the stomach, a cold realization, the last puzzle piece falling into place.

He jerks away instantly, stumbling off the bed, turning around, gripping his chest as hard as he grips the doorknob, ready to flee, hide from the memories flooding his hazy mind.

It was him.

He feels it, her soft skin under his lips, his mouth, the rush of blood as he sucks on her neck, nibbles, bites, holding her down as she squirms beneath him. Marking her. Tasting her. His teeth sinking deeper, a coppery thing on his tongue, heavy in his mouth, double its size. Alcohol and blood mixing within him, driving him crazy, making his entire body throb, blood rushing lower, gathering, straining. Her taste is everywhere, her smell, that soft scent mixed with cold sweat and fear.

He was the monster on top of her.

Ben groans, the hand on the doorknob moving to his face, pushing through his hair. He's breathing hard. Leaning his forehead against the cold surface of the door, he grips his head with both hands, trying to push the images away that haunt him, claw at him, sink under his skin, torment him with more and more details.

Her little sounds of distress, her wrists held together by his large hand above her head, his hips pressed to hers, grinding. Blue buttons. Flying through the dark room, the tense air, thunder in the distance, clattering to the floor. Fabric, ripped apart with a strength he couldn't control. A pretty blue dress, torn to shreds, exposing a heaving chest, trembling little breasts, flushed in fear and shock. Helpless beneath him.

Rage fills his stomach, cold and burning at the same time, clawing at his insides, twisting, tensing, tearing into his flesh. A familiar feeling, but never directed against himself.

There's another memory pushing through, faint, but there, a throbbing beneath the dried blood on his knuckles. Unfiltered violence, broken bones, blood everywhere, groans of pain mixing with the echo of words in his mind: kicked her in the stomach... lost so much blood... she's lost yours...

He sees himself gripping someone's collar, his fist hitting and punching and sinking into an unknown face. The pain is not enough to stop the images, the words, the memories of a boot print between shoulder blades, a red hand print on a soft ass cheek, a curled up body, shivering in panic and pain. It all mixes together, old and new memories, revelations and reactions. Like mother, like daughter. Attacked by unknown men. Kicked in the stomach, assaulted, damaged beyond repair, a pain hidden behind pretty faces.

His knees give way, and he sinks to the floor, still clutching his thrumming head, folding in on himself. The haze is still there, the heavy taste on his tongue, but he knows now. Knows what happened.

He left Madam Claire with his mind racing, that familiar rage settling in his guts. As he sat on the horse he'd borrowed from Sarah, he guided it through the breaking morning, back to the house, the camp, the rising sun in his back as he approached it. But it was empty. They were gone. Left him like he left them.

He wanted to confront the men that drove him away, Bill, and Joe, and Bob for good measure, just because. Men who think they can get away with everything, with leering, insulting, touching and assaulting, grabbing what isn't theirs, taking what never will be. Heavy boots on frail bodies. Keira lost his child because a man like them took what he wanted, no matter how. And Nebbia was in pain because one of them couldn't control himself.

And there were men in front of his door, rattling the doorknob, lured to him because another one couldn't keep his mouth shut. Sent them right to them, made them flee. Joe ratted them out, and now the camp is deserted. He looked around, found empty gun shells in the dirt, bullet holes in the doors, windows shattered. There'd been a fight, and another rage settled within him. Guilt.

Ben took the girl, he brought the wrath upon them, they had to fight and flee because of him – all while he was concerned about his very own deranged desires. Completely fucked-up. He, this world, everything around him. Except the girl, the poor, innocent girl, caught in the middle of it.

He wanted to take revenge, but the camp was empty. The men he wanted to punish gone. And the note on the bed in his room, ransacked, dresser pushed aside, most of his stuff gone. “Come near us again, and I'll take you to the gallows myself!” it said in Mitch's neat handwriting. And the rage had grown, guilt and anger and disappointment, and a sadness he wasn't aware of at first.

Years of his life with this group, more with Mitch and Ginny... A family, as fucked-up as they can get, but still a family, to rely on, to come back to. No longer. They banished him. Because he brought a girl. Because he chose a girl over them. The rage was white-hot, burning just beneath his skin. He'd kicked doors, furniture, left-behind crates and barrels, destroyed anything he could get his hands on, overtaken by wrath and violence, and then they showed up.

The reason they were gone, left him behind. The Daniels. At least ten of them, maybe a dozen, sneering and laughing, catching him with his boot lodged inside a broken crate. His pistol was in his hand before they could even announce themselves properly. Big words for big men who didn't have much to say. His first bullet made one of them tumble off his horse. He dodged the replying ones, rolled free and behind a tossed over table. Wood splintered around him, he shot back, emptied the cylinder quicker than they could get to cover.

Frantic fingers pushed in new bullets from the pouch around his hips while shots flew over his head, hot and fast, deadly if they'd find the target, but the sun was blinding, shielding him. He shot, dodged, crawled back until he was inside the empty house, found cover behind a brick wall, reloaded his gun, again and again, until his bullets were all gone and spent, stuck in bodies lining the steps leading up to the house.

There were still footsteps, heavy, angry, driven by rage, and he waited for them, pistol in his fist, ready to strike. Blood sprayed over his shirt when he brought the heavy end to the face peeking around the corner, the cracking of bones loud in his ears. Pained grunts, then another smack, a roar, violent and raw, as he pummeled the man to the ground, gripping his collar, sinking his fist into what remained of his face, until he didn't move, didn't splutter, didn't groan anymore.

The body fell heavy to the floor, a thud in the sudden silence. He looked up then, saw another man frozen in place, eyes wide, pistol falling from a shaking hand as he stared at him, his fist as bloody as the man beneath him. The last of the Daniels fled, and in his rage, Ben stumbled after him, grabbed the gun, fired at his back, screamed and roared, found the target to let his anger out. He emptied all the remaining bullets into the fleeing man who fell over with another thud, loud in the quiet around him.

There was only the rushing of blood in his ears, his own heartbeat loud and angry, his heavy breaths like the panting of a large animal. He didn't feel his own injuries, where bullets grazed his skin, cut through his clothes, didn't feel the throbbing of his fist, the burst skin. Adrenaline pulsed through him in the beat of the violence still tensing his muscles.

Somehow he made it to the creek to wash off the blood, his and the others', past the tarped-off area, the baths, and the memory returned of the girl on the ground... The sun vanished behind dark clouds at the same time as his mind spiraled out of control again, a rumble in the air and inside his chest, and the rain that came pelting down was both soothing and aggravating. He stood there, staring into the gray sky, tense and numb and cold and hot, all at once.

Amidst the blood bath and destruction, he found a hidden alcohol stash, five bottles of Bourbon, and he drank them like a man parched, desperate for hydration, ignoring the burn and the dizziness settling in his head. The day slipped through his shaking fingers, and he can't remember how he got back to Sarah's ranch, but he knows he's lost the horse somewhere in between.

Stumbling through the forest as the thunderstorm raged around him, drenched and soaked and pitiful, mind hazy but there's one image that keeps him going. Big green eyes, a shy smile on full lips, a dimple on a soft cheek. Madam Claire's words in his ear. “She's not yours.” The answer he wanted, to a question that got so much more complicated.

He's too drunk to think about the things that happened, there's still a bit of rage and sadness, disappointment and frustration, guilt. The ache in his hurting fist. The emptiness in his stomach. Banished. Left behind. Alone. But not quite. There's one more thing... that isn't his... one more thing that beckons him closer, back to her. One last thing he can claim to have something in the shameful excuse he calls a life.

Nebbia.

He can barely remember reaching the ranch, stomping up the stairs, leaving a trail of mud and dirt, wet and miserable, but driven by a desire he shouldn't have focused on so badly. He found her in bed, where he left her, in the dress he bought for her, cuddled into the shirt she couldn't part from, his shirt. And he couldn't help himself, couldn't control the urges any longer. He was over her in no time...

Now he's a sunken form on the floor, head leaned heavy against the door, held by his hands, dried blood on both of them from smashing faces and smashing furniture, letting out the rage he couldn't project on anything (anyone) else. But the rage remained, just turned into something else.

Need. Want. Desire. A primal urge.

His teeth in her neck, like a predator tearing up his prey. He groans, shaking from trying to suppress that wrath he feels for himself now, that festers inside him, like a disease taking over every good he's ever done, which isn't much to begin with. Every touch directed towards the girl, formerly protective and caring, turned into something against her, possessive and wanting, selfish and dark.

Amidst all the self-pity and self-hatred murmurs a tiny voice in his head, a means to justify what he did, even though that is not an option, cannot be an option. But it's there nonetheless:

It could have been worse. You could have done worse to her.

His fist hits the door, the wood aches, his own sharp pain rushes through him, a garbled cry leaving his lips. A little shriek behind him. He stiffens, breathing hard, his heart thundering inside his aching chest, focusing on the noises around him, outside his raging, throbbing head.

The bed squeaks, naked feet on the wooden floor. The little tip tap coming closer. He can feel her presence, a hand extended, but he only snarls without turning around. “Stay back!” His voice a low, grinding thing like a monster in a deep cave, chewing on his last victim. She pauses, he can tell, frozen to the spot, but she doesn't listen entirely.

Her hands are on his stiff shoulders, warm and small and tender, careful but determined, rubbing up and down his back, easing the muscles. He wants to push her away, tell her to leave him alone, but he also doesn't want any of it, instead he wants her, her soft touch, her unyielding trust in him no matter what he does. Does to her. He exhales through his trembling lips, forehead pressed to the wood of the door.

And she hugs him, the panting beast caught in his own head, ravaged by doubts and rage and emotions he can't make sense of. Her slim arms barely reach around him in his crouched position, but she tries, presses herself against him, hands clawing at the front of his shirt, her warmth sinking into his tired bones. He wonders why she's so trusting, so forgiving, so loving, when she should be terrified of him.

But he knows the answer. Because he made her. He took her out of her old life, severed all the ties, burned all the bridges, made her dependent on him and him alone. He's all she knows now, and she's all he has left too. She needs him, despite everything. She feels safe with him, she's told him, after another man assaulted her. And now he's become that man...

He breathes against her small hands on his chest, raises one shaking hand, bloodied and aching, to put on top of hers. One moment, he gives himself one moment of peace. Then his fingers curl around hers, and he pulls her hands away, shifts on his knees, gently but firmly pushes her back without looking at her, then stands, inhales deeply, grabs the door and slips through the opening onto the hallway, the shame within him winning over the need for comfort.

Yet he keeps underestimating her.

She's with him in an instance, a warbled little sob escaping her as she grips at him, trying to pull him back, to stop him, and he freezes, lets her get closer again. Her fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, her breath hot against his back as she leans her forehead into the curve of his spine.

“Please don't leave me,” she mumbles into him, her voice like the soft murmur of a wave crashing against the shore. A thrum in the atmosphere, beckoning him closer.

