#I DONT READ TO KEEP THE STREAK

[omgeto]

guys I lost my reading streak on my kindle and now im gonna cry

[twinkalicious]

feels very much like armand isn't in love with louis, he's just happy to have sunk his teeth into something, or someone, that lestat covets but can never have

[mishapen-dear]

i know too fucking much about qsmp badboyhalo.

[7lizardsinacoat]

a loose color test wip of a painting im doing of richie from nerdy prudes must die

Edit: Severely hate all the progress ive made since ive posted the color test including the test colors so im redoing 80% of it

[spottedside]

i love my animal crossing villagers actually

[lizzobetumblin]

Melissa hated her feelings. 

She buried them in a chest in the 5th grade (along with her ability to express them). Other peoples' feelings on the other hand was her forte. She could process, decipher and regurgitate other peoples emotions effortlessly. This gift could’ve taken her through college, all the way to a degree in psychology. Distinguished Dr. Jefferson with a PhD and a cozy office and impressive roster of high-profile, weallthy clients was a shiny idea. Fate would have a different hand for Melissa her talents were exhausted on mediating family fights, friend group drama, and charming her way out of confronting her own feelings. 

“Feelings.” Even saying it out loud to herself seemed silly. Something reserved for ‘cry babies’ and water signs. Typical Sunday nights started tame, reading or writing fan-fiction and drinking cranapple juice. And then like clock work her father would yell her name, 

‘MELISSA!!!’ Emotionless, she’d get up dust off her Winnie the Pooh shorts and make her way downstairs. On the long walk down the hall to the stairs leading to the living room brawl, she’d go through her check list: 

1.) Don’t cry.   

 2.) Stay neutral; Deescalate

3.)Don’t take anything personal. This isn’t about you

She padded down the carpeted stairs in her old soft socks to see her mother tightlipped and tear streaked thinking, 

‘she broke rule number 1’. Her father, Michael was proud and angry, his big belly filled with self righteousness. She knew he would be unyielding in his resolve and at this point her only option was to deescalate.

 ‘Rule number 2’. Then her sister the water sign and calamity for the evening sat on the floor nearly fetal, face red and raw with emotion. 

‘Its not your fault’ Melissa wanted to say ‘You just didn’t follow the rules… you’re loved.’ But she couldn’t say that because she’d be breaking rule number 3. It wasn’t about how Melissa felt. Even though she felt like screaming,

“VANESSA, YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. DAD—YOU JUST HAVE PENT UP ANGER BECAUSE YOU GREW UP IN THE HOOD OF DETROIT AS A BLACK MAN IN THE 60s AND 70s. YOU NEED A HEALTHY OUTLET LIKE.. I DONT KNOW… THERAPY?!?!?! THIS IS A WASTE OF ALL OF OUR TIME. I LITERALLY JUST WROTE THE BEST SAILOR SATURN x CHIBI USA FANFICTION EVER AND THIS IS KILLING MY VIBE!”

Instead, she decide to hear every one out. She decided to help. To calm her dragon of a father down. To be a translator for her emotional sister. To not take it personal. To stay neutral. To not cry. 

9 years later, at her fathers funeral she still never broke the rules. She played her flute and spoke at his memorial. She was present for her mother because it wasn’t about her. When other peoples' emotions bubbled up she stayed neutral. She sat through both services and she did not cry. It wasn’t until she excused herself to make a phone call outside did she collapse onto the stairs of the funeral home and weep alone in the cold Detroit snow. 

It’s okay to break the rules sometimes, she reminded herself. As long as no one else sees it.

Traumas began to compact on Melissa, as they do. Humans tend to collect traumas like pebbles on a long hike. We toss them into our backpacks and keep moving forward. Some hikers would falter, but Melissa was built for this. She’d carried the stones of her family’s traumas uphill for years. She was strong. 

When men began to befriend and reject her, saying ‘you’re too good for me’ but not too good to make them feel good. She carried that. 

When childhood friends began to cut off the strings of her heart, saying ‘We can’t be friends anymore’. She carried that.

When her family separated like dandelion seeds, it seemed like they’d never be together again. Melissa slept on so many couches, floors and car seats sometimes she didn’t know if she’d see them again. 

She carried that. 

Dying was never an option though sometimes she didn’t mind the thought of it. Peace and warmth were two things she’d desperately yearned and hadn’t felt fully since the womb. Then one night in the pitch black of the hot, sweaty, roach-infested studio in southeast Houston she slept in she wondered:

‘Why can’t I break the rules?’ She’d seen everyone else in her life break them like popsicle sticks. And she didn’t just want to break the rules, she wanted to break them boldly and loudly and annoyingly and honestly and sloppily like every one else gets to do. It was in that moment, tucked in a thin jacket inside of an 8-foot high instrument cubby in the inky darkness—it hit her. 

‘Is my suffering for a high purpose? Or is my suffering trying to kill me?’ 

She cried. 

She escalated. 

She took it personal. 

But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to scream in a microphone in a sea of shadowy faces. She drank whiskey and wove her pain into rock music. 

‘Music is my boyfriend’ she declared. The only man that kept his baggage to hisself. And it healed her. It gave her voice reason and purpose. 

The pebble-laden hike became lighter with time. The incline eventually evened out to flat, beautiful landscapes where the breeze finally met her back. She knew it wasn’t gonna be easy or sunshine but even the rain cleansed her and it was beautiful too. 

Somewhere in the rain she decided rules were meant to be built and broken. Like trust and love and friendships and families. Because every thing deserves the opportunity to change and grow. 

So... She broke rule number 1 on stage while singing a beautiful song. Dr. Jefferson (PhD) screamed for her to stop but she didn’t listen and the tears flowed like rivers of emotion down her cheeks. 

Rule number 2 was broken when she grew older and saw the injustices of the world. Marching with hundreds in protest she realized not everything needs to be pacified. 

And one day when she finally fell in love, she broke rule number 3. No matter how much training she’d done she couldn't help but take every thing her lover said and did personal. But it was ok. Because in all her resistance she realized breaking rules was her power. 

Melissa began to fall for her feelings. Her feelings gave life purpose. They weren’t always logical, as feelings seldom are. They were sloppy and embarrassing and rude and so fucking uncomfortable. But they were hers. And they were real. And when she sat alone sipping wine, staring at the moon…They were the only ones still by her side. Ready to break the rules for her because they loved her. 

And she finally loved them back. 

[celeste-clearwater-06]

okay, there's a trend that came and went on tiktok a while ago of people reading their lists of modern day things they think characters would have loved if it were in their time. i will never EVER get tired of watching them and those vids heavily inspired this post 😭 (ALSO FIRST WRITING SINCE IVE BEEN BACK LETS GOOOO)

so without further ado...

rip thorin's company, you would have loved... (pt. 1)

thorin

r.i.p. thorin, you would have loved lord huron

rick grimes from the walking dead

wet brushes

google maps

making a secret thirst trap account on tiktok

bilbo

r.i.p. bilbo, you would have loved trader joes

ring doorbells

facebook neighborhood watch

swiffer wet jet

keeping up with the kardashians

gandalf

r.i.p. gandalf you would have loved life360

caines chicken

st. louis city museum

grammarly

child harnesses

fìli

r.i.p. fìli, you would have loved Instagram reels

sad older sibling tiktoks

caseoh

0.5x pictures

hello kitty/sanrio girls

kìli

r.i.p. kìli you would have loved mewing

native hair wash

tiktok

snapchat streaks

photodumping on instagram

dwalin

r.i.p. dwalin you would have loved planet fitness

to catch a predator with jim hansen

the will smith slap drama

dude wipes

teenage mutant ninja turtles

balin

r.i.p.balin you would have loved ibuprofen

turbotax

eBay

low quality inspirational quotes on facebook

air fryers

bofur

r.i.p. bofur you would have loved impractical jokers

the superbowl

cringey minion memes

andy bernard from the office

snoop dog

ori

r.i.p. ori you would have loved minecraft

selling stuff on etsy

aesthetic pinterest boards

the perks of being a wallflower

spotify premium

dori

r.i.p. dori you would have loved five minute crafts

the pioneer woman cookbook

abba

hgtv

temu

(i forgot there's a 10 image limit😞)

lemme know if you guys want a part 2 !! it feels great getting to write whatever i want again!! love you guys so much!! also please send me requests cause i need to get these creative juices back into the flow of things 😭🙏 thank you! 🩷💘💞🌷🌸🌺

tag list : @kumqu4t @tolkien-fantasy @blueberryrock @to-be-frank-i-dont-care @luna-xial @legolaslovely @fizzyxcustard @pistachiozombie @imaginexhobbit @beenovel

[bloodylullaby]

Dont know if you take blurb requests but I wanted to ask for one (no pressure❤)

What about, something like the reader and Noah being together for a couple months and she thinks that he's gonna leave her for whatever reason but Noah 'reassures' her so she can keep calm.

Idk if you like this but do what you please with it❤

Okay, I got overly excited and a little nervous writing this, but I hope this is what you were semi-looking for. If not, I will do it again without hesitation! :) :)

I may or may not have read other blurbs to make sure I was doing this right.

Song

Masterlist

Three glorious months—seemingly a blink in the vast of time, yet profoundly meaningful in the journey you and Noah have navigated. It marks the peak of three years of friendship, a journey paved with shared laughter, countless conversations, and moments of unspoken understanding. Finally reaching the finish line, you both have embarked on a new chapter, intertwining your lives in a bond strengthened by trust, mutual admiration, and a deep-rooted connection. Every day shows the lasting beauty of your relationship and the profound impact of love, which thrives and grows with each passing moment.

Things seemed like they couldn't get more perfect until your first big fight. You posted a picture of you and Noah cuddling up in his bed, and he freaked out a little. He was one for complete privacy regarding the internet, but you wanted to shout your relationship to the world. It was hard for you to understand why he didn’t want pictures of you two posted, and it was even more challenging for you not to take it as personally as you did. You have been holed up in your room blasting "Lover Dearest '' by Marianas Trench for an intense hour, screaming and crying the lyrics to yourself.

You felt like he was going to break up with you sometime in the near future, and it was getting harder and harder for you not to freak out about it. This caused you to slightly distance yourself from him, which wasn’t hard due to him working in the studio a lot lately. Everything seemed reduced to slower texts, fewer calls, and limited visits for several weeks. You knew it was because once Noah had a creative flow, he couldn’t be slowed down, but emotionally, it felt like he was avoiding you because he didn't want you around anymore.

