#and then the next time i'd have to teach them from scratch all over again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rjalker · 2 years

Text

can I post 11,200 words here or no.

yes I can

Here's the archived version because that's the whole reason I did this, lol.

The fic itself is entitled "Something about Hope and Kindness and Killing the Rich" because I literally could not figure out what the hell to call it. Literally the file name is still, literally copying and pasting, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA it still doesn't have a name yettt"

Murderbot stared at the folded up piece of paper that had landed next to its feet, which were currently bare on the soft carpeting. The remains of what had been its shoes were still out in the woods somewhere, probably either being torn to shreds by the cubs, or being melted even further by their furious parents.

It had been looking at the patches of fresh metal on its feet, trying to decide whether it liked the new texture or not, and rewatching the last episode of Farscape for the tenth time, when the paper landed.

The paper was white, and had been folded into the shape of a paper shuttle, with “read” and “me” written across the tops of the wings in thick black marker.

Murderbot paused the episode, but didn’t look up from the floor, it just said into the newly-functional, short-range only feed, ::Why.::

Tamara was sitting on the opposite side of the room, hidden behind the back of the sofa. Out of the corner of its eye, it had watched her stand up, throw the paper, and then duck back down out of sight.

She replied out loud, sounding stubborn. “Read it and find out.”

“You’re interrupting my show.” Murderbot pointed out. Usually Dr. Mensah's family was more polite than this.

“You’re not at work, I’m allowed to.” Tamara retorted from behind the couch.

Murderbot rolled its eyes, but bent to pick up the paper, now curious despite itself. Tamara usually wasn't one to be sarcastic.

It could hear her over there scratching away with a pen, going back to writing, presumably on other paper shuttles. Why she wasn’t just doing it in a feed document, since the feed was accessible again, it didn’t understand. Humans were weird.

But maybe it was homework. The people of Preservation thought that teaching their kids how to read and write the old fashioned way was important.

Murderbot unfolded the paper, and found that the inside was striped with different colors. So that meant this was that special kind of paper they made just for folding shapes out of. So probably not homework, unless the homework was throwing paper shuttles at the local SecUnit. Or maybe the homework was just origami in general. With Preservation, you never knew.

The paper was cyan at the top (once Murderbot figured out which way the handwriting was supposed to go), then darker blue, then white, then purple, then cyan again, with white dotted lines and arrows lining the creases where it had been folded.

Tamara had written on it in some sort of thin but deep black ink, with handwriting that started off neat and tidy and centered, but then got progressively more crooked as it went down the page. So clearly she needed more lessons on proper handwriting.

The paper read,

-Hi SecUnit.

I'm writing this on paper because I think if I tried to say it out loud I'd get nervous and mess it up and just end up confusing everyone. So instead of doing that, I'm writing it down. I could go on and on for pages explaining all the details, but I don't think you'd be interested, so I'm just going to say it without beating around the bush.

I'm trans, or transgender, since I don't know if you've heard of it before.- (Murderbot had, in fact, heard of it before. Many times, in fact. It was trans itself, not that it let many people figure that out) -It means someone who's not the gender everyone assumed they were when they were born.

I'm trans. I'm not a girl, and I'm not a boy either. I'm not a woman or a man. I'm nowhere in between. I’m something else. I'm non-binary. I've decided I want to change my name and pronouns, and I wanted to tell you and everyone else I know in person first, before I change them in the feed and make it public.

I could just change them in the feed, or put out a notification for everyone, and let them figure it out for themselves, but then I would be tempted to delete it before anyone can read it, and this way I can't chicken out. Also because all three of my parents would probably cry forever and never forgive themselves if they thought I was too scared to tell them myself.

So this is me coming out, at least to you, SecUnit. I'm trans. I'm nonbinary. I want to be called it, instead of she, the way you are. I'm kind of stealing your pronouns. I hope you aren't mad about that, because I really like it/its pronouns. I like how they look and sound, and I like the way they make me feel.