He shouldn't fall for it, shouldn't let her pull him back in. He doesn't deserve it, the peace, the comfort, her forgiveness. Her dependency. He took it by force, dragged her away, made her his (even before sinking his teeth into her neck, even before he got the chance to do worse). But this is not for him. She needs him. And he won't abandon her, he's told himself to stay with her, be with her, because her mother couldn't.

Even if she deserves better than him.

Inhaling deeply, he turns around slowly, looks down at her (without really looking at her) as her hands shift from his back to the front of his shirt, her fingers not letting go of him as she tilts her chin up to meet his gaze. He can't bear the sight of her face (her neck) yet, the turmoil in her eyes, so he leans in, hands finding her waist, and she immediately moves her own hands up to wrap her arms around his neck and presses her cheek against his when he lifts her up effortlessly, one arm under her rear, the other hand curved around her shoulder as he carries her back into the room.

The way she clings to him so easily, as if nothing happened, her warmth and barely there weight against him, eases his tense muscles a bit. He wants to set her back down, kneel before her, bow his head to her, show her how ashamed he is of himself, but instead he sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls her onto his lap, arms wrapped tightly around her small frame, holding her close, just feeling her, listening to her soft breathing, the faint drumming of her heart.

“I didn't mean to hurt you,” he whispers into her hair after a long moment of silently sitting together. “Or scare you... I'm sorry.”

She's immobile on his thigh, feet tucked under the other, knees pressing into his stomach. Her small hands grip his shirt, head resting against his shoulder, hair falling down her front, covering her neck. “It's okay...” she murmurs softly, a barely there hum in the air.

He shakes his head. “It's not okay, baby,” he says quietly. “I shouldn't have done this...”

“You were drunk.”

He huffs a laugh that sounds like a grunt. “Never an excuse.”

Inhaling deeply, he moves his hand to her face, strokes his thumb over her cheek before putting it gently under her chin, making her look up at him. Meeting her big green eyes feels like a shot through the heart, the trust in them, the blind fucking trust, despite everything. It's killing him. He moves his hand lower, carefully tilts her head, pushes her hair aside.

The sight of her neck is even worse than he's expected. It eats at him, churns in his guts, tightens everything in him. There's a crooked line of thick bruises all down the slim column of her neck, individual spots bleeding together, overlapping, stretched out, from beneath her ear to the gentle curve into her shoulder, right above her collarbone. Red and purple, dark discolorations right beneath her soft skin, blood sucked to the surface. He feels sick.

He doesn't dare touch them, moves his hand through her hair instead, fingers holding onto soft strands as he tilts her back a little. She's wrapped his shirt around herself, buttoned up almost to the top, but he can still see the bite mark over her clavicle. His teeth in her skin, another red and purple bruise with additional indents, the skin even darker where the mirrored curves of his teeth imprints sit.

He's a monster. There's no excuse, no talking around it, no denying anything. A monster who still tastes her blood on his tongue.

He lets go of her hair, covering her neck again, and carefully pulls her against his chest, arms loose around her, afraid to hurt her even more. His heart is beating harder, breaths short and quick. He feels absolutely horrible. His instinct is to put her down and walk away, hide his shame, his turmoil, stew in his own dark thoughts for a bit. But he doesn't want to leave her, so he remains quiet, stiff on the edge of the bed, with her on his thigh, in his arms.

She does the same, immobile, leaning against him, but breathing softer and calmer, her fingers tracing patterns around the buttons of his shirt, a gentle pressure against his chest.

“Ben?” Her voice is quiet, uncertain, a soft hum amidst his racing heartbeat.

He grunts in response. “Hm?”

“What happened?” she whispers, and he takes a shuddering breath, closing his eyes. He owes her the truth, maybe she'll understand why he's been acting like this. Not that it is any excuse, no matter what happened, but it's worth a try. For him to understand himself as well.

But in the end, he doesn't tell her the truth, not all of it anyway. There are still some things he needs time to work through on his own. Most things actually. So he tells her about visiting Madam Claire, asking her (politely, what a lie) what she knows about Keira. Nebbia looks up as he talks, curious eyes wandering over his face while he stares down at his big hand curled around her knee, applying gentle pressure to ground himself while he constructs his lies (or his version of the truth).

When he says that he found out who her father is, she scrunches her nose and looks down at the mention of the man named Roberto who she doesn't know anything about – unless Sarah's shared his life story with her in his absence. She probably has, she doesn't care about lies or keeping things to herself. He both admires and loathes her for that trait. But it doesn't matter. Roberto is Nebbia's father, and Ben also tells her that he might come looking for her (because he highly doubts Madam Claire will call off her guard dogs, mainly because she can't, and he knows it).

He doesn't mention that Keira's been pregnant before, nor by whom or that (and how) she lost the unborn child. His unborn child. The girl listens when he tells her about going back to camp to check on his people – and he leaves out the tiny fact that nobody was there, that they were ambushed because of him and her, that he found that fucking note, being banished, that those damn Daniels came back for him, attacked him, and how he had to kill them all.

She doesn't need to know that.

Instead he tells her that he got carried away, caught up with Mitch and Ginny, drank one too many and lost track of the time. She watches him closely, and he hopes she'll buy the many lies, hopes they make sense, because his mind is still fuzzy. At least she doesn't say anything as she mindlessly brushes her fingertips over his shirt, her eyes slowly moving down to where his hand rests on her leg. He groans internally when he sees the dried blood on his knuckles, the split skin, feels the ache and the memory of smashing his fists into faces and furniture.

The rage stirs within him.

“What about the bad men?” she asks into the silence after he's done.

“We're safe for now,” he replies quietly. A few less Daniels to worry about, but there will be more, and as soon as Roberto finds out about the whole situation, there'll be absolute hell to pay. He has to take her far away from here by then. If only he knew where to go...

“Are we... okay?” she then whispers, interrupting his hazy escape plans and lack thereof, looking at him from under her lashes, a slight tremble to her full lips.

He stares back at her. “Do you want us to be?” His voice is rough, harsh, his own self-pity bleeding through his words. Why would you want that? he wants to ask.

“Of course I do!” she says quickly, shifting on his lap as she grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls herself closer to him. Her eyes are big and pleading, and he hates himself for being unable to look away, to make her see reason, to stop her. “Please don't pull away from me,” she whispers, her hands moving up to cup his bearded cheeks, mindlessly rubbing them as she bites her lip. “I need you...”

His heart sinks. And beats faster at the same time. It's clear now just how dependent she is on him, and somehow, despite the initial reaction of denial and refusal for his own sake, he feels... good about it. Likes the way she clings to him, looks at him, needs him.

His whole life, ever since Keira left him a broken man, he's lived from day to day without any proper purpose. He was never in it for the money or fame or the thrill of it. He just tagged along, helped the people around him with his skills. He would have done anything for Mitch and the others (well, not all of them, obviously), and he had done so many times, but that was over now. The only thing he knew, gone, moved on without him.

And somehow even that seems to be a blessing now. Because he has her, the girl on his lap, looking at him with those big eyes, pleading him to stay with her. And he's sworn it once before, he's told Madam Claire the same. He'll take care of her, not for his sake, because now he clearly doesn't deserve her, but if she needs him, he'll be there for her. It'll be his purpose. A thing to live for.

He raises his hand, puts it on hers, gently pries her fingers off his face to close his own around them, holding tightly. Without saying anything, he leans in, presses his lips to her forehead, hovers there, inhales deeply, takes her in. His arm wraps around her shoulder and pulls her even closer.

“I'm here, baby girl,” he whispers hoarsely. Even if I shouldn't be, he adds in his mind.

She buries her face in the crook of his neck, her warm breath ghosting his skin. “Thank you,” she mumbles barely audible, and he wants to scream at that unyielding innocence and trust. How can she be like this, after everything that happened? After everything he did to her? And thank him even? What is wrong with this girl?

Then again, what is wrong with him... A lot of things, that's for sure. And maybe they are both fucked-up, each in their own way, one too angry and in the end too selfish to let go, the other too dependent and naive to step away. They only have each other now. It shouldn't be, but maybe it was fate all along.

For him to step into that brothel, to find her, to remember his first love, to form a new one, to give her something she's never had: a life away from servitude, a life of freedom to do whatever she wants to do. And maybe she'll find out then that she doesn't need him, that her freedom lies somewhere else. He'll let her decide.

He can't be making any decision like that. He can't just take what he wants. He's done it once, and the repercussions of that single decision are still heavy on his tail. He'll give her the better life he's promised her, and he can only (selfishly) hope that he may have a place in it. And if not, well, that's a thing for the future.

Right now, he has to focus on making it up to her. He can't erase the bruises on her neck, has to wait for them to fade, but he'll do absolutely everything to never repeat anything like that ever again. Unless she wants him to...

He groans when he feels the telltale twitch of his cock at that particular thought. Really not the time, buddy. You're trying to make amends, not make it worse. Inhaling deeply, he shifts her on his lap, away from his hardness, before he leans her back and looks at her, thumb rubbing over her chin.

“I could really use a bath right now,” he says quietly, watching her closely.

“Can I join you?” she asks in a breathy whisper, her cheeks burning up slightly.

He knew she was going to ask that, and it aches him how predictable she is, and how easily he exploits that trait. But he told her he wouldn't pull away, so why not give her what she wants? He's already a fucked-up, selfish man, he won't change that anytime soon, he'll try, but right now he needs the distraction, needs the validation that he isn't as bad as he thinks, even if given by a girl who doesn't know any better.

“Of course,” he replies and gives her a strained smile, hating himself just a little bit more for feeling the growing tension in his stomach when she smiles back.

Ben stands up with her, scooping her up, holding her tightly in his arms, before he sways a little, feeling the strain in his muscles, his head spinning. She slips from his grip with a soft giggle. “I can walk, don't worry,” she says and grabs his hand, looking up at him with those big innocent eyes.

He doesn't deserve her, now less than ever. But Nebbia doesn't care. She doesn't see the monster in him, for whatever reason. And he's too hungover to fight this anymore. So he lets her pull him out of the room, moving on as if barely anything happened.

Chapter 12 -- Chapter 14

End notes: The Angst Train is still rolling. Poor Ben. Though I gotta admit: I enjoyed writing his journey through the valley of violence and rage. Was finally able to put those tags to good use.

So, with what happened, with those new lies/altered truths, where are Ben and Nebbia headed? Who knows. Find out soon!

Credits to the respective owners of the pictures I used above. I don't own anything. I gathered these from all around tumblr. If you see your picture and would like to have it removed, please tell me!

Thanks for reading! Next chapter soon!

AO3 -- MASTERLIST -- INSPIRATION POSTS

[callsigndragon]

Desperate times, desperate measures | ch. 7: It's all about the money

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: these two *talk*, parents beign absolute assholes, feelings, cuteness, fluff and a bit of angst as always.