There was a knock on your door, so you slowly got up to answer it. On the other side was Noah, who had a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a big smile on his face. His expression slightly faltered when he saw your tear-streaked face. Confusion crossed his features when he heard the song you were playing. 

“Why are you listening to your break-up song?” He asked. That just pushed you over the edge and made your tears fall again. He grabbed your face with his free hand, wiping away the tears. “Hey…shhhh, it’s okay, baby. What’s going on?” he asked, concern laced in his voice.

“Are you going to break up with me?” You asked through sniffles and hiccups. Avoiding eye contact, you couldn't bear to see his face, knowing it would only deepen your heartbreak.

Seeing the anguish in your eyes, Noah's expression softened with understanding. After setting down the flowers, he gently cupped your face with both hands, coaxing you to look at him. 

"Hey, no, no, baby, I'm not going to break up with you," he reassured you, his voice filled with sincerity. "I love you, okay? I'm here for you."

Feeling relieved, you finally meet his gaze, tears still glistening. With a shaky breath, you leaned into his embrace, comforting yourself with his reassuring presence. Noah held you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively as you let yourself release the pent-up emotions weighing on you. Looking up at him, you both get swept up in the feelings, and he kisses you. At first, it starts slow and gentle, a way for him to show you that he understands your feelings and will be there to take the pain away. Then it starts to turn hungry, showing you his passion for you and that he isn’t going anywhere.

Leading him to your room, you lay on your bed as he climbs over you. The air is thick with anticipation and desire as he leans in to kiss you, his lips tender and warm against yours. As the kiss deepens, you feel a surge of emotion wash over you, the intensity of your connection palpable in every touch.

For the next hour, Noah worships you and every inch of your body, his lips and hands moving with purpose and passion. Each caress declares his love and commitment, reassuring you that he isn't going anywhere. In his embrace, you feel safe and cherished, the worries and doubts of earlier fading into the background as you lose yourself in the moment. Time seems to stand still as you revel in the intimacy and closeness you share, knowing that together, you can weather any storm that comes your way.

[dapper-lil-arts]

So uh. My freelance work here is kind of dying.

I thought i'd keep my long-term followers on the know-how, so i might as well write about my current circumstances here, give y'all an update, so to speak.

So, for several reasons, most of them not even my fault, i've been getting less and less commissions, almost none, actually, and the ones i get are usualy on the cheaper side, which is bad concidering that this is my livelihood, commission money pays my bills, my groceries, and my taxes, and now i sure as hell am strugling to imagine this will sustain me for long. Twitter is a sinking ship ever since elon went over, Specificaly for people like me. I had just broken into 12k followers there, a huge milestone for me, and then i got shadowbanned, and for the last few months i've gotten *nothing*. It's completely dead, i'm stagnated there, all my arts are censored, and there's no way for me to undo it or fix it, and so i've gotten less and less comms out there, which sucks because its the only reason i was even on that stupid site. Here on tumblr, meanwhile, the CEO went on a massive transphobic streak, and a lot of lgbt folk (which composed a lot of my following,) decided to jump ship, and i sure as hell dont blame them, but sadly that's more potential costumers that bailed, and there's no proper website to go to. Anywhere i'd go, i'd be starting from scratch again, which would be utterly disheartening and frustrating, and there no website that is kind to artists, with no algorythim, that also have a messaging system (the latter being ESSENTIAL to the way i do comms) So i'm kind of stuck. I just. have nowhere to go, and nothing to do. And last but not least, my own fault, I've just been drawing and creating what *I* specificaly want, on an hedonistic streak this year. That's why theres so much pony bs on this blog now, and why i was straight up posting poetry a while back, and have written hundreds upon hundreds of fanfiction pages in the last few months; Which, unfortunately, is a terrible business decision if your intent is making money. Which I surely should have prioritized, but in the end, its not up to me, its up to the costumers... So now i'm a bit stuck. I've enjoyed the things ive drawn and written more than anything i've ever done, and yet, i've never been less successful on the actual business side. I'm still considering my venues, my possibilities, but there's not many. Trying to get a job would certainly pull me away from creation, and i'd hate it regardless of what it was, and on another venue, theres no guarantee that going back to furry titties would bring me money.

and that's whats heartbreaking about it too. no matter how much effort i put on my work, theres no guarantee of sucess, so why even spend time trying to craft a masterpiece? why not just follow trends and make a tiktok account or whatever the fuck makes money these days. I'd rather not, frankly. And i wont. Well, that's about it. Thanks for reading this update, that's how my life is goin atm. i'm going to continue doing as i am right now, but yknow... I'm not sure what i should do, if you want to give me suggestions, feel free.

[harry-hollands]

my boyfriend’s boyfriends

(a potential au stemming from ‘who does it better?’)

a part two to ‘who does it better’ but can be read as a stand alone.

part 1

alex turcotte x fem!hockey player reader

*PICTURES ARE FROM TWITTER, INSTAGRAM, AND MY OWN PERSONAL ONES I TOOK (10-28-2023)*

(inspired by faithlynn’s @babydollmarauders series media management and kaylin’s @starsandhughes series penalty box. if you haven’t checked them out, PLEASE DO THEYRE AMAZING)

yourusername

liked by quintonbyfield, _alexturcotte, and 42,752 others

yourusername: on today’s episode of “i had a day off at work and my boyfriend and best friend and son had team bonding today so i was left alone because my other roommates had a game tonight”, i decided that i, was going to support my boyfriend’s boyfriends—i mean roommates!

how generous of me right? i was in the upper bowl to watch the game so no one saw me but as is my job to be a professional nuisance to centers and defenders to keep the lethal flying piece of rubber out of my pretty net, i had to humble them somehow during warm ups.

for those wondering why i’m wearing my boyfriend’s boyfriend #2’s jersey, i lost a bet with him. for those also wondering what the bet was, it was on my boyfriend. i THOUGHT my boyfriend was a sweet person but apparently he took a page out of the enemy of silence’s book (@/trevorzegras) and got TWO penalties last game.

turcs was not impressed as you can imagine, and neither was homewrecker (@/jordanjs224) because apparently “homewreckers need to stick together and that comes with wearing my jersey” idk man im just their roommate that willingly has pieces of rubber shot at me at lethal speeds

despite my works of art, i also included other works of art from the professionals. (im legally obligated to make them look good like 3.8% of the time)

as much as i’d love to say that the boyfriends came out victorious, they did not 🥲

my boys played v*gas and lost in shootout but at least we got a point!

my cutie patootie laffy @/alaf14 (kings’s version, not to be confused with the rags’) SCORED HIS SECOND GOAL OF THE SEASON ON HIS TAYLOR SWIFT BIRTHDAY! you made me so proud 🫶🏼

next up, the infuriating maple leafs; auston matthews, I HAVE BEEF WITH YOU (i will be watching from home because it’s where my job is)

buckle up babes, turcs baby (@/_alexturcotte), my son (@/brandtclarke55), and my best friend (@/francesco.pinelli71) play tomorrow against the baby canucks and i don’t know if i’ll have the right mental state to watch them (i have to im their emergency goalie 🤠)

(ps m*rk st*ne, nicolas hague, brayden mcnabb, and ivan barbashev i hope you all suffer a 10 game losing streak you fucking bitch babies. DONT GO AFTER MY CUTIE PATOOTIE!!!)

tagged quintonbyfield, jordanjs224, lakings, anzekopitar, kevinfiala22, duber18, alaf14

view comments

quintonbyfield: WHY DO YOU HAVE THAT PICTURE OF ME?? HOW—?!

yourusername: @/quintonbyfield oh q baby, it’s all over twitter

quintonbyfield: @/yourusername oh, so you got it from twitter, got it

yourusername: @/quintonbyfield how do you think twitter got it? 🤭🫡

quintonbyfield: @/yourusername YOU LITTLE BI—

jordanjs224: oh my god. i look ATROCIOUS

quintonbyfield: @/jordanjs224 good. suffer.

jordanjs224: @/quintonbyfield alright listen here you little asshole—

_alexturcotte: @/jordanjs224 @/quintonbyfield babes, there’s no need to fight! cant we all just get along?

jordanjs224: @/_alexturcotte shut up, this ain’t about you

_alexturcotte: @/jordanjs224 🥲

quintonbyfield: @/_alexturcotte i would never treat you this way

yourusername: @/_quintonbyfield @/jordanjs224 if y’all are gonna fight, at least do it when y’all get home please? i need some entertainment in my life

francesco.pinelli71: @/yourusername am i not enough for you? 🤨

yourusername: @/francesco.pinelli71 YOU’RE LITERALLY LEAVING FOR COLORADO MONDAY 🤠

fan23: she’s feeding the jordan girlies 🤭

fan55: oh my god?? q?? holy fuck y/n KNOWS what she’s doing taking these photos

alaf14: y/n you didn’t need to threaten them, im okay 😭

yourusername: @/alaf14 you were practically thrown to the ice like a ragdoll and then you got HIGH STICKED and were BLEEDING and you’re telling me you’re “okay”??? dude…

alaf14: @/yourusername it’s hockey it happens. besides, YOU WILLINGLY HAVE PUCKS FLYING AT LETHAL SPEEDS AT YOUR FACE AND YOU STOP THEM WITH YOUR BODY

yourusername: @/alaf14 why are you YELLING?? im making sure everyone knows that if they hurt you that they are on my hit list. i will do what flower did to bedsy and trip them up

alaf14: @/yourusername that’s a sure way you don’t make it in the nhl

yourusername: @/alaf14 i will trip you up if you don’t shut the fuck up

alaf14: @/yourusername YOU’RE DOING GREAT SWEETIE KEEP DOING YOU 🫡

yourusername: @/alaf14 that’s what i thought <33

fan15: wait y/n is their emergency goalie?? how did i not know this information?

yourusername: @/fan15 it’s not widely advertised but im tryna be a big girl in the big leagues 🫶🏼

fan15: @/yourusername OMG THANK YOU

francesco.pinelli71: thank you for humbling them. clarkey and i have been dying of laughter for five minutes and turcs is looking at us like a disappointed father

yourusername: @/francesco.pinelli71 i live to serve, but i think it’s been established that turcs is disappointed father and im eccentric mother

francesco.pinelli71: @/yourusername YOU’RE SO RIGHT

_alexturcotte: @/yourusername @/francesco.pinelli71 i regret introducing the two of you

francesco.pinelli71: @/_alexturcotte i dont !

yourusername: @/_alexturcotte @/francesco.pinelli71 i don’t either!