I'm not a she, I'm not a he, or a they, or a de, or an ae, or an e. I'm an it. And I'm an enby. And someday when I'm older I'll be a nonbi.

So please call me by it/its pronouns from now on, rather than she/her.

And as for my name changing, I want to be called Evrim from now on. So update your internal tagging system or however it is you remember people's names and pronouns and stuff :)

Don't tell anyone until I give them their letters, okay? Once I tell everyone I know, I'll update my feed profile, but for now, please just keep using my old name and pronouns if other people are nearby, I don't want anyone blabbing about it to my friends before I get a chance to tell them. But if it's just the two of us, it would be awesome if you would call me Evrim and by it/its pronouns :)

Signed,

Evrim Eshayda Mensah.

Ps: Yes I’m also changing my middle name. Yes that is a name I made up. It’s my name, I can do what I want.

Pps: But seriously, don't tell anyone.-

Murderbot read through the paper again, just to make sure it wasn’t reading the handwriting wrong.

It wasn’t sure what it had been expecting to find when it picked up the paper shuttle, but it certainly hadn’t been expecting this.

It realized that it recognized the colors on the paper, now that it had the context of what was written on it.

Cyan, blue, white, purple, and cyan was one of the gender pride flags used by people outside the Corporation Rim, though Murderbot couldn’t remember what this one was called. It had appeared in a few of the shows it had downloaded since it had first come to Preservation space.

Od Saga, the time-traveling archaeologist from the Aftermath series, used it along with dozens of other pride flags, including what was apparently the original trans pride flag, which was blue, pink, white, pink, and blue, from back before history was really even worth keeping track of.

Except the humans of Preservation seemed to really care about remembering as much history as they could, which is why they still knew what the original flag looked like.

It was also why the Farscape show still existed. Someone all the way back in stupid times had decided to preserve the show, and kept updating the preservation technique as technology progressed, so that all throughought history it kept being saved and updated and preserved. All so that humans and bots and constructs could keep enjoying it. There’d been no money involved in the scheme, it was all done just because someone could, so they could share it with others.

They had the original version that had been in English, as well as different translations into other languages, and some that updated it to have more modern language, since a lot of humans struggled to understand the original at this point after how much languages had evolved since it had been written.

Murderbot read through the paper one more time, just to make sure it wasn’t struggling to understand. Usually it could read a lot faster, much faster than a human, but the handwriting wasn’t exactly standard feed text, and that was tripping it up a little bit. Evrim added little details to the letters that made some of them overlap and run together, which took a little getting used to.

It got to the end of the page again.

And then it hesitated.

It had watched plenty of scenarios like this in all the media it had watched. There were whole movies that revolved around exactly this situation. It knew what the right way for characters to react was－acceptance, reassurance, comforting－and what the wrong way to react was. It knew what kinds of things its favorite characters would be saying in this sort of situation, it could even imagine their voices clearly in its head.

But it didn’t know how it, Murderbot, was supposed to react, what it, Murderbot, was supposed to say.

It lowered the paper down to its side, and started with the most basic thing it could do that was the right thing to do.

It went to its memory files, and updated [Tamara, Dr. Mensah’s second-eldest daughter, she/her/hers/herself] to [Evrim, Dr. Mensah’s...]

...And, okay, there was a problem there already; it didn’t know what the equivalent term for daughter or son was in this situation.

If Evrim were tercera, it would be shiary, which it remembered from when it had met Rami, and ART had frantically researched what ‘tercera’ meant. But Evrim hadn’t said it was tercera, it had just said it was nonbinary, which could mean any of thousands of genders, including "just nombinary". Which meant Murderbot would have to ask if it had a specific one in mind, and what word it should be replacing ‘daughter’ with.

For now, it settled for, [Evrim, Dr. Mensah’s eldest nonbinary offspring, it/it/its/itself].

Okay, that was done.

What else could it do? It still didn’t know what to say. It had really hoped it would somehow magically know once it updated the info, but no such luck.