A/N: i will introduce a new character in the next chapter, i just need to find the face claim. Initially, Michael B. Jordan was supposed to be a doctor, as in the movie, but as i planned the whole thing, the doctor made less and less sense... so now I need to find a face claim for an actor who will work with Page!

It's okay if you like it and all, but please... a comment is also welcomed and if you reblog it? I'll kiss you on the forehead.

If you want to be added, comment down!

When you wake up the next morning, Jake is still in bed, his soft snores leaving his body through parted lips. You could take this moment as an advantage, run towards Emma’s room, and busy yourself to avoid the necessary talk that awaits you. But running away from the problems is not the best solution. 

You’ll have to face it sooner or later. 

The thing is, whatever the hell almost happened last night, it felt good. It’s weird, it’s rare and new, and you don’t want to dive in head first just yet. Not when there’s so much at risk. Not when you two have a baby to take care of. Maybe you can tell Jake how you feel about it, and he won’t feel like you’re rejecting him. He really seemed interested in exploring this feeling that arose between the two of you last night, but you had fallen asleep by the time he came back. Not on purpose, though. You were tired of all the activities of the day. 

“I thought you’d run away,” Jake mutters, eyes half open and voice hoarse and heavy due to the sleep. He stirs awake, the movement making the blanket fall from his chest and leaving his golden chest exposed to the morning sunlight entering through the window. 

“It wouldn’t be fair to you, right?” You question, more to yourself than to him, while sitting on the bed with your legs crossed under you. “Can we…talk?” 

Jake sighs, covering his face with his hands before sitting up and mimicking your posture. “Page, if you’re going to dump my ass, just be quick. I can take it.” 

You shake your head, catching his attention. “I don’t want to dump your ass, Jake. It doesn’t mean that I want to change our whole relationship just because of one kiss.” 

He nods, looking at his hands. “Yeah, you’re right. We should talk about it first. See what it meant to us? And how we feel.” The surprise in your face must be quite evident because he rolls his eyes and grabs a pillow that he throws at your head. “What? I can be rational too, you know.” 

“Don’t throw me a pillow, cowboy.” You warn him, sliding your hand from your lap to the pillow resting on your side. 

“What are you gonna do, darling?" 

"Hit you with a pillow." You say it matter-of-factly, raising the pillow over your head. Jake jumps off the bed and throws himself to the floor, along with the rest of the cushions that were over the bed last night. 

"You shouldn't announce your movements to the enemy." He looks at you, smirking like a hunter does when he has finally cornered his prey. 

“Enemy?” You huff, moving slowly backwards. “I thought we were a team!” 

“There’s no team in the pillow fight, Page. You should know that.” and before you even have time to answer, he's throwing all the other pillows your way, some of them—if not all—landing on your head. 

You raise your hands in surrender and only look at him when you hear him chuckle. "I give up." 

"I'll spare your life, then." Neither of you move from your spots. Not even an inch. You stay there, sitting on the floor and looking at each other, hundreds of unsaid words floating in the air between you. "I don't want us to fake that this didn't happen, Page." 

You place your arms on the mattress, needing to touch something that grounds you and assures you that this isn't a dream. Not only are you having a proper conversation with him, but he's also confessing his desire to pursue these feelings that you two seem to have for each other. 

It feels like a scene from one of your books. 

"We have Emma, Jake. This decision isn't about us anymore." 

"Emma deserves to have parents that like each other." Well, he's right on that. 

"And what do you think it is that we deserve, Jake?" You ask him, wanting to know what he truly thinks. 

You can see the corner of his lip twitching as he tries to conceal a smile. "We deserve to know what would have happened if I hadn't made that call." 

You smile softly, looking at your hands. The same ones that ache for touching his bare chest. "Maybe it was meant to happen, you know. Call it destiny."

"I don't believe in destiny, darling," he retorts, getting up from the floor and walking towards you, offering you a hand to help you stand up. "But I do believe that we can make this work."

Once you're back on two feet, you look at him, finding solace in his emerald eyes. "This doesn't even have a name."

"You're a writer, I'm sure you'll find a word for it." He mumbles, caressing your cheek and getting lost in the intensity of your eyes. He always loved them. "Can I kiss you to seal the deal?" 

You chuckle, moving your hands to rest on his shoulders. "You have been reading too many fairy tales lately." 

"Yeah, maybe it's time to start writing my own." He places his hands on your hips, bringing you closer, and leans down to press his lips against your soft ones. This kiss is different from the one you shared the night before. 

It's soft, sweet, and tender. And yet, it also leaves you craving for more. 

Jake's whole existence makes you crave more than you have. 

After a few seconds, he pulls away, licking his lips and smiling like he just won the biggest prize at the carnival. "I liked that." 

"Me too." You admit while your fingertips find their way to his neck, playing with the soft and short hairs that have been growing since he started his paternal leave. "Let's not rush it, please. It would only fuck things up, and we still have many months ahead of us…" 

He nods, kissing your forehead sweetly. "I'll try my best." 

You hear movement in the other room, letting you know that Emma is up and ready to start a new day. "Looks like the princess woke up." 

"Wait, if she's a princess, what are you? A king?" You laugh, feeling empty, when he moves away to go get Emma. 

"I'm just a peasant amazed by the presence of a princess and the beautiful queen." He says before disappearing through the door and making you smile when he uses his sweetest voice to say hi to the little girl. 

Jake and Emma are sitting on a blanket in the grass at the back of the house hours later while you answer your emails when Olivia comes out giving you an iced tea. 

"Oh, thank you, Olivia. You didn’t have to!" She's been a sweetheart all day, and you think that maybe the initial awkwardness between Jake's family and you is over. "I didn't ask about your show. Was it good?" 

"I didn't watch it in the end," she says, sighing and sitting down next to you. "I lost track of time talking with my husband." 

"Oh, dear. I hope you get to see the chapter soon." 

"I hope so." 

The conversation ends there, and you keep answering your emails. You don't realize until a few minutes later that Olivia is still sitting there, but she's looking at the screen with gossiping intentions. "It's work stuff, you know." 

"Oh, yeah, that I gathered." 

Isn't she even a bit ashamed of having been caught snooping on someone's else's business? It doesn't seem like that, because she doesn't tear her eyes away from the screen even after being subtly called out. "Oh, you're gonna be an actress now?" 

You let out an incredulous sigh before answering. "Yeah, but I'm sure you know that already after… reading the whole mail." 

"We're family now! Your mail is my mail." She says with a gleeful expression that doesn't go well with the situation. 

"I don't think this works like that." You mutter, sending the email and closing the laptop before she can start reading another email that doesn't have to do anything with her. 

"A movie is a big opportunity, isn't it?" Olivia questions, taking a sip of her tea. 

"It's what I wanted to do before becoming a writer." You answer her as politely as you can, looking in Jake's direction and hoping that he gets to look your way and see your expression. 

"But you earn more money selling books, right?" She asks again, trying to learn more about the topic. Is she that interested in knowing how much money you earn? 

“I don’t sell books, Olivia. I write them.” 

She shakes her hand, waving it off. “You know what I mean.” 

“Can I ask why are you so interested in my… net worth?” 

She blinks, as if asking her that question surprises her. “Oh, I just want to know if you’ll have money to raise Emma alone once Jake gets tired of you.”

You stare into the distance for a solid thirty seconds before turning your whole body in your seat and looking at her. “Excuse me?” 

“Come on, dear. It’s evident that he just married you to prove something to us. He needed someone to date. He found you and the kid and saw a chance.”

You rise to your feet, making yourself big in front of her and trying to look intimidating. “Mrs. Seresin, your son and I knew each other way before you and your husband threw him an engagement ring and forced him to get engaged to someone he didn’t love.” 

Olivia scoffs, getting up from the chair, and showing in her face the same feelings that made you want to run away yesterday. “Honey, please. Don’t try to make yourself important. You’re just another pussy in my son’s dating history book.” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You question her, tired of her antics and how she’s objectifying you. Your voice makes it to Jake’s ears, because as soon as the words leave your mouth, he’s walking in your direction with Emma in his arms. 

“Everything alright, ladies?” He asks it in plural, including his mother, but he only looks at you, worried about the possible absurdities that his mother could have said to you. 

“Oh, I don’t deserve that title, Jake. I’m just another pussy.” You repeat Olivia’s words, making her face go red. Now she’s getting embarrassed? 

“You did not say that to Page, right?” Jake asks, stepping closer to her. “Right?” 

Olivia throws the glass of ice tea to the floor, broken glass and ice cubes scattering all over the wooden floor of the patio. “And what if I did? She’s the reason why we’re going to lose the ranch! You decided to marry a famous whore rather than fulfill your duty as a son!” 

“Don’t talk about her like that, mother.” Jake warns her, raising his tone and making Emma cry a bit. She must be scared. “I didn’t want to marry someone I didn’t love, I told you.”

“We all have to marry someone we don’t love, son. Look at me and your father!” 

“Yeah, and how did that go? You hate him and us so much that you can’t even hang family pictures on the fucking walls. You hate your family!” 

“But at least I did what I was supposed to do!” Olivia is yelling at this point, making Emma cry out in fear. 

“I don’t want to form a family and hate my kids. I deserve better than that.” 

Joe walks out of the house, looking between all of you to see what is going on. “Can you stop the yelling? I can’t hear the fucking TV.” 

“Joe, can you tell your stupid son that he has to marry the Willer girl?” She keeps raising her voice, and it’s giving you a headache. You’re really close to slapping her. He just called Jake stupid, in front of you. She doesn’t care a bit about him. 

“You don’t even know her name.” Jake shakes his head in disbelief, and you can see how his heart breaks a bit more every second he keeps talking to them. He manages to soothe Emma, and she grabs his shirt in between her tiny fists. 

“I don’t need to know her fucking name because you won’t marry her! You only had one job, Jacob. You were supposed to inherit the ranch, but no, you had to go play the little soldier in the fucking plane!” Olivia is totally unhinged at this point, and you’re tired of her shit. 

“I would fucking appreciate it if you stopped talking about my husband like that.” You grab your bag that had been resting on the table next to you and rummage through it until you find the checkbook that you always carry around but don’t really use. “You want money? Is that why you were so interested in how much I gained as a writer? Say your number.” 

"Mom, you did what?” Jake shakes his head and places a hand over yours. “Please, Page. You don’t have to pay her anything.” 

“Jake, it’s nothing, I promise. I just want you to get rid of them.” You whisper, squeezing his hand. 

“Get rid of us? He should get rid of this fucking who—” Joe starts the sentence, but he stops halfway through it when Jake glares at him. 

“I’ve been waiting to punch you in the face since I was six. Give me a reason.” 

“Your number.” You repeat, looking only at Olivia. 

“750k.” She smirks, raising an eyebrow, seemingly thinking that you don’t have that amount of money. 

Little does she know that writing romance novels is more profitable than she thinks. You open your pen, swallowing a bit after you realize that this pen was Anne’s gift after you published your first novel. Seems like she’s still there for the important moments. 