fan12: y/n’s friendships with alex’s best friends >>>

brandtclarke55: MOM I WANNA BE LIKE YOU WHEN I GROW UP

liked by yourusername, francesco.pinelli71 and _alexturcotte

_alexturcotte: thank you for humbling my boyfriends. they’re not allowed to have their egos inflated.

yourusername: @/_alexturcotte of course, my love! expect nothing less!

quintonbyfield: @/_alexturcotte @/yourusername FUCKING OFFENDED???

jordanjs224: @/quintonbyfield @/_alexturcotte is this what betrayal feels like?

quintonbyfield: @/jordanjs224 fuck you.

jordanjs224: @/quintonbyfield time and place

_alexturcotte: @/quintonbyfield @/jordanjs224 without me?

quintonbyfield: @/_alexturcotte @/jordanjs224 never babygorl

yourusername: @/quintonbyfield @/jordanjs224 @/_alexturcotte 💀

_alexturcotte: i love you, my darling <33

yourusername: @/_alexturcotte i love you more, my love <33

~

a/n: i hope you enjoyed this little installment! i have a halloween one planned and am working on a blurb about worlds!! there will also be hopefully a blurb on turcs introducing her to the boys. I LOVE YOU ALL AND THANK YOU FOR SUPPORTING

as always, reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated 🫶🏼

~soph <33

[gold-rhine]

What characters in genshin would be doms and what they would be like?

ok this is non exhaustive list, dont come at me if i didnt name ur fav

ning, obviously. she doesnt yell "SUBMIT!" at every burst for nothing. ning is a nerd, but shes not humanities nerd, she's a spreadsheet nerd. she designed her own version of chess. she's not gonna do 10 pages backstory for roleplay, she's gonna do like. mechanics challenges instead. shes gonna have custom made weirdly specific toys and gear and make u do obstacles test and chuckle at ur struggles. very big on making subs "earn" smth. u have to deserve her strap. otherwise will make her three girlies fuck u and sit there, watching and smoking her pipe. will leave in the middle if not entertained. sometimes gets in the mood to bottom, like with the shit they pulled that one lantern rite with her saying go tell beidou her reward is waiting ;) she's still in charge tho.

yelan, obviously. bondage, obviously. we all saw the trailer. yelan is for ppl who want to feel controlled 24\7. she knows ur whole browser history. she knows if u touched yourself. she will appear in a locked room and punish u for being bad. will walk her subs on a leash in public and humiliate passersby's who dare to object.

neuvi is overcareful and awkward outside of the scene, but during the scene he has the same naturally commanding presence as at the trials. most of the kink doesn't actually do anything for him, bc he doesn't get human taboos. like he has a line about how its normal for vishaps to drink each others blood, his standards for whats provocative\forbidden is waaay different. so he's both very open minded in some sense and harder to communicate with in others. he can sense human emotions, so he's mostly into this for feeling pleasure of a partner. also i hope u love inherent eroticism of the sea

lisa mostly does the soft mommy thing, but she also has very pronounced sadistic streak and is into punishment, esp electroshock. source: her quest, lightning torture ppl emperor palpatine style for being late with books. ok lisa calm down, keep it in the bedroom

yae miko is in local bdsm clubs harassing most inexperienced dogboys into forcefemming bc raiden left her on read for 10 days in a row

kaeya is a switch, prioritizes being his partner's wish fulfilment, but overall loves prolonged teasing, to take everything out of the sub so that at the end of the session every nerve ending is wrecked and aching and still not enough

honorary mention to zhongli. i dont know him like that, so cant elaborate, but i agree with ppl theres a vibe

chiori had 5 seconds of screen time, but i think she has the vibe too. the doll play, outfits, control, but not in punitive yelan style, but in like. her favorite toy that she likes dressing up and spoiling.

[cowboydisaster]

The Fire In Your Eyes

part III: blackwater ii

originally posted on 1 march 2023

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 10k

summary: disaster strikes while you're working a real estate scam with Arthur and Hosea. A job gone wrong leaves you with two options: flee or die.

a/n: chapter three!!! This is a big chapter, and a very important one! This is our last chapter in blackwater. Reader discretion is advised while reading this. Please look at the warnings and decide for yourself whether or not you want to read. As always, thank you to my beta reader @margowritesthings

warnings: gore, death, animal death, wounds, trauma, mentions of post traumatic stress, reader discretion highly advised.

SERIES MASTERPOST

The camp is quiet tonight, well this morning to be exact. Mostly everyone has gone to bed already. With the ferry job in Blackwater coming up, the gang has been working extra hard, counting for early mornings and earlier nights. The dark blue sky is littered with stars and constellations, and you lean back against the log on the ground to look up at them. They freckle the sky, and you gaze up at them in wonder. You’ve always been amazed by the stars. Your momma used to teach you about the constellations. She would lie on the grass with you, not unlike you are right now, hand intertwined with your own while the other pointed up at the stars. Sometimes your Pa would come out too, sit on the other side of you, sandwiching you between your parents when you were just a girl. Your favorite has always been Lupus, ever since childhood the constellation has stuck with you, watching over you like a guardian angel. The stars string together, making the perfect form of a howling wolf. It takes you a little bit, but after some familiar searching you finally find the collection of stars.

The warm campfire heats you despite the chill of the night, warming your bones and keeping you content even as wind rolls across the plains tousling your hair. You could lay here forever, watching the stars. It's quiet, peaceful. You crave time like this, time to get back to your roots and feel free. As you watch the constellation, you wish that you could throw back your head and howl with it. Your momma always called you her little star, and shit, it's no mystery as to why. You’re aflame, fiery and burning brighter than the sun, your personality shines, you’re bold and beautiful. A silent tear drips down your cheek, and you hastily wipe it away, watching as a white streak shoots across the dark night. A shooting star.

"Hey, momma…" You whisper up at the sky, laughing despite the tears in your eyes. You close them, thinking of a wish to ask  of the star. What do you want? Of anything you could have, what should you wish for?

A throat clears beside you, and you startle, instinctually reaching for the wooden handle of your knife and unsheathing it half way.

"Hold your horses there, dont go pokin' holes in me just yet, I brought you a beer for chrissakes." Arthur chuckles, resting down beside you against the log. You slip your knife back into its sheath, muttering a small apology as you gratefully accept the glass bottle from his extended hand. He's already popped the cap for you, and you press the rim to your lips, savoring the unfortunately warm alcohol. 

"So… ya settling in alright?" Arthur asks, bringing one knee up to rest his elbow on. The firelight dances in his soft eyes, matching the fire in your own as he looks to you under the brim of his hat. He’s wearing a black stand collar shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, and he must have just taken a bath in town. You notice the sweet smell of lavender on him, and his freshly trimmed beard. It makes you release a laugh under your breath, the thought of him using oils in a bath. 

"Yeah.. I think so." You answer honestly, watching the burning logs in front of you. 

"What’s your plan then? Should be well enough on your feet… you- you leavin'? Or-" Arthur looks down to his lap as he asks, not wanting to look into your eyes for fear of seeing your response. You sigh, thinking over what you should do and what you want to do. You don't want to go, not in the slightest, but you should. 

"I don't know… Maybe I'll just stay a little longer. Not like I have anywhere else to go, or any family to go back to." You whisper, setting your beer on the dirt and pulling a few pieces of grass out from the ground to distract yourself from thinking. Arthur nods, bringing the neck of his bottle to his lips and swigging back some while contemplating your words.

Arthur doesn't want you to go, he can't place why- he doesn't want to label why, but he wants you to stay. Arthur knows what staying means, staying means risking your life every day, being on the run every day. It's no life you asked for, it's no life you deserve. He wants you to get away, to live a life with a husband and a family. Not to turn out like him. And at the same time he's so driven to be around you, to talk to you, be with you. It's a dilemma that frequents the pages of his journal. 

"If you're leavin', you'll wanna be long gone before this ferry job comes round." Arthur whispers darkly. 

You know he's right. If you're mixed up with the Van der Linde gang during the ferry robbery you'll never get the price off your head, not alive anyway. 

"Yeah…" You mumble, biting your lip and pulling at the grass. 

Arthur notices the shift in your mood, the uncomfortable feeling that's come over you from thinking about the situation. He wants to comfort you, tell you it'll be okay. But you both know he can't promise that. 

"Ain't no need to rush a decision. Ferry job's a ways out yet. Just think on it." He says, resting his hand on your leg in a show of comfort. Immediately your eyes shoot to his hand, it rests a little above your knee, warm and comforting, a show of support. It's been a long time since someone has cared for you in the way Arthur has. And shit, you barely know him.

"Okay." You smile.

Arthur squeezes your knee gently before placing his hands on the dirt and standing up. He brushes some dirt and grass off his jeans before placing his hands on his belt and looking to you one last time. 

“Think I’m gonna turn in for the night, you?” He asks, grabbing his bottle from the ground.

You could go to bed now, but the stars are so beautiful, and you have a lot to think about. You need to make a decision before the robbery, which is approaching all too quickly. 

“Reckon I’ll stay out just a bit longer…” You whisper, laying down against the log again to look up at the sky. Arthur nods, tipping his hat to you lightly.

“G’night, miss.” He whispers, taking a few steps back before turning and heading towards his tent. He glances back at you a few times before he makes it there, watching as your eyes sparkle, just like the stars you’re watching.

You have nowhere to go, and no means of making money besides whoring. And you will not sell yourself to the sleazy rats that occupy the town. You have no quarrel with the women who choose that path, you understand their limited options in the workforce, but you can’t. And if you do go, you’ll have no one. Your Momma and Pa are gone, you’ve left your hometown on account of lawmen tracking you down, and you’ve lost your damn horse. The only people you have now are those who have welcomed you into the gang: Arthur, Hosea, Abigail, the girls and Jack. 

So you’ll stay.

— — —

You snatch an apple off of Pearson’s table, crunching into it as you make your way over to the table. The fruit is sweet, a perfect breakfast that wakes you up and satisfies your early morning sweet tooth. Well, fairly early. You slept in a bit later than usual, until about 9am, and by the time you'd thrown on your outfit for the day , a white shirt and black pants, it’s about a quarter after. So far no one’s given you trouble for your little slip up, but you expect some hassle from Grimshaw later. 

“Come sit, there's still some room, we saved you a seat so we didn’t have to sit by Uncle!” Jenny hollers from the table across camp. Seated at the little round table are Jenny, Abigail and Marybeth. With a small smile you head over, chuckling as Uncle yells something from his spot on the ground in front of the fire. 