Evrim had gone quiet, no longer even writing. If Murderbot had its drones, it would have been able to see what it was doing, but they’d all needed to go in for repair after "the storm of the century" as the humans were calling it, and none of the cameras in this house were functioning yet either. So all it had to see with were its eyes.

Murderbot hesitated, listening to see if Evrim was going to do or say anything. But there was just quiet, like Evrim was even holding its breath in anticipation.

Murderbot might not know how to talk to humans very well, but it had enough experience not wanting people to look at it to know when to return the gesture. Evrim had hidden behind the couch out of sight for a reason. If it wanted to be seen, it would come out.

So Murderbot stayed where it was, flexing the joints in one foot on the soft carpet to test the work-through it had gotten at the clinic, and said, “Evrim is a good name.” That was true, so that made it easy enough to say, despite the nervous sweat it could feel breaking out on its organic parts.

It was also easy enough to say, “I’m not mad about you wanting to be called it/its, that would be stupid. It’s not like I own them or anything. I don’t think you even have propietary pronouns out here in the－”

Evrim exclaimed, “What!?” and Murderbot's heart-rate went up a notch in startlement, before it heard Evrim moving behind the couch.

Murderbot stopped talking, trying to calm its heart-rate back down without drawing attention to the fact that it was quietly freaking out.

Evrim's face appeared out of the corner of its eye, staring over the back of the sofa, its eyes wide and indignant as it demanded, “You have proprietary pronouns in the Corporation Rim?” Murderbot could smell the anxiety pouring off of Evrim, which wasn't actually reassuring at all. It was worried about messing up and hurting Evrim's feelings. Evrim already being this afraid was just making it more worried.

Murderbot kept its gaze on its feet as it answered, being excruciatingly careful to keep its voice sounding calm and normal so it wouldn't startle Evrim into hiding back behind the couch. This would be easier if it could avoid making any eye contact at all, it gave it more room to think. If it could have gone to face the wall without definitely making Evrim think it hated it, it would have. But doing that would definitely be disastrous.

Evrim clearly wanted to change the subject, so Murderbot very gratefully let it. It could remember all the times it had wanted to change the subject and hadn’t been allowed to. So it said, carefully going along with the change of subject as it explained, “Yes. Corporations lease them out, and you have to pay a subscription fee if you want to use them. And then it costs extra for the company you’re renting them from to guarantee that other corporations will use those pronouns when contracting with you.” it could feel its heart-rate going back down slowly. The Corporation Rim was one of its most hated places, but at least that was a familiar negativity it knew how to deal with.

The fear of accidentally destroying the trust someone was placing in it by coming out to it was a brand new fear that it could never have imagined it would be facing.

There was a moment of silence while Evrim digested what it had said. Then Evrim said, slowly, disbelievingly, its fear-smell fading as it also calmed down slightly, “So you’re telling me that not only do you have to pay to use pronouns in the first place, you have to pay extra to not be misgendered?”

“You pay extra to ensure the corporations that have signed agreements with whoever you’re renting them from won’t misgender you.” Murderbot corrected, feeling its levels returning almost ti normal, “It costs even more after that if you want to make it a punishable offense for anyone else to use the wrong pronouns.”

Murderbot could feel Evrim staring at it. That tended to happen whenever it talked about what life was like in the Corporation Rim. Most people on Preservation couldn't even imagine it.

Then Evrim asked, “If they’re that evil, then why haven’t we－” Evrim lifted its arms to gesture expansively, probably trying to indicate Preservation as a whole, “Gone in and killed the people in charge yet?” It sounded disbelieving and angry and slightly desperate. That was also usually how it reacted any time it learned about anything that happened in the Corporation Rim. Though it hadn't started out with violent suggestions, those were increasing in frequency as time went on and it learned more and more.

Murderbot almost laughed, the idea was so stupid. But at least with Evrim it didn’t have to worry about it actually trying to enact any kind of plan like that, at least not yet. Evrim couldn’t leave the planet without permission from a parent or guardian (because it turns out humans could be the guardians of other humans too, not just bots and constructs they were pretending were free), and even if Evrim could go by itself, it wouldn’t be able to buy any weapons.