You write down the amount she asked for, sign it, and before you give it to her, you take a step in her direction, raising a finger. “There’s a condition, though.” 

“What now?” She says, rolling her eyes. 

“If you talk shit about Jake one more time, I will come back, buy this fucking dunghill, and destroy everything you have fought so hard to keep.” You simply say, not raising your voice, and being as calm as you can. You’re not going to give them the satisfaction of looking affected by their actions in front of them. “Am I clear?” 

“Yes, now give me that fucking check.” Olivia mutters, not looking at you, her eyes fixed on the small piece of paper that put an end to all her problems. 

“If you grab that check,” Jake says, standing next to you, “you can forget that you have a son.” 

She raises an eyebrow, takes the check between her hands, and looks at him with scorn. “I’m sorry, who are you?” 

You place a hand on the back of Jake’s arm, grab your purse and your laptop, and move him inside the house. “Let’s get our things and leave this place.” 

“Page… I can’t return that money.” He whispers to Jake when you get to your room, looking embarrassed due to all this situation. 

You grab his face between your hands, making him look at him. “Honey, you don’t need to pay me back, okay? There’s no need to. I feel bad, though.” 

“Why?” He asks while packing the few little things you used this morning. 

“I kind of feel like I bought your freedom, you know? I just... I couldn’t stand there and see how they were treating you and how this wasn’t going to end once we were gone.” You rant while sitting down, watching as Jake takes a place next to you. 

“... would you be mad if I said my brain didn’t register anything after you said “my husband”?” He admits sheepishly looking at his hands. 

You snort at his confession. “Really, Jake?” 

“What? It was hot, okay?” 

“Did I make you horny, baby?” You joke, getting up from the bed and closing the suitcase. 

“Oh, yes, you did.” 

He grabs the two suitcases while you carry Emma in your arms. “And you were supposed to be celibate for a year?” 

“I swore fidelity, right?” He winks at you, trying to make things a bit easier. “I never said anything about us not doing things.”

“Cheeky bastard.”

You’re out of that ranch in fifteen minutes, not wanting to waste a single moment more there. They had what they always wanted. Maybe Jake would be able to live his life without having to worry about them. 

On the way home, you two finish posting the pictures on Instagram—the ones that will make your relationship public and that will let you know not only to the world but to social services as well—that you two are in a serious, loving, and real relationship. 

Now, the only thing you have to worry about is this new relationship that you two seem to be entering. 

The instagrams

@halibshepherd

@mygyn

@the-romanian-is-bae

@justanothermagicalsara

@drakelover78

@celestialeviereads

@averyhotchner

@ravenhood2792

@potato-girl99981

@callsign-sunshine

@purplevortexx

@novastories

@luvrrish

@footprintsinthesxnd

@nikfigueiredo

@allivingstone01

@violyn20

@lunamoonbby

@dempy

@hangmandruigandmav

@shanimallina87

@tomanybandstolove

@inesdiary96

@phoenix1388

@jynxmirage

@crthurston

@fandom-life-12

@atarmychick007

@mayhemmanaged

@twsssmlmaa

@meigalibrary

@eugene-emt-roe

@startrekfangirl2233

@topgunslut

@clancycucumber230

@books-are-escapes

@mavrellover91

@soulmates8

@xoxabs88xox

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@iammirrorball

@chaoticassidy

@alana4610

@xstellakx

[aussie-the-hedgehog]

Okay, I think I need to do this for myself.

I've been rewatching MHA to gear up for season 7. However, it seems I'm also watching to prove something to myself.

It's been nearly a year, and I still greatly struggle with shame of having Ochako as my favorite character. I realize this is a drawn out topic on this blog, but I must air this grievance for the good of my mental sanity.

I feel whenever I'm on Twitter, I see many brutally slander her character. I see criticisms that she has no use in the show. I have witnessed posts circled with threats concerning the topic. It is making me further question why I enjoy the character as much as I do.

To be frank, I care A LOT about what people think - honestly to a fault. I was verbally bullied as a kid for how I looked (I had buck teeth, glasses, and social struggles due to sensory disorders and autism). I struggled to fit in through my elementary and middle school days. I was labeled as "weird" and "a teacher's pet" just to name a couple. I always felt compelled to prove myself to fit in with the kids of my classes.

I also was made fun of for being a Dallas Cowboys fan. Granted, I live an hour away from Philadelphia, but I was picked on quite a bit for liking them.

One day after school in fourth grade, I was on a bus heading to a rec center for after care. The Cowboys were playing the Eagles the ensuing Sunday. If you know anything about the NFL, these two are bitter rivals. They absolutely hate each other. The bus driver was aware I liked the Cowboys. He decided to start a chant on the bus ride, "Dallas sucks!" all the way there to the rec center. All the kids jumped in without hesitation.

I was horrified. I broke down crying. I felt like in that one moment the world was against me. There was a kid sitting next to me who tried to comfort me by saying he's on my side rooting for Dallas. I appreciated his support, but in that moment I just wanted to get off the bus.

When I got off, my mom was waiting and saw me in tears. She scolded the driver for making me cry over a football game. The bus driver was fired the next day.

I will admit I have come to terms with the teams I like (it helps the Cowboys are a meme), but it's still difficult being honest with the things I enjoy. This is especially the case when it comes to the hopeful, compassionate trope in shows.

I look on social media sites such as Twitter. I see all these vitriolic comments directed toward those who enjoy Ochako for no reason. I feel I've been indirectly abused because I am a part of her fandom.

I've said this before, and I'll say it again - she follows the trope I like. She's the glue that keeps the group together. She's loving and kind to everyone she meets. I honestly see her as an honest to goodness daughter. You can call it weird if you want, but it's how I feel.

Now, you can look at all of this and conclude I shouldn't be on Twitter. That is totally fair. I do need to limit my time on social media. However, this remains discouraging in my life. I started watching MHA last February and this issue STILL remains. I'm ashamed for enjoying something morally okay since the fandom is extremely harsh concerning her.

I feel it has to do with my past in being criticized for what I enjoy and seeing the fandom crush anyone who likes the character. Both have come together in such overwhelming ways.

Another factor is one I've mentioned before. I am a guy and should be liking more masculine things. In no way should I be interested in female characters or how they give hope in dire predicaments. Yet, it's something I find admirable because that's just what I like. I have to be alright with that.

In no way am I victimizing myself. This is a grievance I've had to get out. The toxicity from the fandom and my own negative thinking have gotten to my head for me to at least put my fingers to the keyboard. Writing is a cathartic practice for me. Crafting pieces like this is extremely healthy for me.

There isn't much more to be said about why I like Ochako Uraraka. I've made several posts why. You can look at those if you're so inclined. All in all, I hope one day I can be confident in why I enjoy characters like her and not feel a need to care about what others think.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[lyn-js]

Home Sweet Home | Chapter 2. Memories

Rhett Abbott x OC Reader

Summary: Sunny Pritchett decides to move back home, but without a reason why. Once she's back she runs into her childhood best, friend Rhett Abbott. Rhett seems very surprised to see her. Not only that, but he sees she has a small child on her hip. Will Sunny try to reconnect with Rhett and tell him the real reason you she's moved back. Or will her past come back and find her until everything blows up.

Warnings: Mental and Physical abuse, PTSD flashbacks, swearing, fighting.

Suprise I'm releasing a new chapter. I've been in a pretty good mood. So, I thought I would give you beautiful people a treat!!

(Bold referents to flashbacks)

7 years ago

Sitting in the back of Rhett’s bed truck, talking about your guy’s future and looking at the sunset. “When I finally graduate, I’m gonna get out of this town. , …and I want you to… come with me? Whaddya say cowboy?” before he could even get a word out I’m gonna become an artist, and you can be a bull rider, and I'll travel with ya’, we’ll still be together.” he really wants to get a word out, but you're going 100 miles per minute.

“We can get an apartment-” “Slow down there Sunny-girl” sitting up and bracing his hands on her shoulders, trying to get her to calm down. "Breathe in and breathe out… there ya go.” Finally getting you to calm down.

After a few seconds he spoke up. “I’ll go with you.” he says in a calm manner. “Y-you’ll go with me?” You stand up to get out of his bed truck and start to pace back and forth. "Because if this is some sick joke Rhett Abbot, you have another thing comin’” you say in a shaky voice. Wondering if this was some sort of a weird dream, seeing if you’ll wake up. But it’s not. He’s actually telling you that he will leave.

He hops out of the truck following you. Grabbing “I’m serious as a heart attack Sunny girl. I’ll be with you for as long as you’ll have me.” You feel tears welling in your eyes, and that leaves Rhett in a confused state.

“A-are you okay Sun? If you don’t want me ta go, I won’t I’ll stay here- oof” He was cut off by you running into his arms, and you both falling to the ground. “I’ll have you forever, as long as you’ll have me too” you say while having the biggest smile on your face. "Plus, you can’t get of me that easily cowboy. You’re stuck with me forever.” kissing his cheek.

You stay in the hug for a little bit longer. Just wanted to stop time, and never let this moment go. You just wish Rhett can stick to his word. Hoping he can truly go with you.

What you didn’t know is this amazing friendship wasn't going to last long after this moment.

“R-Rhett” You say with a shaky voice, scared to day anything else.

Your first thoughts of when you saw Rhett were those happy memories of you together. The one you thought of was when you were sitting in the bed of his truck just looking at the sunset, holding hands. Playing in the parking lot of the church after the service was over. Talking for hours on the phone until both your parents said it was time to go. If you could go back and relive those lovely, amazing memories. You would. But you can’t.

You think and go back to the awful night. “YOU JUST LEAVE EVERYBODY BEHIND!”

Without a beat you abandon your cart, and walk out of the store. After having that awful call with Gaabe, and then seeing Rhett. You just want to go home, snuggle with your baby, and pretend this day and this interaction did not just happen. What you didn’t see was Rhett also leaving his things behind in the market and following after you.

“S-Sunny wait!” He tries to catch up to you but you move too quickly, and you're halfway to your car.

You're opening the door to your car; you look back at him and shake your head. "Don't... D-Don't say anything else." With that warning, he closed his mouth. You get in your car and drive away. But this time you don’t look back. You just want to get back home, and into the comfort of your family.

When you arrive back home you automatically spot Ollie in the living room playing with your dad. They both see you and Ollie gets up and waddles to you.

“Mama!” he yells, wanting to be picked up by you. With a bright smile on your face to pick him up, and he puts his face in the crook of your neck.

“Hello my love, did you enjoy your nap?” you ask. He always comes to you for snuggles after he is done sleeping. He just looks up at you, nods and goes back to sucking his thumb and back into the crook of your neck.

“What happened at the store, you didn’t bring anything back?” your dad asks with question. Still sitting on the floor with a bunch of Ollie's toys.