“Mornin’ ladies.” You offer, sitting down at the wooden table and resting your elbows on the top. Marybeth is invested in a book, with a cup of coffee that's sitting on the table. Jenny sits with her boots resting up on the tabletop, sharpening her knife, and you and Abigail share an amused glance at her behavior. 

“We was just talkin’ about how Jenny’s getting pretty serious with Mr. Summers.” Abigail prods, raising her eyebrows a little and nudging you with her elbow. Jenny rolls her eyes, jokingly glaring at Abigail for a second before returning to sharpening her knife.

“And so what if we are? You gonna offer me some advice or somethin, with you bein’ married and all?” Jenny asks, looking across the center of camp to where John is talking with Arthur, Dutch and Hosea. Your eyes linger on the four men for a moment, as their conversation looks heated. Hopefully everythings alright. You’ve noticed the stress levels have been especially high in camp with the ferry coming soon. It's only a few nights away. 

“We ain't married. Well not really anyways, not officially.” Abigail looks downtrodden by the fact, and you try to quickly change the subject to ease her heartache. You’ve seen the tension in their relationship, and heard her quiet cries at night when John sleeps by the fire instead of in their tent. 

“You’re askin’ for marriage advice? Are you two tyin’ the knot?” You ask, to which Jenny quickly shushes you, clamping her hand over your mouth with wide eyes. Marybeth has shifted interest from her book to your conversation, fully leaning in with a big smile. 

“Have you talked about it? My lord- marriage, what a dream!” Marybeth beams, leaning in towards the table with hopeful eyes. 

“We did,” Jenny releases her hand from your mouth with a chuckle. She's blushing and you couldn’t be happier for her. “After this ferry robbery we’re heading down to Tumbleweed. There’s a minister down there who agreed to do it, he’s a rather progressive fella, doesn’t know about our career choice, of course. God, we’re gonna be married.” 

Marybeth squeals at Jenny's admission, jumping out of her seat to engulf the blonde girl in a hug. You and Abigail share a glance, giggling at the girls. Jenny deserves marriage. It’s not something you’d imagined that she would see value in, but you can see the joy in her eyes. The way she looks at him, like he’s her whole world. Love isn’t something you’ve thought much about. You’ve always figured that if it happened, it happened. You’ve never sought it out, you’ve always been too busy surviving to worry about it. But what Jenny and Lenny have, you admire. 

Amidst the quiet celebrations, a throat clears itself. You’d missed the approaching footsteps of Arthur, but you now turn to find him standing by your chair. 

“Ladies,” Arthur greets, dipping his head lightly before turning his attention to you. The girls’ chatter quiets down to hushed whispers and giggles as Arthur buckles his gun belt over his waist while addressing you. 

“Ride wit’ me?” He asks, a hair falling down into his face as he clasps the golden buckle.  Arthur hasn’t asked you on a job with him since you’ve arrived. In fact, you haven’t left except to run errands since he’d brought you back just a few days ago. Your brows knit together as you sip at your coffee, setting it down on the table before standing up. 

“Uh, sure, what’re we doin’?” You ask. 

Arthur begins walking towards the hitching posts of camp, rolling his sleeves up in the warm sun. You follow after him, grabbing your hat from its nail in your tent on the way out and following him to the horses. As you approach the hitching posts, you watch as Arthur runs a brush over his mare, getting her coat in pristine condition and offering her little treats as he talks.

“Hosea and I’ve been cookin’ up this little real estate scam. Could use another person, and I dont trust many of these fools.” Arthur glances around the camp, eyeing Micah and Bill in particular, both have purple bruises blossoming along their cheeks from your fists, and Arthur chuckles for it.

“Just gotta keep this feller tied up for a while so Hosea can work his magic, I’ll explain on the way, c’mon.” 

Arthur pulls two cigarettes out of his satchel, offering one out to you, which you gratefully take. As you grab the premium roll, your hand brushes lightly against his own, and you blush, noticing the warmth, and the sheen of sweat to his forearms, 

“...Sorry.” You mumble, not understanding your flustered state. Arthur only chuckles at your blush, leaning down to strike a match against the bottom of his boot. 

“Here.” He whispers, and you place the cigarette between your lips, leaning in towards his match. The end of your smoke catches and you inhale the tobacco, relishing in the subtle ease of your anxieties. 

“Thanks.” 

Arthur tosses the spent match onto the ground, stepping onto it for good measure before grabbing the saddle horn and hoisting himself onto Boadicea. Following his lead, you pat your unnamed buckskin before climbing up onto him. You miss your horse, the bond you shared, and you notice the way Arthur adjusts himself in his seat, taking any extra tension off the mare’s back. He keeps his reins loose, and his hands steady, giving the mare her head in a show of trust. As you both pick up a trot heading away from camp and towards Blackwater, you listen to the quiet affirmations that he whispers to Boadicea, the flies that he swats away from her ears and neck. He really loves his horse. Your heart warms at the sight. 

“So this job…” You start, hoping to gain some insight on what the plan is. Arthur had mentioned real estate. You had seen in the paper that there’s a run down shack for sale with a decent bit of land, but you can’t imagine that this scam has anything to do with it. It’s called Beecher’s…. Something. But it’s run down and the ground is full of rocks. Only an idiot would ever use it for farmland, assuming that's what this is about. Arthur turns his head a little to the side in order to yell to you as you canter from Tall Trees towards the town. 

“Yeah, there's a piece of land for sale round here called Beecher’s hope,” ah, Beecher’s Hope, that's it, “It’s goin’ up for auction. There's an oil man nearby who wants the rights to the land for a rig, but he don’t wanna pay full price for it. His names’ Cornwall. Now we ain’t actually met him, he just sends his errand boys out, but the money is good.” Arthur yells over the sound of pounding hooves. 

“Okay, what’s that got to do with us? Could you explain this a little more before you drag me into town without a goddamn plan?!” You yell, pushing the buckskin faster to catch up with Boadicea. 

“Calm yourself, woman. I got a plan. There’s another feller that wants the land just as bad as Cornwall, apparently he's in town just waitin’ to bid on this place. He’s Gavin Clifton, never heard of him, but Hosea says he’s big business out west, a direct competitor to Cornwall.”

“Okay? I'm still waitin’ to hear our part in this...” You say, more confused than you were two minutes ago. 

“Cornwalls payin’ us to find Mr. Clifton and keep him from getting to this auction. It’s a win-win. We get paid, Cornwall gets his land and everyone goes home happy.”

“Except for Gavin Clifton.” You joke. 

“Yeah, well at least he’ll be alive. He’s holed up in the saloon, been spending the night there while in town. We go in with masks, just hold him in his room till it's over, in and out.”

“Okay, can do.” You quip, slowing the buckskin to a trot as you head into town. They’ve fixed Blackwater up in the past few years, replacing dirt roads with pavers, and started putting up a town hall. Although the fresh coats of paint and hooves clicking against the road is nice, you miss the simplicity of how it used to be. They’ve brought electricity to Blackwater, and it's becoming far too ‘city-like’ for your tastes.

“Saloons’ right up here. Have your mask ready. We don’t wanna alarm anyone so we slip them up right before we get to his door.” 

You mentally smack yourself for not realizing it until now, but you pat your satchel and remember that your best robbing neckerchief is tucked away right on your bedside table in camp. You curse under your breath as Arthur pulls Boadicea up to one of the iron hitching posts and tosses her reins over the keeper. 

“Arthur-” You somewhat whisper, jumping down from the buckskin, not even hitching it and jogging after the outlaw. You grip his bicep in order to get him to face you. It’s not exactly a conversation you wanna yell out for everyone to hear. When he turns around, his eyes scan over you, as if he’s expecting an injury.

“I don’t have anythin’ to cover my face with.” You whisper, letting go of his arm, and letting your own fall to rest on your belt buckle. 

“And here I thought you was a bigshot outlaw, miss?” Arthur jokes, immediately placating you when your face falls into a scowl. You can’t hold your frown for long, as Arthur’s smile causes your own to slip free, but you still swat him on the chest for the blow. 

“I ain’t nothin’ of the sort, now give me somethin’, please.” 

He flips up the leather flap to his satchel, reaching in and pulling out a plain black neck slip. You’re about to take it from his hand, but instead he lifts it up, carefully removing your hat. His finger brushes against your cheek as he brushes a stray hair behind your ear, before he carefully slides the neckerchief mask down over your head. He straightens the cloth so that it rests between your collarbones before he gently places your hat back on your head. You blush, unsure of why it felt so intimate.

“W-what was that?” You ask, readjusting your hat a little as Arthur rests another cigarette between his lips. 

“Nothin, just gettin ya fixed up is all.” Arthur says, striking a match against the brick wall of the saloon before lighting his smoke. His relaxed eyebrows and inattentiveness to your shock prove that to him, that move was normal. You’re not used to being around gentlemen, let alone gentlemen that are also masked killers. It throws you for a loop, and you’re left reeling as he pushes the door open to the saloon. The glass swings back shut in your face. What in the hell has gotten into him? You settle your nerves for a few seconds before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

 The Blackwater Saloon, much like the rest of the town, resembles a wannabe city. The walls facing the road are made of glass, with gold printed words advertising the place, and the inside is fashioned with nice, sit-down tables and a room length bar. A few patrons sit around, some drunkards who are using the afternoon as an opportunity to get wasted, others who have stopped by for a decent meal. The poker table sits unused, chips lying around with no one to bet them, a shame, you think. You could make good use of those chips, outplaying every man in the bar, you’re sure. 

You find Arthur, once again, leaning on the bar, just like in Tumbleweed just a week or so ago. This time he has no drink in hand, instead he’s chatting with the bartender, discussing the rental of a room. You step around the round tables, spurs clicking against the wooden floor as you make your way next to him at the bar. 

“You got any real nice rooms? Big ones that someone might rent out for a week or so?” Arthur asks, subtly inquiring about Gavin Clifton’s whereabouts. Arthur doesn’t want to barge in on the wrong room, he needs to know exactly where Clifton is, and he’d be staying in a suite of course. Nothing but the best for a big oil man. 

The bartender, a tall, skinny feller with light blonde hair and a mustache the size of Texas, puts down a few glasses that he had been wiping down. The glass clinks against the freshly waxed wooden bar as he  puts them down, focusing on Arthur.

“Yeah, we got one. Real nice room, I’m afraid it's taken for the time being.” The bartender squints, eyeing Arthur up and down, focusing on the revolvers that hang from Arthur’s hips. Arthur is well dressed, and it's clear to anyone that he doesn’t work an honest job. The bartender gestures his hand at Arthur before picking up another wet glass and drying it down with his pearly white towel. 