‘why hadn’t Preservation launched a war against the Corporation Rim’ was such an absurd question it was almost funny. Almost.

“Because you don’t have enough guns or ships or soldiers to kill them with.” Murderbot said, “And even if you did, they have SecUnits to use as canon fodder, and you don’t. Their soldiers are expendable. Yours aren’t. It wouldn’t work.”

Evrim sighed, drooping. “I know,” It said, sounding resigned, “I just wish I could do something to help those people over there. No one deserves to live under rules like that. It’s so unfair...” It trailed off. "And you're not expendable." It added, like it expected Murderbot to argue the point.

"I was." Murderbot said simply. This wasn’t an argument, this was just a fact. "For most of my existence, I was expendable." It didn’t know why humans always acted like the way it had been treated was something it needed to be convinced was bad. Just because it knew it was expendable didn’t mean it didn’t care if it lived or died. It couldn’t watch media if it was dead. There was a difference between being expendable and not caring whether you lived or died.

Evrim didn't seem to know what to say to that, and seemed to realize there wasn’t any point in trying to argue with the literal facts, and Muderbot didn't feel like talking about it at all (talking about the Corporation Rim? Fine. Talking about itself in particular? Not so fine), so it didn't elaborate, and silence fell over the room.

After at least two minutes of it awkwardly fidgeting over on the sofa, where Murderbot stood there looking at its feet and wondering what or if it should say anything at all, Evrim asked softly, hopefully, “So you really like my name?”

And they were back on topic again. Awesome. Murderbot was totally prepared for this.

At least this question had an easy answer. “I wouldn’t have said I liked your name if I didn’t mean it." It said truthfully, "It’s a nice name, especially because you’re choosing it for yourself. No one can take it away from you.” It didn't know what the name Evrim meant, but it sounded nice, and it knew Evrim wouldn't have just picked something at complete random that it didn't really like.

Out of the corner of its eye, it saw Evrim push itself upright, then swing its legs over the side of the couch so that it was sitting on the back of it, its toes hanging down just above the carpeted floor. “So you’ll call me it?" It checked, "Just when no one else is around, I mean?”

“Yes, I’ll call you it.” Murderbot assured, less nervous now, for some reason. It using Evrim's pronouns wasn’t even in question, though there was one small hiccup in the request, “Though if we’re the only ones in the room, I don’t think there will be much opportunity for me to call you it, unless you want me to talk about you like you aren’t here. Which, I mean, I can do that if you really want.”

Evrim paused, as if caught off-guard, then admitted, slightly sheepish, “No, that is a good point. I didn’t even think of that.” It started bouncing its feet off the back of the sofa one at a time, which helped further lower Murderbot's anxiety levels as Evrim continued, “Well, you don’t have to talk differently than you normally do, but if you can at least call me Evrim instead of Tamara, I’ll be happy.”

“I already updated my tag for you.” Murderbot assured, and figured that if it was going to ask, now would be the time to do it. “I sort people by relationships, and since you’re nonbinary and not a girl, I assume you won’t want to be called ‘daughter’ anymore, so what should I put instead? I’m a little familiar with the nonbinary gender known as tercera, and a tercera offspring would be called a shiary, but I wasn’t sure if you had a specific gender in mind, so I wanted to ask what word I should use instead.”

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, because Evrim went silent, and stopped bouncing its feet on the couch, which was almost definitely a sign that it was upset. Evrim liked bouncing its feet on the couch. Murderbot looked up, afraid of what it would see but needing to know how much it had just fucked up. So much for starting to think the conversation had been going well! Murderbot was never going to talk to a human it cared about ever again!

Evrim must have seen how worried Murderbot was, because it threw its hands up and said quickly, “I’m not mad! I’m－I’m so happy I don’t even have words for it!” It was grinning so widely it looked painful, and tears were forming in its eyes. “I’m not crying because I’m mad, I’m crying because I’m happy!” It insisted, even as its voice wavered on the edge of breaking.