You completely forgot that you abandoned your cart at the market after the phone call, and then seeing Rhett. You really couldn’t tell your dad what happened, you can’t just say to him “Oh, when I was shopping, I got a phone call from my abusive ex-boyfriend. Then I ran into my childhood best friend completely froze up on the spot and ran away from him.”

You snap out of your thoughts and just blurt out the first thing that come to mind “Oh, they really didn’t have what I needed there. I’ll go somewhere else tomorrow.” Lying right through your teeth. But really that was the only option you thought of. You wish you could tell your parents what was really going on. But you're too scared. Ashamed. It seems like they would judge you for being in such a bad relationship for that long. “Why didn’t you just leave?” “Why would you let him hit you?” All of these questions start swarming your head and you're trying to come up with answers. But for right now you just try your best to shove them deep down and try to listen to your dad again.

He just nods at your answer. With that you leave your dad in the living room cleaning up the toys, and walk into the kitchen and see your mom making dinner.

“Hey mama, whatcha makin.” you ask while trying to see a glimpse of what she's cooking. But failing to do so, she shoos you away. While walking away you stick your tongue out while your mom isn't looking. While you look down at your son, he's copying your exact face.

“I'm just making your favorite home cooked meal" You light up at her response, you were so excited to have her home cooked meals.

"Oh, I just love having all my family together.” she says smiling ear to ear. You can never go wrong with your mama’s homemade chicken n’ dumplings. They are the best thing you’ve ever had. And you couldn’t trade your mothers cooking for the world.

“I forgot to tell you cub, we're going to Sunday service tomorrow. I have a cute little outfit that Ollie can wear.” your mom says while setting the table. Then your dad walked in and gave you a kiss on the back of the head.

“Mom… do we r-really have to go?” sounding just like you 16 year old self. Not liking to go to the service. But no matter what you still went. But you always ended up liking it because of course you would see Rhett, and you always ran up to him and the rest of his family after the service was over.

“I don’t want to hear it, Sunny. You are going to the service tomorrow with me and your dad. End of discussion.” She said with a blunt and straight voice.

Not wanting to argue with your mom, you put an end to the conversation. Then, you set Ollie down in his high chair. Getting him ready to eat dinner. After that you all are sitting at the table passing around food getting ready to eat.

Then, you think “Oh Shit!” you realize the only other family that goes to the service with them was the Abbott’s. You knew for a fact that know matter what Rhett did, he always tried to get out of a service day. But Cecilia Abbottbeing the woman she is, she saw right through him and made him go anyway. 

After everything is out and ready to eat dinner “Who wants to say grace?” your mother says, while putting some more food on her plate. “Sunny, why don’t you say it, you haven’t in so long.” 

You look at your mother with your pleading eyes, you really don’t want to. Then, you look over at your dad, but he’s staring right back at you with a warning look, but in the end you give in, and have no control over it.

You all put your hands together.While saying grace you just think to yourself how this day might get any crazier. 

What you didn’t know, this is just the beginning.

End.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. ❤️

Reblogs are always welcome. Unless you're under 18. I will block you. and comment if you wanted to be added to the taglist.

Taglist: @callsign-magnolia @roosterforme @angelbabyyy99

dividers are by @saradika

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 7/18/2023

idk man i just work here

listening

not another rockstar, maisie peters. spotify

this is a little poppier than i generally prefer-- the first knee-jerk comparison i can make for the vocals is taylor swift, esp in the first verse? luckily for everyone, i was white-knuckling it down the katy freeway (26 lanes. never again) and did not have the extra concentration necessary to skip it on whatever autogenerated dance playlist spotify spat out for me. as a fellow woman with a Type, i must tip my hat to ms peters.

Hmm, funny I could pick 'em in a line up, line up Pretty certain I could do it with my eyes shut, eyes shut A little self-obsessive and I sign up, sign up Where's the pen? Where's the line?

@pasta-pardner has made a gorgeously lush electronic/indie pop cowboy playlist. my very favorite song (so far, still have it on loop) is Horsie by Twilight Circus Dub Sound System. it sounds like the opening theme to Samurai Champloo. it ripples and grooves. it lives somewhere between rock and reggae. the whole album is incredible music to hang out to.

-

reading

retractionwatch (my beloved) linked out to datacolada.org in a recent article and my ears perked up. data colada gets REAL deep into the investigative reporting of specific papers, including some fascinating excel sleuthing. they use CalcChain!!! i thought i was the only one who used CalcChain!!!

CalcChain tells Excel in which order to carry out the calculations in the spreadsheet. It tells Excel something like "First solve the formula in cell A1, then the one in A2, then B1, etc." CalcChain is short for 'calculation chain'.

one of my worst traits as a person is that i looooooooove an academic trainwreck. i love watching academia eat itself. i love watching people get caught for sloppy shit like "excel file sorted REAL weird, pointing to tampering with individual data points"

-

watching

new jennings motor sport!!! the oil change is. hough. impressively disgusting. oil does some funky shit when it's been sitting for ??? decades

-

playing

ive been playing genshi/n impact like it's my job. having a lot of thoughts about crunch, and content, and player expectations vs shareholder expectations and Line Go Up and if AAA free-to-play video games are at all ethical to play for anyone ever, but hey! look at this snarky catgirl!

also lol. lmao. this is a game for children. we are all aware of the restrictions and limitations placed upon games for children in the chinese and american markets so yeah the answer is going to be yes, every time

-

making

lately i have been going to my best friend's house after work (what an unimaginable sentence a month ago) and hanging out and watching whatever toddler shows are on tv while we shoot the shit and i knit. there's another half-repeat on the baby blanket for the baby who has just turned four months old, but it's in the car and the night is dark and full of mosquitoes.

i literally cannot do any life shit, even most doctor's appointments, until i have a real physical stable address so all i am really doing is knitting and playing genshi/n and opening and closing my email like the fridge. i have one security deposit back from the old mass apt plus one more paycheck (but, crucially, not the nearly $2k from the roach apt and we are rapidly approaching lawsuit time) so the cat and i are a little bit more stable/able to put down a security deposit on something else the minute it comes along. this would not have been possible without the incredible generosity of readers like you during that very bad first week here. thank you. i want to do some sort of thank you...stream? liveblog? series of posts about something? but i'm not sure what yet. stay tuned. tell me your thoughts. what would you like to see?

[nematanthus]

Album Review: Black Holes and Revelations-Muse

Release Date:

July 3 2006

Tracklist:

Take a Bow

Starlight

Supermassive Black Hole

Map of the Problematique

Soldiers Poem

Invincible

Assassin

Exo-Politics

City of Delusion

Hoodoo

Knights of Cydonia

Glorious

Favorite Track:

Map of the Problematique

Least favorite track:

Hoodoo

Album art opinions:

The album cover features four people in suits sitting in wooden chairs around a matching table in an alien landscape. The earth is visible in the sky, hidden behind some clouds. The ground is bright orange, suggesting that the setting may be the planet mars. On the table there are horses, implying the figures are the four horsemen of the apocalypse, but a more modern version to reflect the current issues of humanity. There is greed in gold, Vanity in the mirrored suit, Paranoia in the suit of eyes, and Intolerance in the suit patterned with religious symbols. Another mysterious album cover from Muse, this one with shocking depth that could be dismantled for ages if one wishes to.

Color: 8/10

Recognizability: 8/10

Vibes: 9/10

Total: 8/10

Music opinions/notes:

This album really doubles down on the weird from this band, with political moments mixed with a space cowboy vibe on tracks such as Knights of Cydonia. Even with the oddity, the album still makes some poignant political observations.

Mix: 8/10

Lyrics: 7/10

Instruments: 8/10

Vibes: 8/10

Total: 8/10

Total Score: 8/10

[oh-surprise-its-me]

I know we’ve talked about how Tom is polish and so is Ron but have we considered having Jake and Chris be Italian. Cause toddler Jake singing operas in the wrong language would be so cute. Then him later on getting offended at pineapple on pizza as an adult like it’s a major offense would be adorable. Also Chris somehow engineering a three way pasta noodle so he could have a lady and the tramp moment with both his flyboys would be so cute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

LMAOO nailed it. Chris is Texas through and through but his grandma that died when he was 7 was hardcore Italian.

————

“Baby sing that again slower?”

Little five year old Jake repeats what he was singing. Tom stares at him. “Are you singing an Italian song in polish?” Jake bounces and claps “Yea! Dada sang it! I liked it so I sang again!”

Tom can only stare at their kid. Well fuck. Their kid is a bit too smart for only being five. He picks him up and sets him on the table. “Sing baby!”

Jake obeys and starts singing again. Chris wanders in and starts laughing. “Italian but polish? I like the remix baby.” Jake cuts off and claps, “love you dada!” Chris bends and kisses Jake’s head. “Love you more star.”

————

Jake was a little picky about food. Not in a weird way but in a ‘my dads cooked basically anything under the sun because they are incredible cooks’ type way.

“Javy! Why the fuck is there fruit in the pizza!”

Javy comes back with the plates he was looking for. “cause Hawaiian pizza man. Just try it.” Jake stares at him. He thinks it’s time to get a new best friend. They had a nice run. But oh well.

“Javy. Man. I love you. But you would have to kill me in order for me to eat that.” Javy rolls his eyes and grabs a slice, “spoiled bitch.” Jake smacks him, he shakes off some of the fruit and picks off the rest. “Not spoiled. You ate some of the same food I did growing up. This barely counts as pizza and then you put FRUIT on it.”

Javy shoves Jakes shoulder. He turns the volume on the cowboys game up to drown out Jake’s bitching.

Look Javy could admit the pineapple is a bit soggy but goddamn Jake a bitch about pizza. Good thing Javy loves him.

—————

Chris makes pasta alright. He likes the process

He just finished rolling out the shape he needed when the water has boiled. He drops the noodle in and waits. God he hopes this works. They’re going to lose their minds.

“Y’all come here a second!”

His husbands appear seconds later. “Yeah Chrisy?” Chris spins and grins at Tom. He takes the noddle out and dries it off. “Bite.” Tom obeys. He takes the one noodle. “You too giant.” Ron carefully puts the other side in his mouth.

Chris bends and takes the third piece. “Lady and the tramp boys.” He sticks the end in his mouth as soon as he’s done speaking. Tom and Ron look like they’re trying to not laugh. They all slowly eat the noodle, it breaks off at some point and Ron dives forward to kiss Chris.

Tom moans from where he’s watching and sinks a hand into Ron’s hair to pull him back. Chris is kissed by Tom next. He moans that time. Lord he loves those two.

They break apart and Tom is caught in a kiss from Ron.

Well Chris’s plan definitely worked. And thank god cut pasta can sit for a little while since he’s pretty sure they’re going to get distracted…

[dontmindme2600]

Hi again......If you don't mind, can I ask, what are your top 10 (or top 7) favorite media (can be books/ manga/ anime/movies/tv series)? Why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before......Thanks....