“Well whatchu need it for? If you’re lookin’ to pay for a woman there’s other rooms. There’s a girl works here often, and damn she's got a fine way of-” ‘

The bartender’s nasty grin is cut off as you reach across the bar, grabbing the man by the collar and pushing his head down against the bar with a slam.

“Just shut the hell up and tell us which room it is.” You growl into the ear that's not smashed against the wood. The bartender raises his hands as much as he can in the position, whimpering for release from your small, yet mighty fists.

“Room two-B, now please, Miss!” The bartender cries, and immediately you release your grip. He springs back up with wide eyes, glancing between you and Arthur as he rubs at the new ache in his neck. He points a finger at Arthur, looking shocked and afraid. 

“Y-You better learn to control your wife mister!” The bartender yells. 

You’re surprised to watch as Arthur’s smirk falls into a deadly glare. It’s threatening, scary if you didn’t know him. He takes a step towards the bar, and the tender steps back. 

“You best watch your tongue, boy. I hear you talkin’ about any woman like that again I’ll put you in the ground.” Arthur growls. Even you are thrown off at this point. The bartender has the fear of god in his eyes as he nods coyly at Arthur. Gone is his earlier confidence and nonchalance, replaced by pure terror at Arthur’s threatening stance. 

Without another word, Arthur heads in the direction of the stairs. You’re once again left reeling and catching up to him.

“Hey, you okay?” You whisper, jogging up the steps behind him. 

“Yeah, just can’t stand fellers like that one. Goddamn fool.” He says, passing a few women for hire as he climbs the staircase with you. Trying to make light of the situation, you nudge Arthur with your elbow, chastising him lightly. 

“All these women here, I’m surprised you didn’t take his offer.” 

Arthur apparently doesn’t find your joke funny. He’s in such a sour mood today, and everything feels off as he turns a little to address you. 

“Just cause I run with a bunch of degenerates don’t mean I’m one too. I ain’t never bought a woman, never seen a woman as something to be bought.” Arthur hisses, irritated as he walks up the rest of the stairs without you. You sigh, shaking your head a little as you follow after him, leaving some distance between the two of you. 

As you reach the top, sliding your hand along the wooden railing that overlooks the bar down below, you pull your mask over your nose in time with Arthur. He approaches the door, labeled “2B” in fancy gold lettering.

“Mr. Clifton?” Arthur hollers, lightly knocking on the door. His other hand rests on the grip of his revolver, just in case. 

“Uh, yes? Is this about the mouse? Please I told them I’d pay extra if you’d get this vermin out of my room. I paid good money for this place and I will not tolerate rodents.” The accent that reaches your ears through the doors is one of European descent. A British man, you assume, come to make his fortune in the West. Well, it worked. He struck oil, as they say. Arthur turns and glances to you with a hilarious look on his face of confusion, on account of the mouse dilemma, you assume.

“Yeah, we’re here about the goddamn mouse, now open up.” Arthur says, patience clearly growing thin with the man. 

You can hear the room’s lock click before the door slowly opens, just a crack. Arthur pushes his hand against the wood, forcing the door open with a slam. 

“Gavin! Good to meet you. Now me, you and the lady, we’re just gonna have a little chat the rest of the evening. Just until about..” Arthur stops, pulling out his golden pocket watch, not the platinum that rests on your nightstand from Tumbleweed, “what do you say? Eight o clock? That sound good, mister?”

Arthur’s acting is on point, threatening the man without ever speaking a word of violence. From an outside perspective it sounds like he’s just talking to an old friend. It’s played up and sarcastic, but hell, it's effective. The room is big, with a large red comforted bed in the middle of the room. Opposite of the bed is a set of glass doors, now covered with curtains, but if pulled back there’s a balcony overlooking the docks. The room has a small counter with various expensive liquors and a yellow sofa with an ottoman.

Clifton is a short, chubby man with little glasses resting over his beady eyes. His outfit is expensive, and his hair, what's left of it, is neatly combed to the side. He stumbles back, completely flustered, confused and afraid. The backs of his knees hit the king sized bed that rests in the center of the room, and he sits in exasperation on the mattress. 

“I- I have someplace to be! I have to be at an auction in just thirty minutes! Listen, whatever you yokels want I can get you, but if you kill me, you’ll never escape the bounty hunters.”

Arthur chuckles at this, pulling his lasso out of his satchel and stretching the rope a little to check its tightness. You watch as he moves to the bed, tying Cliftons hands behind his back. 

“Well y’know, I’ve been running from bounty hunters my whole life and they ain’t got me yet. But don’t you worry, I ain’t gonna kill ya. Unless I have to… am I gonna have to? Mr. Clifton? Arthur asks, once again playing up his charisma for the benefit of the job. Clifton shakes his head rapidly, sweating in fear as he looks between you and Arthur. 

“No! No, you’re not going to-” 

Clifton thumps against the bed as Arthur knocks him out with the butt of his pistol. His arm is so fast, you barely noticed it until Clifton was knocked out cold. Arthur holsters his gun, and you can see as his charismatic facade falls away. Gone is the witty, threatening, sarcastic outlaw, and returned to you is Arthur. He turns to you slowly, pulling his mask down around his neck. 

“He ain’t wakin’ up for a bit. We can just wait here until Hosea gives us the go ahead. He’s gonna ride by when the auctions done, whistle up to the deck,” Arthur nods in the direction of the glass doors before walking over to it and opening it.. “I’ll leave one open so we can hear when he comes by, should be over just after dark. Once Cornwall has that property he’s gonna send us the money in the mail.”

You nod, glancing at Clifton’s unconscious body once more before sliding down the wall to rest on the wooden floor. After Arthur fixes the door, he comes over to your spot. He sits down against the wall beside you, careful not to poke you with his spurs as he does so. 

“Here.” 

Arthur pulls a little burlap sack out of his satchel and hands it out to you. Curiously, you peek inside of it. To your surprise, it's almonds, and you reach down into the sack to pull a few of the sweet nuts out. Arthur does the same, and for a few minutes you sit in silence, chewing on your snack and watching the waves on the lake through the open door. Watching the water piques your interest, and the question bubbles up before you’ve even thought about it. 

“When’s the ferry supposed to come anyways?” You say somewhat quietly, as if your voice could break the serenity of the afternoon. The sun is just beginning to dip below the lake, casting the town, and Arthur in a beautiful golden halo. You find yourself staring, wondering if it’s the golden light that is making Arthur look so handsome right now, or if it’s just him. With a blush, you shake the thought out of your head. Arthur brings his fist to his mouth, dropping a few almonds into it before answering your question. 

“About three days, I think. But ferries can be unpredictable. We’ve got one of our men, Javier, set up in a camp nearby watching for it. If he sees it, he comes and gets the rest.” Your eyebrows pull together as you try to recall Javier from camp, and you deduce that you haven’t met this particular man yet. Arthur’s demeanor shifts,  you see the slouch in his shoulders, and the downcast look of his face. Slowly, he brings his eyes up to yours. 

“You leavin’ before then?” Arthur asks almost sheepishly, as if he’s afraid of your answer. 

You look down at your feet, watching the golden light reflect on your spurs.You don't even have to think about it. Earlier, you’d already decided to stay, but you can feel your reasoning change. Leaving the gang would not only leave you on the streets, it would leave you without family, and as you look up to meet Arthur’s gaze, you realize that you can't lose them- you can't lose him.

You’re terrified by what it means, and you shove the emotion deep down to answer his question. 

“No… where would I go? You lot are all I have now. Jenny, Lenny, Abigail and the girls, John, Jack, you.”

Arthur brings his right knee up, digging his heel into the wood floor as he rests the back of his head against the wall. 

"You know what you're gettin' yourself into then…?" Arthur whispers. You chuckle a bit, thinking of the gang. So far from who you've met, they're some of the kindest folks you've ever known. 

"Arthur, I was a wanted woman long before I met you." You remind him. 

"I know, but it's- it's different. We're a target. And sometimes we gotta do things that-" Arthur pauses, thinking over his words for a moment, "I just don't want you gettin' mixed up with us and then regrettin' it." 

"Arthur, I won't regret it. Now if I went off on my own, gettin' taken advantage of and selling myself, instead of staying here with you lot? I'd regret that for the rest of my days."  You counter, watching the gentle lapping of water at the bank of the river, and the kids that are kicking a ball around the deck. It's not that Arthur wants you to leave, he wants you to stay but he knows this life. He knows the pain of loss and fear and grief that running with them will grant you. If you stay and plan on running with the men, you'll have to kill. There will come a time when it's someone else's life or yours and by god he can't have you out if you're not ready to make that decision. 

"The man you killed- why you're wanted. Tell me what happened." Arthur asks. At the mention you look down to your hands. 

"Well my momma was real sick, she died when I was about fifteen. And then it was just me and Pa." You chuckle lightly, "and my daddy, well he didn't know anything about teenage girls." 

Arthur laughs at the thought, surely you were a handful as a teenager. 

"And he tried, he tried so hard to raise me good, but after momma he just couldn't. He drank. God- Arthur he drank so much that if he weren't killed he would surely be dead by now." A few tears fall down your cheeks and you hastily wipe them away, not wanting to be seen crying. 

"And he spent all our money on liquor. Brandy was his preferred poison, but once he ran out of money he drank anything he could get his hands on. He was different. He was meaner and nasty, but deep down inside I knew he was just my daddy, and he was hurtin' just as much as I was." 

Arthur watches the few tears that drip down your nose, and his heart breaks for you. He knows the feeling all too well, unfortunately. 

"He started takin' out loans, and after the bank wouldn't give him any more he started goin' to loan sharks. Nasty men came by the house all the time, givin' and takin' money. They took all mommas jewelry, they took my things…" 

Arthur's full attention is on you as you toy with a wrinkle on your jeans, distracting your body from the turmoil in your mind. 

"And one day we had nothin' left to give. He gave it all away. And so this man came in, busted the door down and beat my Pa, right in front of me Arthur, like I wasn't even there to see. He wasn't movin' and I tried to get him up, I tried so hard, but he was gone." 

The tears flow freely down your cheeks, and you don't try to stop them this time, letting them silently trail down your face as you recall the nightmare of a time. 

"I knew how to track, and I took my daddy's gun that he had hidden away. I followed the man's horse, till I came up on a little camp that he must have just set up for one or two nights… and I- I killed him." 