As though to prove it, it leapt off the couch and was across the room in just a few long strides, coming to stand in front of Murderbot, its hands held behind its back. “I’m not going to touch you, don’t worry, I’m not an asshole, but I just...” Its grin somehow got even wider, and it was definitely starting to cry now for real, and Murderbot had to look away. That was just way too intense a level of eye contact for it to handle right now. It looked down back at the floor, unable to think of anything else to do that didn’t include running away.

And okay, wow, it was just now noticing that Evrim’s shoes were in the same colors as the pride flag that had been on the paper. It didn’t have stripes, but now that Murderbot knew what to look for, it was really obvious. The main parts of the shoes were cyan, with little blue and purple star-shapes scattered across it, and white detailing. The colors matched the paper exactly, like they’d been color-picked from the same source image.

And there was still some moss and dirt clinging to the seams of the leather.

Evrim said, with no less happiness in its voice even though it was clearly struggling to stop itself from crying, “I’m just really happy, okay? I promise I’m crying from happiness, I’m not upset. You can call me sapling, like a baby tree.”

Like the dozens of species of trees it had wanted to show Murderbot, which was why they’d been out in the woods in the first place. It was this planet’s version of spring, so the trees were doing what passed for flowering in this area. Well, the ones that had survived the storm were. Most of them had been knocked over by the wind or flood waters or by older trees falling and crushing them.

Sapling, okay. That was easy enough, and it sort of made sense. Trees weren’t male or female, or at least they weren’t on this planet. (Evrim had been going on and on and on about the different species of trees found in this area and what made the things they called ‘trees’ on Preservation different from the ‘trees’ that had once been found on ancient Earth, but Murderbot didn’t really understand any of it. Biology was not its strong suit, and killing hostile life-forms didn't exactly serve much in the way of education.)

So Evrim was Dr. Mensah’s sapling, not daughter.

Murderbot went to its memory files, and changed the tag to, [Evrim, Dr. Mensah’s sapling, it/it/its/itself].

“Done.” It said. Evrim sounded like it had gotten itself back under control, so Murderbot lifted its gaze from the floor so it could cautiously stare past Evrim’s shoulder.

Murderbot's jacket was still lying on the floor by the door, holes burned through the sleeves so that it could see the floral-patterned wall through them. It was a really nice leather jacket Ratthi’s sister had made for it, out of the hide of some animal oh-so creatively called a “mazus animal”, named so because apparently it looked like some sort of flower from Earth. The humans hunted them for food and to make clothes and other stuff like perfume out of.

Murderbot had really liked that jacket, since with the multiple layers of leather, it was tough enough to survive most of the falls and tumbles and some of the knife attacks Murderbot tended to find itself getting into, with only a few patches needed here and there to fix the damage. Or at least it had been.

Evrim interrupted Murderbot’s regretful thoughts by saying, “Thank you again, third-mom. Or, I wanted to ask, is there another word you’d prefer I use for you? I realize I should have asked before. I’m sorry about that, I heard Amena call you that and just, never really thought to ask if it was really okay...I know you’re agender...” It trailed off, clearly feeling embarrassed and guilty, not unlike how Murderbot had been feeling just a few seconds ago, before Evrim assured it that it wasn't upset.

The question gave Murderbot pause, and it stopped to think about it.

This was the fifth time Evrim had called it its third-mom. And it had stopped keeping track of the times Amena had called it that.

It definitely wasn’t one of their moms, adoptive or otherwise, since that would probably require joining Dr. Mensah’s marriage group and that was just... No.

That would be weird and gross, and probably illegal.

(Murderbot was pretty sure it was illegal for a human guardian to marry their ward. They probably considered it highly unethical and probably just thinking about it would get Dr. Mensah arrested for abuse. If Dr. Mensah ever proposed getting married, Murderbot might just kill her itself just on principle. It fucking hated the way humans romanticized slaves falling in love with their owners, even when they were replacing the word ‘slave’ with ‘ward’ and ‘owner’ with ‘guardian’.)