OH MY GOD I’D LIKE TO APOLOGIZE BECAUSE MY BAD BECAUSE I LEFT THIS SITTING IN MY DRAFTS AND TOTALLY FORGOT TO ANSWER THIS!! Anyways, top 7, in no particular order:

Hunter x Hunter: I’m not as into this as I was in middle school but it’s never left my mind. Definitely my favorite shonen, Togashi’s originality with the series is really refreshing. (I also love Yu Yu Hakusho by him!!) As weird as it gets the characters and story are always a blast to follow. The villains also go hard. I finished the 2011 anime and I have up to volume 13 of the manga! I’d love to catch up fully since it’s being updated again, but haven’t gotten around to it yet. It’s something that I’ve always been inspired by even if I don’t want to make something that’s gonna be EXACTLY like it anymore lol.

Cowboy Bebop: I tried to limit myself to one (1) Shinichiro Watanabe anime for this list, but his other stuff fucks as well. I love Spike. (bet you never would’ve guessed!!) It’s hard to put into words in a way that doesn’t sound incredibly dumb. But. Every character introduced has their own unique worldview, backstory, flaws, etc. It sounds so fucking stupid because yeah, that’s what a character is supposed to have?? But this anime does that REALLY well?? I think what I’m trying to say is that the show does a great job of presenting different lifestyles and perspectives without worrying about making the audience uncomfortable. The anime is all about human connections and how they impact the characters and I LOVE that. It was also pretty moving to me, lots of great emotional moments. The episode where they find Faye’s old cassette recording and the one with Gren’s death will always stay with me. (Also the Andy one, but only because I think it’s funny as hell.) Watanabe is my favorite anime director ever and if you love Bebop I recommend checking out some of his other stuff as well! (Also props to an anime director that isn’t afraid of diversity in his character designs)

Witch Hat Atelier: I’m not nearly as caught up with this as I would like to be but!!! I love the writing, worldbuilding, and characters. I wish more manga were like this. Not like, aesthetically, but like quality wise. Everything is done really well and the art and paneling is GORGEOUS omfg. Also Kamome Shirahama is a very cool and progressive person and it’s just nice to read a manga by someone like her. I’m hyped as hell for the anime and can’t wait to see WHA reach a larger audience!! (Even with all the bad stuff it may bring, lmao)

Invader Zim: This one is probably the most different from the rest of the list lol. I’ll rewatch a few episodes of this every once in a while. It’s one of the only shows I watch that actually makes me laugh out loud. I also don’t think I’ve really seen anything else like it??? Sure there’s stuff that’s it’s pretty similar to but you cant really say, “wow, this is exactly like ____!” which is super cool. There’s not a major character in the show that I can say I hate or even just am neutral on, I love them all. I’m not usually a fan of stuff the gross-out humor it does, especially in the first season, but just about everything else about it just lives in my brain rent free. I think it’s a really unique and funny show and I just vibe with it stylistically as well. Seriously, I love the art style and just overall,,, edgy vibe. I absolutely do not care that it’s a kid’s show and I unironically think it’s super cool lmao. I know should probably check out some of Jhonen’s other stuff but I haven’t done that yet…

The Ace Attorney Trilogy: This one is more so just Shu Takumi in general. It’s a hard choice because I love Apollo Justice as well, and I also considered Ghost Trick (also by Takumi) but Agh!! The trilogy is the most iconic to me so I’m going with that. I just love seeing and interacting with all the unique characters the series has to offer. I’ve always liked how Takumi isn’t afraid to stray away from the generic skinny anime designs for his characters, it makes his characters feel very unique and memorable. He seems to be against having most of his characters be one dimensional, giving them their own struggles and aspirations, regardless of if they’re a “silly” character or not. I love it! It makes them more memorable and enjoyable than many other visual novel characters to me. (Please remember that I also love Ghost Trick holy fuck it’s so good)

Yakuza 0: I’m going to be 100% for real and admit that I discovered this series because of a bunch of stupid clips I saw of it on YouTube. It wasn’t the dame da ne memes, this was before that. But like, clips of all the silly stuff you can do in game like dance, receive a chicken as a gift for winning at bowling, assign said chicken a position at your real estate business, etc. So I bought it on a whim looking for a laugh. And. Holy FUCK. I did not expect the actual real serious story of this game to hit me as hard as it did. Just a good, moving story. I was THOROUGHLY emotionally invested in both Majima and Kiryu’s storylines by like, chapter 2 for both of them. I think it made me cry?? The fact that you can experience both that and the stupid shit, on top of the fun combat, makes it an S tier game for me. I plan to continue with the rest of the series (so far I’ve gotten through Kiwami 1 and 2 and loved them) but 0 has so far been my absolute favorite.

Pokemon: It’s not a perfect series but I always find myself getting back into it for a while every year. I’ve been a fan since I was just old enough to read, what can else can I say? I don’t have a super deep reason for this it’s just something that’s always been comfortable and fun!! The worldbuilding, story, music, and characters, really shine through in some of my favorite games in the series. And regardless of story, the gameplay is always fun.

It’s hard for me to determine my favorite anything but for this I tried to go by:

-How often I ended up going back to these

-How much each work made an emotional impact on me (not just the deep stuff, can also include things like making me laugh)

-How much each of these inspired me (like as in inspired my art or made me think “I want to make something like that!!!”) I think I’ve thought to that at least once for everything in here! It’s actually kind of scary because they’re all so different-

I’m probably missing something here but this should give you an idea!! If I spend any longer on this I’m just gonna keep changing it lolllll

[lucy4242564]

Honestly, this is nothing but fluff and sweetness.

I have a MASSIVE head canon that prior to the apocalypse, Daryl was genuinely just a semi-regular guy. I think he over exaggerates how ‘shitty’ he really was, just like he under exaggerates how important he is. I also, totally believe he did run with Merle at points and was just kind of drifting in and out of things.

I’m not the biggest fan of the idea that Daryl was always so quiet and stand offish with little no friends or any experience. I mean, are we totally forgetting season 1-2 Daryl Dixon? I think a lot of his development in the show was what led him to becoming so quiet and standoffish. Mostly at least. So let’s just indulge in a sweet, fluffy, pre-apocalyptic Daryl together thankssss.

.cowboy like me.

Chapter 2.

.Got drunk and made fun of the way you talk.

~You should take it as a compliment that I, got drunk And made fun of the way you talk~

“Just gonna keep starin’ at me?” His voice broke her focus.

“Whatcha gonna do about it?” She asked in a sing song voice, teasing him. “You talk funny.”

He let out a breathy laugh. A small swell of pride built in Lilah’s chest at the feat.

He laughed.

“It’ll be fine Lyle.” Brittany reassured the blonde girl who had been adjusting herself in the mirror.

“I know.” She grumbled back. “You just know how weird I am around people.”

They were going to a creek to hangout with Brittany’s friends again. It had been a week since the trailer and she’d gotten to know Paul a little better. He’d stayed over twice those 7 days, so she was practically forced to.

She’d always been forced to do things.

Not for no good though — she did warm up to Paul and didn’t mind being a third wheel those couple days. He’s part of the reason she was convinced to go tonight. Lilah could tell Brittany was excited to be going out and socializing. Honestly, so was she. She knew Brittany was about to go back to work and Lilah needed to come out of her shell. If she didn’t, it would be a long three months in Georgia.

Ignoring the sand that flew up the back of her legs, Lilah followed her best friend along the sandbar. She admired the serene scenery— oak trees towering on the other side of the creek, a rope swing swaying off a leaning tree ahead of them, even the muddy water looked beautiful with the sun shimmering off. Georgia was like a painting.

They stopped walking as they approached the same group of people from last Saturday. Brittany turned and gave Lilah an encouraging smile.

Her eyes drifted over the group, mentally making note of each of their names again. A warm feeling rose in her cheeks when she caught sight of the man with the cut on his forehead. He was scanning her and it didn’t go unnoticed that his eyes lingered on her chest.

She looked away completely before they had a chance to make eye contact and began paying attention to whatever Brittany and Paul were talking about.

Hours passed, beers were drank, a few shots were taken, and Lilah was feeling great.

Too great.

Sober her would still be up Brittany’s ass, drunk her has talked to everyone here. She was too far gone and she knew it. Especially when she found herself drifting over to a tailgate with a certain man sitting on the end.

He was the only one that she hadn’t talked to. He was the only one that hadn’t been drinking that much either. No liquor, only beer. She wondered why. Maybe she could find out.

“You haven’t drank much!” Lilah said, a little too excited. She wanted to be embarrassed at herself. She wasn’t though. Even when the man all but ignored her.

The man.

Daryl Dixon.

Brittany had told her his name on the ride home after she talked to him last time. His name matched his looks and there was something really aesthetically pleasing about that.

The alcohol was working double time and Lilah was not giving up.

“When someone talks to you, you’re supposed to reply.” She told him while she took a seat next to him.

Daryl watched intently as the blonde criss-crossed her legs beside him. Her hands rested on her lap and she gazed up at him, turning her body to face his more directly. “Ain’t got nothin’ to say.” He responded.

Her eyebrows furrowed. She wondered if he knew how to have an actual conversation. With a deep sigh she opened her mouth to talk again. “What’s you favorite color?”

It was Daryl’s turn to furrow his eyebrows. “What?”

“You said you didn’t have anything to say, so I’m helping.” She explained, her shoulders shrugged. “What’s your favorite color?”

Daryl stared at her in confusion. What was her deal? Part of him was intrigued by the bluntness and wanted to answer. Another part wanted to be left alone. “Orange.” The former won.

“Really?” Her smile widened like she’d just won a trophy. He would’ve sworn her eyes were shining too, but it could’ve just been the stars above them.

“Ya don’t believe me?” He asked, his tone almost offended at the accusation.

Lilah shook her head softly and let out a laugh to match. “You’re the first person I’ve met whose favorite color is orange.” She explained.

His face relaxed, maintaining eye contact with the girl in front of him. There was something about the light blue of them that had him rethinking if it had been the stars shining after all. A comfortable silence filled the air between them. They sat there for several minutes. Not exactly staring at each other, but not looking away either. It was nice.

Until the alcohol knocked Lilah out of it again. “It’s your turn.” She said to him. His lips pressed into a line while he shook his head in response. “Use your words.” Surely he’d caught on how to have a conversation by now.

“I don’t play those kinda games.”

“What kind of games do you play?” She wanted to ask him why he wouldn’t just ask her a question, but brushed it off.

Daryl looked over at the group of friends who were talking amongst themselves, surrounding a camp fire, not paying any attention to the pair sitting together. He enjoyed the presence of others sometimes, but hardly cared to join a conversation. Especially within a group. Looking back over at her, he still didn’t quite understand why she was even sitting with him. Much less trying to have a conversation with him. He didn’t even know her.