Arthur doesn't move a muscle, fixating on the pain on your face and wishing that he could take it from you. But the hurt runs deep, it won't go away, not ever, and he knows from experience. 

"After it was done I found a note in his pocket… My daddy's debt was fifteen dollars. Just fifteen goddamn dollars for his life. I would have done anything to have had that money." 

Arthur leans over, and much to your surprise, he envelops you in a hug. You tense up for a second, unsure, but instinct takes over and you melt into his touch. His arms are strong around you, respectful of course, as Arthur is nothing short of a gentleman. And as you shed quiet tears into his shirt you let out a held in breath. You needed this. It's been far too long since you've been embraced by another. You wrap your arms around Arthur's torso, sniffling lightly. You feel so small in his arms, wholly covered and protected by him. You’ve been watching out for yourself for so long, it feels nice to have someone to watch your back.

"I'm real sorry, I know how this-"

Arthur stops and tenses at the sound of whistles. Carefully he lets you go, and rushes towards the open door, placing his back against the wall so that he can peek outside without being seen. You follow his lead, glancing out and gasping at the sight. A large ferry is pulling alongside the docks, huge and white with shimmering gold rails in the streetlights. You can make out a few silhouettes of people along the docks, and you wonder if Javier has already alerted the gang of its arrival. 

“Ferry’s here folks!” You hear a man call out from the dock, to which some claps and cheers sound out. The ferry is full of rich passengers, who’s pockets will soon be left empty thanks to the Van Der Linde Gang. 

“Arthur, what do we do? Are they down there?” You ask, anxiety causing your heart to beat quickly as you scan the dock in search of familiar faces. He is doing the same, and you glance over, not missing the worry on his face. When he feels your eyes on him he attempts to comfort you with a small smile.

“It’ll be just fine. They’ve got this.” He whispers, but you can see that it’s a facade, you know he’s worried.

You both watch out the door for a while, a few passengers have started to straggle off the boat, and then you hear the first gunshot. Gasps and shrieks of fear from the boat cause your stomach to turn, and your knuckles turn white from the tension. You need to do something. Your friends are down there and you have a bad feeling about the whole situation. A few moments after the warning shot is fired, lawmen’s whistles begin to go off, and you watch as men with shiny gold deputy stars on their chests run onto the docks. 

“Arthur I gotta go do something, we can’t just stay up here.” You plead, and he purses his lips as if greatly thinking over his options. 

Arthur kneels down against the door, staying out of the way of any wandering eyes from the street and dock down below. 

“Okay someone’s gotta warn Hosea. You know where the property is. Take Bo, she's faster than your buckskin. I'm gonna head back to camp and warn the others. They gotta start packin’, if this goes south we gotta get outta here fast.” He says, glancing to where Clifton is still knocked out on the bed. 

“And him?” You ask, gesturing to the oil man. 

“We leave him here, ropes ain’t tight he can get himself free when he wakes up. We got bigger 

problems right now. Let’s go.” 

With that he stands up, and moves to the door. You both rush down the steps, attempting not to look suspicious despite the rushed walk. The bar holds more patrons than it did earlier, and you can slip out easily enough by walking between the crowd of people. Arthur pushes the saloon door open ahead of you, holding it until you’re out before running to the hitching posts. 

“Keep your head down, ride fast, and be careful. Don’t get hurt, alright?” Arthur asks before jumping onto the Buckskin and spurring him towards camp. You watch the dust that the horse kicks up before moving your attention to the docks. There’s a few lawmen on the docks, guns aimed at the ferry. They haven't shot yet, not wanting to miss and kill the passengers who are being robbed inside.

You’re frozen in a state of shock, as a shot goes off from inside the boat, and the front half of the ferry explodes into a fury of flames. You gasp, stepping backwards towards Boadicea, who you should be on and far away with right now, but you can’t force your muscles to move. There's so much yelling coming from the boat, and fiery pieces of  debris fall down into the water, sizzling and steaming. Flames erupt over the front of the boat, along with fearful screams. The noise and sight of the explosion has spooked all of the horses nearby, and you watch as a few of the gang members' horses that were hitched on the dock run away. 

“Shit, Shit, Shit.” You curse, knowing that you have to help them. Hosea is safe where he is, but who knows how bad the explosion was? You glance to Boadicea, petting her neck lightly. 

“I'll be right back girl.” You promise before running towards the ferry. Your heart pounds in your ears as adrenaline pumps through your veins. There’s a handful of lawmen on the deck, and you sneak behind stacked crates to avoid them, pulling your revolver out of its holster just in case. In the windows of the ferry you see Dutch and Micah approaching the door, along with a man you presume to be Javier. 

“They’re coming out, shoot to kill! The detectives should be here soon!” One of the lawmen, presumably the sheriff yells, and you stumble backwards at his statement, head going dizzy from all of it. 

The detectives? 

Dutch bursts the ferry door open, guns raised as he fires. There's a saddle bag hanging off of his shoulders, stuffed to the brim with cash and gold. Your eyes boggle at the thought of how much must be in it. Three lawmen go down from his shots, giving you the opportunity to run to the boat. You break for it, ducking from the haze of bullets and heading straight for the edge of the dock. 

“We are getting out of here!” Dutch yells out, silencing a few more yelling lawmen with his guns. 

You run past Dutch, through the door of the ferry and gasp at the sight. Many of the passengers are dead, both from the explosion and the guns of the Van Der Lindes. Your jaw falls slack and you look up in disgust at a chuckling Micah. He also has a full saddlebag over his shoulder, and a sickening grin on his face. 

“Oh we’re just gettin’ started missy.” He chuckles, and you recoil at the sound. There’s a small group of passengers still in their seats, trembling in fear and ducking down. It makes you sick to see what they’ve done and for a moment you deeply regret coming back to help.

Javier follows Micah out of the door silently, and then you see Charles and Jenny, struggling with a body. Charles is groaning with pain, and you notice the bloody burn that covers his hand before you recognize the body he’s helping to carry.

“Oh my god.” You whisper, hands clasped over your mouth as they struggle to carry Davey out of the boat. 

“We need to get out of here, right now Dutch!” Charles growls, angry, challenging Dutch’s decisions. 

“Clearly!” Dutch yells, shooting down the last of the lawmen before making a run for the horses. You do the same, running to the saloon’s hitching post and grabbing Boadicea’s reins before jumping into the saddle. You grimace at the sound of Charles throwing Davey onto Micah’s horse. 

“Where’s Sean? Mac?” Javier calls out, jumping onto Boaz. 

“I don’t know, son, but we will come back for them.” Dutch hollers out. 

Just as you’re about to spur Arthur’s mare, you hear the sound of pounding hooves. It's like a war chant, the rumbling of hooves slamming down the roads towards town. The ground shakes with their power and you canter towards the other gang members, terrified. 

“They got the goddamn Pinkertons on us! Bastards!” Dutch practically screams, looking feral and as if any form of rationality has left him. You don’t even recognize him, and you try to ignore the blood that is staining his hands and once white shirt. You don’t know what happened on that ferry before you made it down, but it was something awful.

Everyone, including you, pulls out their weapons and starts firing. You watch a swarm of men in black suits gallop down the slope from the plains, brandishing carbines. 

“Look at me, we’ll be okay honey. You stick with me, alright?” Jenny calls to you, and you nod your head, leaning off of Bo for a moment to squeeze Jenny’s hand. When she releases, you pull your revolvers out and start firing at the swarm. 

Pinkertons fall, alongside their horses. Your stomach aches, your head is pounding from the adrenaline and the trauma. As everyone shoots, a hole opens up and you all spur your horses to break for camp. 

“Everyone get goin’ now! Leave none of them breathing!” Dutch screams over the shots. 

Shots continue to ring out as you push Boadicea past the church and towards home. You try not to think, kissing and begging the mare to keep running as you turn to take down as many Pinkertons as you can. You aim, taking down three men quickly. Their horses continue running, as if oblivious to their riders' deaths. 

Jenny is galloping her horse beside you, and she curses as she fires the last round from her revolver. 

“Goddamnit!” She yells, and you try to hold off the detectives as much as you can while she reloads. 

Another shot rings out, just like the hundreds that are being thrown across the plains, but this one doesn’t miss. Warm, crimson blood splatters across your face and you gasp, watching as Jenny’s limp body slides down to the ground off of her horse, 

“NO!” You shriek, sliding Boadicea into a stop and leaping down from her. 

“Jenny- no, no, no… you’re okay, you’re alright.” You coo, pushing your hands over the wound in her chest. Tears fall from your eyes, landing on her body that is growing colder by the second. She weakly grabs your hand, looking up to you with teary eyes while shaking her head in protest. Bullets are whizzing above your head as you lean over your friend, begging a higher power to stop this nightmare.

“Get back please- don’t… don’t stay out here. Please get back, please tell,” Jenny chokes on a sob, red coughing up from her lips, “Please tell Lenny how much I love him.”

You nod, tears dripping from your eyes as the shots quiet. The Pinkertons have all been killed, and the gang stands around on sweating, steaming horses in shock. Everyone’s eyes are on you and Jenny in horror. Jenny’s grip on your hand grows weaker by the second, until it slips away from your own entirely. Your breath hitches as you look up to find her eyes glassy and unmoving, her chest has stopped rising. Everything is still, and you sob, shaking her shoulders and begging her to get back up. Her long blonde hair falls around her head, turning crimson from the blood that is soaked onto your hands. It’s everywhere, everything, all you see is red.

“No… no, Jenny p-please, we have to go please get up. No- no, no!” You scream into the wretched night, leaning your forehead against her arm and crying. You don’t even care that the gang is watching, your only concern is your friend. The once giggling girl who’s carefree, bubbly attitude shone around her like a halo. She was good, and now she's gone.

“Oh not sweet Jenny too… Goddamnit! Put her on your horse, we have to go right now!” Dutch yells, and you look at him with pure hatred. This is his fault, and you hate him with a burning passion at the moment, but you know he’s right, you have to go.

“I can’t- I’m not-” You cry, and Javier notices, jumping down from Boaz. He picks up Jenny carefully, and your eyes follow after him as he puts her body on the back of his horse, like she's a bounty, or a damn hunted animal. Everyone begins galloping back, save for you and Charles. He’s noticed that you’re frozen in shock in the dirt, and he won’t leave you here. You’ve not seen much of him, but if Arthur trusts him, then so do you. You’re frozen on your knees, and Charles slides down from Taima, beckoning you to leave with him from a few feet away. Boadicea is still standing at your back, seemingly uneasy and afraid.  Her tail swishes, and her ears are pinned from fear and frustration, as if she wants to help you, wants to get you out of here.