But no. It was not Evrim’s or Amena's mom, because it wasn’t part of their parents’ marriage group and it didn’t want to be.

(And it’s not like it had had any reason to go looking up how that worked. Dr. Mensah was its friend, not...whatever it was humans were to each other that they decided to get married. But then again, there were some human characters on its shows who were friends who got married, as queerplatonic partners, but -

-it was overthinking this.)

It was not part of Dr. Mensah’s marriage group, and it wasn’t biologically related to Evrim in any way. It was not one of its moms, and anyways, the word ‘mom’ came loaded with gender connections that Murderbot didn’t want anything to do with.

It wished ART were there, its processing speed was so much faster, it could have looked up a list of terms and sorted them according to gender connotations and familiarity levels before Murderbot was even done thinking about how much it missed it.

It didn’t want to be called third-mom, it knew that. It is never actually mentioned having a problem with it before because usually, they were in a life-threatening situation and it had almost literally a million other things to be worried about.

And it could just tell Evrim to call it SecUnit, but Evrim clearly wanted to have a more familiar nickname for it. SecUnit was technically already a nickname, but this was different...

There were a lot of characters from its media that were nonbinary, and they used different words for eachother and their relationships. Eden, one of its favorite characters from The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon, used it/its pronouns, even though it was human.

Eden had several adopted children and wards, and one of them, Becky, was old enough when they were adopted that they didn’t want to call Eden their vare, which was one of the words used in the section of space the show was supposed to be taking place in that meant a nonbinary parent, so instead of calling Eden ‘vare’ or ‘vareth’ or ‘vari’ like the others did, Becky called it ‘avaun’, which was the nonbianry equivalent to the words ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’, which were technially meant for siblings of a parent, but a lot of humans used them for close friends of the family. You didn’t actually have to be related, legally or biologically, to anyone in the family in question to be an aunt, uncle, or avaun.

Becky and Eden’s relationship had started out strained and rocky because of a plot by the woodworker’s son to convert Becky over to his side (which was the worst possible side) of the political spectrum, and had been convincing them of all sorts of horrible things, one of which being that nonbinry people weren’t real, so Eden wasn’t even really their ‘avaun’, it was just saying it wasn’t a man or a woman to be special and to get special services and privileges from the supply ships. (Even though Eden didn’t take any medication related to being nonbinary and didn't get any special priveledges for being nonbinary. It certainly wasn't getting the privilege of having its identity respected, and since the woodworker’s son couldn't decide if Eden was really a man or a woman, he constantly switched back and forth between calling Eden he or she, depending on how insulting he was being at the moment. And whenever he was insulting it, he referred to Eden as ‘she’. Because did Murderbot forget to mention that the woodworker’s son was a massive misogynist? Because the woodworker's son was also a massive misogynist on top of hating nonbinary people.)

This whole ordeal had been compounded by the fact that Becky was still figuring out that they were nonbinary themself, and the insecurity and self-doubt had only intensified and been turned outward by the woodworker’s son’s manipulation, until Becky was being hostile and offensive to not only Eden, but their adoptive siblings as well.

It had been extremely stressful to watch, since Murderbot really liked Eden and didn’t want its relationship with Becky to be ruined by some creep who couldn’t even admit to his own father that he didn’t like woodworking and wanted to become a terraforming biologist instead.

(Not to mention the fact that he’d clearly decided that the only way for him to earn respect as a trans man was to attack other trans people, especially those who were nonbinary, in order to make them seem like easier, more deserving targets than him. And the sad part was that the people he hung out with, that he was so desperate to be accepted by, didn’t even actually respect him. Any time he left the scene, the moment he was out of sight or earshot the others laughed at him and mocked him behind his back. They tolerated his presence only because they found it amusing to watch him attack their other targets. And the second he got out of line, the second he diverged too far from the things they would accept, they would turn on him. They weren’t his allies, he was their entertainment.)

Things had all come to a head when one of Becky’s cruel comments had made one of the younger adoptive children run away from home just a day before the annual locustorms were predicted to begin, and the whole town had had to drop everything and go out to find her.