“Okay, fine.” Lilah huffed. “If you don’t want to talk, that’s okay, but I’m going to talk to you.” She was drunk and didn’t have much patience to try and crack a code with him.

“Aight.” He nodded.

Another smile danced across her lips. “I’m actually really bad at talking to people I don’t know.” He was definitely in for an earful. “The only reason I’m not avoiding you is because I have drank way to much tonight and I saw you looking at my boobs earlier.” The alcohol admitted.

If Daryl Dixon had never blushed in his 31 years on earth, that sentence was helping make up for it. He opened his mouth to say something, but she kept talking.

“It’s okay though, I’d look too. They’re really nice.” He was speechless, this time not by choice. “You also really shouldn’t worry about being called out in it. I’m going to hate myself in the morning for all of this and avoid you like the plague.”

She already hated herself and wished her mouth would stop. Instead, Lilah glanced down at the beer in Daryl’s hand and took it before he could realize what had happened.

Again, his mouth opened to protest but she was quicker.

“You really shouldn’t drink and drive.” She teased, taking a little more than a sip out the can.

“Then how d’you expect to get home?” He asked while he finally had the chance. “Cause yer friend’s more hammered than you.” His eyes darted from Brittany back Lilah.

She followed his eyes and the logical part of her brain cause her stomach to sink. Biting the inside of her lip she lowered her head and tried to reason with herself.

Impossible though, because her mouth started running again. “So what I’m hearing, is that you’ll bring me back to her apartment.” Yeah. She was never going to let herself see him again.

“Nah,” he shook his head, “looks like yer up shit creek without a paddle.”

“Or, you could just take me back to her apartment and I’ll show you my boobs.” She reasoned. “But you can’t touch them. I’m only a little bit of a whore.”

“Y’ain’t gotta show me nothin’-“

“You don’t want to see my boobs?”

“Ain’t sayin’ that. I just ain’t-“

“Because they’re really nice. All you have to do is take me to Brittany’s-“

“I ain’t gotta see’m.”

“So you’ll take me there even if I keep my top on?”

Blue eyes met each other’s again. One set playful, the other exasperated.

“Get yer shit, I’m fixin’a head out.” He wasn’t sure what made him give in, but the way the corners of her mouth turned upwards had him locked in.

Brittany tried to convince her to stay until Paul had sobered up, but it fell on deaf ears.

The alcohol was forcing her to make decisions and she was really starting to like those decisions. At least drunk her was. Lilah was still fighting a battle with herself internally.

Now she was passenger to a man with sandy brown hair, ocean blue eyes, and a thick southern accent. She jumped headfirst into it and was hoping it wouldn’t come back to haunt her. “I was being serious about the boobs.” Not letting silence fill the air for too long.

Daryl glanced over to her for a moment and once again, she saw his eyes linger towards her cleavage. “I was too.” He said, hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.

Her mouth curved into a smile and she unbuckled her seatbelt. Shifting herself onto her knees, she moved across the bench seat.

She studied him.

The way his blue eyes glanced over in confusion made her tilt her head a bit and focus on his face. He wasn’t handsome or cute. That would be a disservice to describe his attractiveness.

Daryl Dixon was good looking.

He had edge that a lot of the boys she’d hit on before didn’t have. Patches of blonde stubble around his chin area and badly shaved up side burns. He didn’t try with his appearance and something about that made him more attractive. Letting her eyes explore down his neck, she was a little frustrated that his shirt covered the rest of his chest. Lilah blushed when she finally stared down at the lap of her sober driver.

In the silence, while inspecting every inch of Daryl, she hadn’t noticed how her breathing had quickened or how her thighs squeezed themselves together in their own frustration.

“Just gonna keep starin’ at me?” His voice broke her focus.

“Whatcha gonna do about it?” She asked in a sing song voice, teasing him. “You talk funny.”

Lilah mocked what he’d previously said.

He let out a breathy laugh. A small swell of pride built in Lilah’s chest at the feat.

She made him laugh.

Relaxing back on her ankles, Lilah sighed, a faint smile playing on her lips. “How much longer?” She’d put her full trust in him to get them to their destination, no questions asked.

“Bout 10 minutes.”

She hummed in response and situated herself in a laying position, her head cradled in his lap. It was bold, but not the most out of character thing she’d done so far. Daryl stilled at the new position. If he could’ve gripped the steering wheel tighter he would have. She was walking a very fine line in several different directions.

To begin with, this wasn’t a situation he regularly got himself in. Had he ever been in this situation before? He’d had his fair share of drunken hookups and casual sex, but he’d never gone as far as bringing a drunk girl home with no strings attached. Much less a drunk girl that was throwing herself at him. On top of that, she wasn’t even being shameless about any of it. Drunk as she was, she was very self aware. Going as far as assuring that she’s avoid him like the plague after tonight. She knew what she was saying but couldn’t stop. It was word vomit.

To round all those lines she was walking on, the invasion of space was beginning to be the finest one. The way she adjusts herself to sit closer so she can get a better view would be fine, if her cleavage wasn’t the only thing he saw out of the corners of his eyes. Then she just casually offers to take her top off as if she herself has no boundaries. Now her blue eyes were looking up at him from his lap and he couldn’t stop the twitch of his cock underneath her. He just hoped she hadn’t noticed.

“Lost in thought?” Lilah asked, a sly grin on her face. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“Just drivin’” He was trying to play it off. Like there wasn’t a drunk girl wasn’t going to different lengths trying to seduce him.

Silence ensued again as Lilah’s eyes fluttered shut. The liquid courage had begun wearing down, leaving her dizzier by the minute. She wanted to keep teasing him, if only because she knew she’d never pluck up the audacity to do it again, but the lulling vibration of the truck was soothing.

Sneaking a few glances down, Daryl watched as she relaxed and drifted in and out of sleep, a soft smile still on her face.

“I don’t want to fall!” Lilah whined.

Her current position: the second landing of stairs leading up to the apartment, sitting on the floor, almost in tears.

She’d stumbled out of the truck and to the stairwell entry quickly, Daryl hot on her heels. He’d griped the entire way because she ran in front of a car and nearly been hit.

He hadn’t signed up for this.

After crawling up the first flight, he was quick to offer to carry her. She denied before the words left his mouth and continued to struggle up the next flight. Her knees were rubbed raw from the concrete of the steps and she was contemplating being picked up in her drunkenness.

“Ain’t gonna drop you.”

Lips pouting out and eyebrows scrunched together, she sighed. She wasn’t in the best state of mind to reason so she came up with the only thing she could think of. “Pinky promise?” Her left pinky raised up towards the man in front of her.

His face covered in confusion, he wanted to respond but laughed in disbelief instead. “How old’re you? Five?” He teased.

“22!” She retorted, wiggling her pinky in the air and signaling him.

He scoffed under his breath.

Of course she was barely legal to even be drinking.

Taking her finger in his own, he tightened the grip. She smiled up at him, dropped his finger and stood. The least she could do was make it easier on him. Before she could catch a breath he’d hooked one arm underneath her legs and the other cradled her back. Arms looped around his neck on instinct.

She kept her eyes closed the entire time. Typically this wouldn’t be an issue for her, but the shift between drunkenness and being sober had taken a childish control. Truly she couldn’t wait to go to sleep.

“Don’t let go.” His voice grumbled before removing itself from her back. He briskly shuffled through his pocket for the key she’d handed him back at the creek. Before she knew it the cool air hit her and he was asking which room she stayed in.

If she wasn’t in the state she was in she might have thanked him for being gentle as he laid her on the bed. Instead she just smiled up at him, giggling at the entire situation and looking forward to the sleep she was about to be getting.

“Ya good?” Daryl asked, to which Lilah nodded, gazing up at him.

“Sure you don’t want me to take my shirt off?” She pushed her luck one more time. This time was more playful though and they both knew it.

“Ask again when y’re sober.” He walked to the bedroom door and said, “I’ll lock the bottom lock. Key’s on the counter.” With that, he was gone.

Almost.

Before he’d made it out the door, Lilah rolled out of her bed and poked her head out her door.

“Hey.” She called out. His head turned to see what she was on about now.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” Her voice was sincere. A tone he hadn’t heard directed towards him before. “Drive safe Daryl Dixon.” Then she shut her door again.

Daryl thought of her the entire drive back to his place, a piece of him hoping she wasn’t serious about avoiding him from now on.

Chapter 3.

[dentalcaring]

7, 10, 12, and 28 for the courier asks?

ahhh thank you for asking ira!! 💖 this was actually really helpful for fleshing him out more!

7: favorite companions? least favorite companions?

im going to absolutely whiff this one bc i haven't gotten everyone yet and have mostly traveled alone when playing the game 😭 so its all subject to change

he's not really the sort of person to *hate* many people. he probably says he likes all of his companions equally, even if that's not fully accurate.

chip sort of picks up boone by accident, but he appreciates the hired muscle because he's quite rattled after the goodsprings incident. they mutually don't talk much about their pasts and have a very weird, sad, unspoken homoerotic cowboy tension going.

i think he really enjoys raul's company, and likely, he reminds him a bit of his family-- though chip can't remember much in detail about his past. he's probably his favorite, though less for entirely practical reasons and more because he's just really nice to have around.

he'd like lily, too, for the same reasons--she's comforting to have around and finds her situation really relatable (traumatic brain injury 🤝 nightkin mental illness)

his absolute favorites, though, are ED-E and rex, since they don't judge him for much and are pretty lovable.

10: where were they born/raised? when/why did they leave?

chip is from battle mountain, nevada:

and grew up with his mother, aunties, uncles, and grandmother on (former) res lands. they were mostly farmers/ranchers. his father was a caravaneer and visited when he could, though he disappeared sometime in chip's teenage years. not long after, chip decided to leave home to look for his father. in the process, he joined the mojave express to make some money for his travels. he's continued to look for him over the years, though he's been having a difficult time. more on that in a different question, i'm sure ;)

12: how did the bullet affect them?

chip DEFINITELY has a TBI and some personality changes and frequent mood-swings. he also has amnesia to the degree that he can't remember his own name (but he could remember the platinum chip, hence, "chip.") he's usually quite friendly and easy-going with a weirdo sort of charm; though he sometimes has depressive episodes, gets anxious or paranoid, gets overly angry at small things, and has trouble with attention and processing information. he's not very good with hacking computers anymore, for example.

another big change is his becoming very attached to a crow he's named bernard. they met in goodsprings, after bernard came up to his grave site and started pecking his fingers and following him around. he usually sits on his shoulder, hat, or sometimes lets chip hold him in his coat. chip "talks" to bernard often to cope with his stress.

28: how do they feel about killing people? do they try to avoid it?

before being shot, i think he would have objected pretty strongly to killing people and likely only carried a hand-gun on him for emergencies with wildlife.

afterwards, though, his stance is much changed. he can be a bit trigger-happy, though with his (unknowing) charisma, he's generally pretty good at talking himself out of trouble.