“Hey, I know this is hard, but we need to get out of here, c’mon.” Charles insists, voice calm even in the chaos. You nod quietly, finally standing up and moving towards Boadicea. You pet her neck, wiping your tears before gripping onto the saddle horn. 

“O-okay” you whisper, numbly. 

A shot rips through the once quiet night, landing at your feet and you whip around to see one last Pinkerton hiding behind a lonely oak tree on the plain. 

“Shit!” You curse, pulling out your revolver and taking aim. He’s in a spot that’s hard to aim at. His position behind the tree is perfect for him to pop in and out, firing shots without taking any.

You squeeze the trigger and the bullet whizzes past his head. The finely dressed man pops out from the tree, quickly shooting his weapon. 

You gasp as a searing, burning pain shoots through your thigh. The force causes you to stumble backwards and fall onto your butt, and you grip at the shooting pain. Boadicea steps forward, putting her nose to the ground to nudge at you, as if checking if you’re alright. You cry out, pushing down on the wound to stop the blood that is gushing from it. Unbeknownst to you, the Pinkerton still has his sights on your head. Charles aims, shoots, and kills the Pinkerton…but he is a split second too late. 

A squeal reaches your ears, and a loud boom as Boadicea rears, and then falls to the ground at your side. 

“NO, no no. Please, not you too. No-” You sob, crawling over to her and ignoring the scorching, shredding pain in your thigh as you lean over the mare’s neck. 

You pet her, watching her eyes grow weary and her breaths get weaker. Her legs kick out lightly, of course she’s still putting up a fight, even in death. Her chestnut coat is turning dark with blood, seeping from her neck and pooling on the ground. Your hands are the same shade of crimson, alongside your shirt and pants. Whether it’s your own, Jenny’s or Bo’s, you’re not sure. You stroke her neck, pulling the bit out of her mouth and sliding her bridle off amidst broken, strangled sobs. You’ve lost too much today. Not her too. Charles steps over, revolver in hand with one last bullet in the gun’s barrel. You know what has to be done, but god, you can’t watch, and you're not strong enough to do it yourself.

Charles' hand rests on your shoulder, and you whimper, turning your head around and covering your ears to soften the shot that will surely ring out in a moment. You squint your eyes shut, anticipation running through your body and causing your hands to tremble and shake over your ears.

The last gun that is fired tonight doesn’t end the life of a lawman, or a pinkerton. No, the last shot that pierces the silent night ends the quiet suffering of Arthur’s beloved Boadicea. When you open your eyes, she’s gone, put out of her misery by Charles’ smoking gun. Tears fall down your cheeks silently, as Charles helps you to your feet. You cry out, grasping at your thigh. It's bleeding heavily and you put pressure on it as you walk. 

“Cmon, I'll put you on the back of Taima.” Charles whispers, calling the appaloosa over before picking you up by your waist and helping you onto the back of his horse. The  outlaw mutters apologies as you grimace in pain. 

The ride is silent, save for Taima’s hooves and your groans of pain as the galloping pulls at your gunshot wound uncomfortably. The reality of what’s just happened settles, but you can’t seem to rid yourself of the shock. In a way you’re grateful for it. The adrenaline makes the shot through your leg bearable, and keeps all the emotions you’re going to deal with at bay for now. You glance down to your left thigh, scowling as you get a good look at it for the first time. The wound is big and messy, the bastard shot you with a goddamn rifle. 

You don’t even realize you’ve made it back to camp, mind still reeling with horrendous memories from the night. Some of the adrenaline has worn off and your thigh throbs in pain. It has bled down your leg, soaking your sock and boot in the sticky red liquid, along with Taima’s back leg. It hits you that you’re back when Charles dismounts. A flurry of people are rushing around camp, tearing apart what used to be your home. Tents are packed into wagons, but crates and pelts and belongings lie abandoned in the dirt. Your eyes follow the things that are being left behind. Jack's books, people’s pictures, clothes, your watch from Arthur in Tumbleweed, they all remain abandoned as everyone files into wagons and onto horses. Charles helps you down off of Taima, and you cry in pain when your feet hit the ground, sending a white hot stab of pain through your leg.

“Charles?!” A voice calls out- a familiar one. You see Arthur, dismounting your buckskin a few feet away. He looks panicked, probably on account of the blood that has soaked through all of your clothes. Unbeknownst to him, most of it isn’t yours. 

“What happened?! Shit- are you alright?” Arthur runs over, gently placing his hands on your arms and scanning over your body.  You can’t bring yourself to nod, to lie. 

“No…” You choke on a cry as Arthur envelops you in the tightest hug you’ve ever been held in. Just for a moment, when his arms are wrapped around you, everything is okay. It’s over far too quickly, as someone across camp calls out to him for help. 

“Hosea, I-” You whisper, remembering your original task. It hits you like a wall of bricks, you were supposed to warn him and you failed. Arthur nods, glancing down to your thigh. 

“Don’t worry, I know. We got him. When you weren’t back I sent Uncle after him, he’s good for somethin’ at least.” Arthur says, glancing back to Grimshaw who is yelling after him. 

“Now, look at me. We gotta go right now. You’re strong, I know you are. I need you to hold on to that strength just a little longer for me, okay?” you nod, bloodshot, teary eyes glancing up to lock onto Arthurs, “I'm gonna put you up in the wagon with the girls. They’ll get your leg fixed up in no time, here.” Arthur pulls his dark neckerchief from earlier over his head, and kneels into the mud. 

“This is gonna hurt, I'm sorry but I gotta make it tight.” He says, wrapping the cloth around your thigh, careful not to touch you other than where he needs to. He ties the cloth just above your wound, pulling the neckerchief tight. You grip onto his strong shoulder, digging your nails into his shirt as the tight knot pulls uncomfortably at the wound. You groan at the pain, trying to push it away. 

Once Arthur deems the makeshift tourniquet tight enough, he stands back up, ushering you towards the wagon. The girls are already inside. All but one… Abigail, Tilly, Marybeth and Karen are all huddling together, whispering to Jack who is crying into his little fists. His cheeks are red and raw from the salty tears that have traced down his puffy cheeks. 

“Johns gone to scout ahead and clear the roads, took Micah with him” Abigail explains.

There’s no time for further explanation as Arthur’s hands grip onto your waist, carefully hoisting you up into the wooden wagon. He apologizes as you wince, settling you down before glancing behind him, as if looking for something. 

Oh…

“Where…where’s Boadicea?” Arthur asks, looking to you like he already knows the answer but is just hoping for a different one. 

Your face crumples into tears yet again, and you wipe them away while trying to look Arthur in the eyes. 

“She didn’t-” you shake your head, “She didn’t make it. Arthur, I'm so sorry.” You hiccup. 

A pain, old and deep, flashes across Arthur’s face for a moment as he bows his head, jaw clenched in pain as he hides the emotion behind his hat. He nods, fighting back something deep within himself before growling a bit, deep in his chest. 

“Did she-” Arthur gestures towards Blackwater with his hand, and you don’t miss the tears that have welled in his eyes, although he refuses to let them fall, “She suffer?” He asks, looking up at you with an emotion so raw, that it has you crying. You shake your head, knowing that she didn’t. Charles stopped that from happening and you’re grateful that he was there.

Arthur nods, pushing down the emotion like he always does. He attempts to comfort you with a small smile, but it is broken and painful. 

“You need anything’, anythin’ at all, have someone come and get me, okay?” Arthur whispers, before turning to head back towards Charles. 

You scooch yourself back against the wood grain of the wagon, wishing that you could fall into the earth and be swallowed whole. Your typical hellfire attitude has been broken today, beaten down by the traumas that you’ve been handed. It will come back, and you’ll be okay. But now? You’re not. 

Abigail leans over towards you, letting go of Jack with one arm to wrap it around you. You lean into her touch, closing your eyes as Tilly and Mrs. Grimshaw gather around you with Strauss’ medical kit. 

They pull and prod at your leg, forcing the bullet out and sewing the flesh back together. When they dig the bullet out with sharp metal tongs, ripping and tearing through your skin, you cry out, screaming for all of the Van Der Linde gang to hear as they start the journey north. But no one complains. It’s preferable to the deafening silence.

The pain you feel is nothing compared to the constant ache of loss as you numbly stare at Jenny’s body that had been stacked on top of Davey’s in front of you for the trip north. They’ve been covered with a white sheet, but the all too familiar crimson has soaked through the material, staining it and forever ruining its purity.

It’s much like the blood that has soaked into your clothes, splattered across your skin. You could scrub it away for hours on end, but it will never really be gone. Not in the way you want it to. The memories from today are burned into your mind, like a sickening brand that you’ll carry with you for years.  

Now, sitting in the back of the rocking wagon, stained with blood and tears, surrounded by the soft cries of your friends, the bodies of friends, you know why you’ve put up your walls. When Arthur rides past to check up on you, and the horse under him is a spotted appaloosa instead of the familiar, warm chestnut mare, you know why you haven’t allowed yourself the comfort of a family… because good people die.

[jenoslutie]

mark lee x reader

genre: smut

warnings: phone sex, use of vibrators, degradation

mark's been going insane since he left on a trip with his friends less than a week ago, he could not stop thinking about you, his best friend with benefits. All his thoughts just consisted of you, his brain constantly reminding him of the last day he saw you before leaving for the trip

"fuckkk" mark whined as you sank down on him, overwhelmed by being swallowed by your warmth. his hips jerking up to match your pace until he felt your hand wrap around his neck, slowly restricting his airflow.

he came so hard that day, the both of you making a mess of your sheets and neither of you seemed to complain.

that was until you called him that night to tell him about your day, just hearing your voice got him going "honestly though, i hate my job, you should find me a new job" you pretended to sob. mark chuckled dryly, feeling his cock hardening in his sweats "tell me more, anyone else piss u off today?" and he listened to you go on and on about whatever happened at your workplace today, however, you noticed mark's lack of feedback after a while, the only thing you could hear is the rustling of his sheets. "mark? are u even listening?" he hummed in response "yeah fuck baby, keep talking- actually, could we facetime?" you immediately got an idea of what could be happening on the other line and accepted his facetime request. "hey, you okay?" mark merely nodded before setting his phone up against something so you could see his entire situation. he was wearing a plain black t-shirt and his pants were pulled down just enough so he could pull his cock out.

"can you please help?" mark whined lowly, his head thrown back as he slowly stroked his cock. with a nod, you were quick to pull down your shorts along with your panties so he could see your glistening pussy. "i don't really know how to do this" you confessed, closing your legs before he could even respond.

"it's okay just like tell me what you want me to do to you- you know what i mean" your mind went blank for a second before "well, right now i really wanna suck ur dick and edge u and then see u get all frustrated so u can degrade me and tell me that i'm good for nothing but taking ur cock and then u make me ride u just like last time" you admitted, spreading your legs again and collecting your arousal on your fingers to rub at your clit "yeah? want me to tell u that you're good for nothing? ur just a slut only thinking about cock? only my cock?" you nod, reaching over into your nightstand drawer to pull out your vibrator and letting it replace your fingers. "fuck miss you so much mark" your words came out as a whimper as you looked at the man in question, tip of his cock red and he looked like he was on the brink of finishing.

You can hear him mumble something about how ‘how much he misses fucking your little pussy’ and that seemed to do it for you, your back arching as your orgasm comes over you. with your legs shaking and chest heaving you look over at your screen to see little spurts of white pool out of his tip and white streaks painting his pretty fingers.

"round two when u get back?"

"you dont have to ask me twice"

not proof read.

um if this is trash please look away i am going through it and need to write fluff now bye

[linnorabeifong]

An Ask Game - I guess

Tagged by @l2bbocsstuff thank you so much very sweet of you to think of me.

QUESTIONS FOR PALS!

ARE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?: No and I wish they would’ve gone the traditional route and named me after someone. I have the world’s whitest most basic name 😂 so I get to be _______ Last Initial in my classes because there’s always girl with the same name as me. It’s a very stereotypical name too.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?: This morning, thanks mom. Also last Wednesday in front of a hundred people while on stage. I’m really fun like that. Imagine with my hair in a traditional Mexican style and wearing a huge yellow dress covered in ribbons and lace trim. ( I was wearing the regional dress of Jalisco ) . My face absolutely caked in makeup, wearing perfume. Equal parts Mexican doll and Easter egg. Sobbing. Full on. Makeup ruined. Tear streaks. In my defense my feet and my entire body were in pain, I was sleep deprived and I’d been running around dancing , doing costume and hair changes all night. So I think I earned a good cry.

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?: I’m eighteen, way too young for those.

WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/ HAVE YOU PLAYED?: I ran track, did socccer, gymanastics , and cheer. I’m a dancer ( yes dance is a sport) . It’s my third year as a Ballet Folklórico dancer.

DO YOU USE SARCASM?: No 🤍

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?: Hair

WHAT’S YOUR EYE COLOR?: brown

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS: Happy endings real life is scary enough.

ANY TALENTS?: Ummm… I’m good at cooking and baking. Like I mentioned earlier I dance.

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?: 🎶 I was born in the USA 🇺🇸 🎵

WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES?: Hard to keep up with any lately. I write. Dance. Read. Play video games. Swim. Again bake.

Am I wife material ? 👀

DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS?: A dog ? He’s actually my sister’s and he is a bad boy. He unzips bags unlocks baby gates eats anything and everything. This morning it was an entire bag of chocolate so 🪦 him I guess. Here lies asshole. He’s cute and snuggly though. I spoil him.

HOW TALL ARE YOU?: 5”4’ short 😔

FAVORITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL?: Biology the dissections are fun.

DREAM JOB?: dermatologist because they make bank.

tagging: my beloved @wilcze-kudly,

@orangepanic @nyamadermont @wishingforatypewriter @ozais-lobotomist @appalesbian@dont-blame-it-on-the-kids @slowdissolve @chiefbeifongcanrailme @messymosaic @yellowsalt3 @oldandirrelevant @risingsoleil

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

Online

back on my silly-goofy streak

CW: pet whump? sort of?, casually dehumanising remarks, mentioned homophobia, this is me working through my larry stylinson ptsd and the things ive seen on the internet before (actually please have a minute of silence and grieve my sanity with me, i had way too much fun writing this)

masterlist

taglist: @ziptiesnfries @fleur-a-whump @lumpofsand

Heated discussions on a forums, concerning Will and Eddie's relationship and them keeping Oliver as a pet

Diana has assistants read these forums religiously so she knows how to get better fan engagement and make more money on the boys.

---

streetratnumber1: im new to the fandom what the fuck is a 'weddie'

aWeddiengIsOnTheWay: it's a shipname for Will and Eddie

aWeddiengIsOnTheWay: they might be dating

streetratnumber1: for real?

2waycompass: no

2waycompass: it's a mass delusion

weddieshipper97: you don't have to like it but it's there

aWeddiengIsOnTheWay: it's controversial, but there's so much evidence supporting it

streetratnumber1: what evidence? i'm so lost

freeweddie95: *sent link* check this out

streetratnumber1: so we have some questionable pictures basically

2waycompass: yes, but there's nothing more to it

2WaySlut: there *might* be something there, that's the point

weddieshipper97: there is! they are dating, but d*ana y*ung is a homophobic bitch and doesn't let them come out

streetratnumber1: isn't that the lady who got them famous

khaiismymuse: she's the boys' manager, yeah

2waycompass: actually, there's one article where another artist, who works with her talks about her homophobia

2waycompass: *sent link*

2waycompass: but that still doesn't mean Eddie and Will would ever date

weddieshipper97: how do you run headfirst into the point and miss it?

streetratnumber1: this was so much more information than what i asked for

streetratnumber1: what's wrong with you all

---

streetratnumber1: sorry to bother everyone, but what's with this pet thing?

2waycompass: they rescued him from a shelter

2waycompass: *sent link*

streetratnumber1: is this real?

3waywitheandj: yeah unfortunately

3waywitheandj: they should have had the decency not to make it public

eddiemorelikedaddy: what, everyone and their mother has pet's now, it's totally legal

3waywitheandj: everyone??? what are you talking about

2WaySlut: my parents had one ever since i can remember

eddiemorelikedaddy: we do too

3waywitheandj: okay, here's a question, have you ever stepped a foot outside whatever fucking suburb you grew up in

2WaySlut: you're just bitter you can't afford one

2waycompass: 2WayStreet is insanely rich and they still chose to rescue one, that says a lot about them

streetratnumber1: okay that actually sounds good

3waywitheandj: is everyone out of their damn minds here?

freeweddie95: im really uncomfortable with the whole thing

freeweddie95: what if they rescued because they don't value pets enough to buy a proper one

3waywitheandj: again, are you all out of your minds???

---

2waycompass: Does anyone have *those* pictures of their pet? Is this a real thing?

streetratnumber1: what pictures

2waycompass: Someone posted about it after their show yesterday, apparently he had a wound on his face??

2WaySlut: i was there, first row, hate to admit it but the boy looked rough

streetratnumber1: dont start drama, we dont know what happened

2WaySlut: 2 minutes ago you didnt even know about it

streetratnumber1: yeah there's some sort of scandal with the band every week, and look i love their music but the fandom sucks

2WaySlut: fuck off

2WaySlut: but i do have a blurry picture

2WaySlut: *sent media*

aWeddiengIsOnTheWay: he could have fallen for all we know

2waycompass: well this was helpful smh

2waycompass: does anyone have a picture from before the gig to compare

khaiismymuse: here is one

khaiismymuse: *sent media*

aWeddiengIsOnTheWay: this doesn't prove anything, he has his hair up in a bun and later it's let down, that's all we know, stop speculating

3waywitheandj: how do none of you see a problem with them keeping a whole human pet

streetratnumber1: first of all his name is oli and second they rescued him

3waywitheandj: doesnt take away from the fact that thats a person

2WaySlut: *sent link* educate yourself

khaiismymuse: that's a great article

khaiismymuse: i hope theyll bring oli on their next tour

3waywitheandj: your all disgusting

2WaySlut: you can't even spell

---

aWeddiengIsOnTheWay: the way they look at each other...

2waycompass: they havent even talked publically in months

weddieshipper97: they aren't allowed to

2waycompass: oh my god just grow up

2waycompass: i get that they have a strict management with some pr rules in place but that doesn't make them secret lovers

khaiismymuse: why does this even matter again

freeweddie95: they just do it to take the attention away from the incident with that poor boy

3waywitheandj: why is it always weddie shippers that start the biggest fights can yall just chill

aWeddiengIsOnTheWay: i literally only said they looked at each other

aWeddiengIsOnTheWay: it looked lovely

aWeddiengIsOnTheWay: get out if you don't like it

3waywitheandj: i hate this fandom you cant participate unless you jump on these insane bandwagons of why the boys are either horrible people or gay

3waywitheandj: and for the record they cant be that great if they still chose to keep oli

2WaySlut: youre such a hater

freeweddie95: why are you even here if it's so bad

freeweddie95: *sent link* this article summarises the situation pretty well

khaiismymuse: i agree with 2waycompass we havent even seen them together outside interviews where they *don't* speak and concerts

aWeddiengIsOnTheWay: okay what's your point

2WaySlut: youre all hopeless

[tchaikovskaya]

Tips for learning Russian?

i shall bookend this with cop-out non-answers:

it really depends on your level and what background you're coming from! also what you want to learn and what exactly you intend your knowledge of russian to be put toward!

do a little bit every day even when you dont feel like it. 15 minutes a day is (scientifically, demonstrably) better than studying it for 2 hours once a week and not touching it for 6 more days between then. frequency counts. even looking over (relatively newly learned) material you already are pretty confident with is better than nothing, you dont have to learn brand new vocab/grammar every day.

(sub-note of the above): this is why duolingo streaks are helpful, if you make an honor-bound agreement with yourself that you wont just do a review of an easy lesson you already recently did to get the xp and keep your streak and stay in your league.

regardless of what anybody tells u, learn to write and read cursive. i dont care if you only see russian in print or digitally for whatever purposes you're learning it. learn to read and write in cyrillic cursive, period.

people vastly underestimate the impact of copying conjugation and declension tables [triple especially common irregulars] by hand several times. it is tedious and doesn't feel like much when you're doing it, but when you do it and you're making sure you're copying it exactly correctly, after enough times (i'd say 10 is a good number in one session, though you hand will hurt lmao) it will REALLY stick. by the last couple times of copying you won't even need to look at the reference, and that's the point.

final bookend: you won't get good at this unless you really want to. ask yourself why you want to learn it and what timetables are set both intrinsically and extrinsically. its #valid to learn to speak russian to proficient level for a job, but if that's your ONLY motivator then it will be hard to keep it up.