[lannisterdaddyissues]

3, 7, 8, 13, 14 and 26 with slimav for the relationship ask thing pretty please <333

AHHHHH SLIMAV NATION RISE UP, WE TELL ONLY THE TRUTH HERE 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️ (also i cant deny u anything cal <3)

3. What's their favorite thing to tease each other about? i think we all know this one but for mav it’s definitely his height. for slider it’s the fact that most people find him extremely intimidating when they first meet him when he is in fact a massive teddy bear

7. What's their most and least favorite thing about each other? OOOOH man ok. for slider, his favorite thing about mav is his personality. he loves that little shit so much. mav’s height comes in a close second (bc slider loves to hold him and pick him up and hug him more than anything 🥺) but mav’s personality wins by a small margin bc he’s so damn funny and just so cool!! that little shit saved their lives!! he saved cougar and merlin!!! slider is his number one fan, defender, and apologist and don’t you forget it

his least favorite thing is, of course, mav’s self-loathing 😔

for mav, his favorite part about slider—if you ask him—is naturally his MASSIVE dick. (but if we’re being serious his favorite part about slider is how warm he is, both in nature and in the way that he runs hot like a space heater at night <3)

also he’d say his least favorite thing about slider is his body odor but recently he’s developed a weird and frankly embarrassing appreciation for it because it’s part of his boyfriend and mav loves all of him. so his actual least favorite part about slider are his toenails which he does not fucking clip. look mav isn’t a paragon of personal hygiene or anything but my brother in christ please have some decency

8. What do they find physically sexiest about each other? mav: the 10 inches of height slider has on him (yeah he loves slider’s big dick but the height comes first). also his hands are like so much bigger than mav’s and yeah that’s hot.

slider: mav’s pretty little mouth >:)

13. How do they express love for each other? Do they have compatible love languages? slider expresses love through physical touch he fucking LOVES hugging his little guy if it was possible to live life while attached to another person at the hip he would do it !!! he loves hugging his boyfriend!!! he also expresses love through quality time i think, one of his favorite pastimes is just lazing on the couch with mav and doing absolutely nothing, just sitting close enough that their arms touch and it’s nice <3 mav expresses love through words of affirmation and acts of service but i think we already knew this… slider never tires of hearing him say “i love you” and he’s always so thrilled when mav does stuff for him to show his love :’)

also obviously their love languages are compatible. they are IN LOVE. get with the program

14. What little things remind them of each other? planes are pretty big so i guess those are out LOL for slider he’s reminded of mav whenever he hears the clicking of people’s boots because they remind him of mav’s cowboy boots 💞 and for mav he’s reminded of slider every time he sees axe body spray 💀

26. How are they with PDA? i mean… it was the 80s so back then? there was no pda to speak of. but in the year of our lord 2020? ohhhhh they’d be so sickeningly cute until slider starts grabbing mav’s ass in front of the daggers like babe please there are children present

[roboticchibitan]

5. teapot you'd buy

(there are so so so many I'd buy but there's a limit to adding pictures, alas)

6. definitely cursed

(i can't tell if the very cursed baby is a real teapot or a drawing, i hope you can tell me)

7. more work than tea is worth

(crab!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

8. you have to pay me to take this hone

Image description below cut due to length.

I am absolutely fascinated by the cowboy bathtub revolver teapot. What a combo! He's got his gun in case anyone jumps him while he's in the bath. No stagecoach robbery while this man's getting clean! Also, I'm pretty sure you're not the only person who's shown me an anatomical heart teapot and been like "I want it."

The first cursed teapot reminds me of one of the bad guys from Farscape. I'm pretty sure the baby pot is not a drawing but it might be AI art, which is against the rules, but you clearly didn't send me AI art on purpose so I'm not going to give you a hard time. The last cursed teapot.... yeah that's really cursed. Very cursed. Cursed indeed. So cursed.

I like both of your "more trouble than the tea is worth" teapots. The grape vine one is pretty, though it looks like it's not meant to be used because who wants to grip that handle? And the crab one is just fun.

Ok so fun fact the lips teapot is actually a Marilyn Monroe teapot from the 70s. I've been sent it multiple times because it is, indeed, very weird and uncomfortably sexual. The M&M teapot is also making a weirdly suggestive face, so I sense a theme here. Also, that M&M's eyebrows are in the wrong place (the lid isn't lined up perfectly}.

Image description:

9 photographs of teapots.

Photograph 1: a red anatomically correct heart teapot.

Photograph 2: A teapot in the shape of a cowboy in the bathtub. The handle and spout of the teapot are molded to look like a revolver. The bathtub is too small for the cowboy to spread out in, so his knees stick out of the water. Bubbles cover his nether bits and a cowboy boot sits on the side of the tub.

Photograph 3: a teapot in the shape of a head in a helmet. The handle is a naked man who is making contact with the head at his hands and one knee, as if he is trying to push the head.

Photograph 4: a silver teapot with a silver baby doll's head and body parts sticking out of it, as if the baby is wearing the teapot as a onesie. This photo is the one that may be AI generated.

Photograph 5: a marbled teapot in the shape of someone sitting in the fetal position. The material of the teapot is flesh colored and the handle is shaped like a spine. The spout is a golden metal tube protruding from the mouth.

Photograph 6: a blue teapot with a handle and lid handle in the shape of a grape vine. Right where the hand would go, a cluster of grapes hangs down.

Photograph 7: a blue and brown teapot in the shape of a crab. The lid is very small and shaped like a fish.

Photograph 8: 1970s Marilyn Monroe teapot, which is a white teapot with a spout that has very plush lips on the end and a mole on the body of the teapot near the spout.

Photograph 9: A tea for one set in the shape of a red M&M that is making a suggestive face.

End ID.

[rivetgoth]

Story time

The other night was like a torrential downpour by LA standards. Just absolutely pouring rain, crazy wind, the car being buffeted on the road, fallen trees. It was also one of our favorite weekly goth nights that we are trying very hard to get off the ground right now so we showed up knowing the turnout would be way lower than usual with the weather. The club itself was actually really nice that night, definitely more lowkey but we spent most of the evening talking and dancing and just hanging out with everyone. When the club ended and everyone got kicked out at ~1:55 or so, it was STILL pouring rain. Jason had managed to park closer than me and Angel so he offered to drive us to our car.

We hung out for awhile talking. All of us were still kinda tipsy so we were sobering up but we also just got into a conversation and I think we kinda just didn’t want to deal with the rain yet too. Since I wasn’t driving I’d done a shot at like 1:40 with a friend so I was kinda fucked up. We started talking about childhood fears. Angel said she was always scared of the TV turning on by itself in the middle of the night. I said I was scared of turning on the light while standing in front of a mirror at night and Jason agreed. Jason said he would try to hide fully under the blanket when he slept as a kid and would practice trying to hold his breath and stay as still as possible so he’d just look like a bundle of blanket so that if someone or something coming into his room it wouldn’t notice him.

Jason was playing Crash Worship’s Phuchi which around the 1:35 mark sounds to me like wet ghosts. We talked about the way certain fears seem so innate, like the fear or your limbs being exposed by hanging off the bed or not being covered by blankets potentially harkening back to being tree dwelling or not wanting to be seen by predators in the jungle or something. But other fears seem almost random, like fear of dolls or fear of televisions. Where do those come from in our psyche? I mentioned that I’m kinda fascinated by the very innate fear of eyes and teeth, smiles, being watched, etc, and how obviously it could stem from something so deeply ingrained about being watched through the foliage in the darkness, how nobody or nothing silently standing in the distance staring straight at you would have good intention, how predator animals have forward facing eyes. Angel mentioned how scared she was of windows as a kid, specifically of seeing a humanoid figure staring at her from a window, and me and Jason both agreed. In my first ever solo bedroom I had a huge sliding glass door that took up almost an entire wall of the room and at night I would try to stay turned fully away from it. I’d see our dogs run past sometimes and wonder where they were going or what they’d seen. Angel said she had a small window near the top of a large door to her bedroom that went to the outside and she would fear seeing eyes peering at her through it, which someone would have to be unnaturally tall to be able to do, like over 7 feet.

Suddenly there’s a loud knock on the front window beside where Jason is sitting in the driver’s seat and Jason jumps really bad, like the kind of "breath catching in your throat" sort of surprise. There is honest to god a face peering in. We’re all kinda shaken as he rolls down the window. We realize there’s two guys standing out there staring at us. I was so drunk I barely remember details but I asked Angel to describe them. Verbatim: “The one was tall, thin, handsome. Could have been a male model tbh. White, sharp pointed nose, clear skin, smiling. He had either a tattoo on his face or on his hand. Weird I can’t remember which one it was. Maybe both? Cowboy hat, shiny black leather jacket. Friendly, conversational, but in a weird politician/frat guy/WASP kind of way. The other guy was shorter, brunette, standing back, less remarkable.” It was easily near 3 AM at this point.

The guy in the cowboy hat asks if Jason is an Uber driver. Jason says he’s not.

“Do you guys know any after hours?” the guy says.

We all say no, we don’t.

“Do you guys WANT to go to an after hours?” the guy asks now.

“No. We’re just talking a little before heading home.” Jason says. Angel adds that we’re all really tired.

The guys seem bummed but don’t press it. Instead they ran down to the end of the street and started getting really rowdy all alone, just hanging out wrestling with each other, whooping and hollering; there were a bunch of potted trees sat in a row and they started shoving them over one by one, screaming as they did, causing this huge thunderous clattering while the rain kept pouring. Jason and Angel and I tried to keep talking for a bit longer but the conversation was kind of dead now, I think all of us were similarly unnerved by how bizarre the situation was and were keen on getting away from these guys.

When we finally got into our car to drive home they were still out there, knocking over the trees one by one. As we turned the corner one of them actually ran into the street after us. It was just so wild. The had such weird vibes, like these super high energy white frat boy tourists who were just running around in the pouring rain in the heart of Downtown LA at 3 in the morning. It felt, no exaggeration, EXACTLY like the opening of a horror movie. I’m not sure if they were the killers, or they die first, but either way someone would definitely die. Genuinely so surreal, couldn’t have imagined a more apt opening scene from the music to the conversation to the atmosphere before everything goes to shit lol. Very Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2.

[notpostingjustperusing]

Everyday for the past year I have sent my sibling a mildly uncomfortable song. I have sent nigh on 300 songs including everything from Weird Al to that one Pink Floyd song that's just dogs barking. I have sent songs about Star Trek, I have sent songs by Star Trek. Stand up comedians trying out singing. Educational songs, alt gothic cowboy ballads, political protest songs, filk. Songs featuring weird instruments. I try to avoid songs that require a music video to be weird.

Frankly, I am running out of songs that I know of.

And so I am calling on you, all 7 of my followers for song recommendations. If you have any songs that made you go 'WTF' or 'ummm....' or just made you sit and process what you just listened to I would gladly take recommendations.