They’d found her eventually, after Becky started a fight with Eden that Eden couldn’t ignore. They had to stop the fight to rescue the kid, who’d fallen into the river and was trapped in one of the side pools, and Becky had been forced to cooperate with Eden, and had to face the harsh truth that what they’d said had put their little sister in this position in the first place and almost gotten her killed. Becky had to learn that their actions and words had consequences, and taking out their own insecurities and issues on other people just caused more problems instead of solving anything...

...and Murderbot only realized that it had gotten distracted when Evrim shifted its weight. Humans couldn’t stand still for very long without moving, and Evrim was probably getting bored or impatient, or thought Murderbot was just ignoring its question.

“You can call me avaun.” Murderbot said, and apparently it shouldn’t have spoken so suddenly, since Evrim jumped a little in surprise. Murderbot continued, pretending it hadn’t noticed to try and save Evrim the embarassment, “It’s one of the nonbinary equivalents for aunt and uncle.”

Evrim grinned, its smile plain even though Murderbot wasn't looking directly at it. “Alright, it’s a deal. You’re my avaun, and I’m your sapling.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

Okay now Murderbot realized what had just happened.

Maybe it should have clarified that it was asking, ’what word for offspring should I use for you in relation to Dr. Mensah’...

Because now Evrim thought it had been asking because Murderbot was referring to it as its own offspring.

Hmm.

Well...

...What difference did it make, really?

None that it could think of.

So it updated the tag to, [Evrim, adopted sapling, it/it/its/itself].

Then, remembering how confused it had been when its memory had crashed, it added a minor tag, labeled, [sapling definition: nonbinary offspring].

At some point it would have to attach a more detailed journal, but that could wait.

Then it smiled, still looking past Evrim’s shoulder at its ruined jacket. It had really liked that jacket. It wasn’t the sort of jacket you could just get printed at any old kiosk, unfortunately, but its shoes, on the other hand...

“So, Evrim,” It said, turning to head towards the door, so close to an emotional human any longer, and now having thought of a great excuse to move away, “I think, since you’re the reason my jacket and shoes got ruined－”

Evrim interrupted with a cry of, “How was I supposed to know the foxes had tunneled their nest directly below the walking path? They’re supposed to stay on the east side of the valley until the middle of summer!”

But Murderbot forged ahead anyways, unable to keep the smile of its face. “I think you owe me a new outfit. I really liked that jacket, and I know I can’t get another one like it immediately, but it’s hard to find human shoes that will fit over these.” It turned around back towards Evrim, and lifted one of its feet to demonstrate. Actually, it wasn’t difficult at all to find shoes, it was just saying that to get Evrim to come along.

The company had gotten lazy with the ‘make it look like a human’ aspect below the ankles, so from there downward, its feet were completely mechanical, and they didn’t even really look like the kinds of prosthetics most humans got if they lost a foot. Humans needed prosthetics in specific shapes to mimic the limbs they’d lost so that they’d be able to use them the same way－ that wasn’t a requirement when building a murderbot, since it only needed to look like a human on the outside. The inside connectors and balancing systems could all be different.

Murderbot’s foot was designed so that it could go inside of most shoes (contrary to what it was telling Evrim), again for the sake of convenience of looking like a human so as not to creep out the clients any more than was absolutely necessary, but after that the manufacturers had given up on all attempts to make it look like something a human would have attached to them.

For one thing, it had four toes, not five, and they were arranged differently too. Three in the front, one in the back, modeled after a bird of prey from all the way back on the original Earth. Each foot had built-in, large, retractable metal claws that it usually didn’t get an opportunity to use since it was almost always wearing shoes, and those were the same claws which today it had finally gotten to use when the ground caved in and Evrim fell into the fox nest. Murderbot had of course had to jump in after it, and after getting blasted with acid from the angry parents of the oblivious hatchlings that were trying to swarm them thinking they were a fun new playmate. With its shoes completely ruined beyond repair, Murderbot had taken the opportunity to use its claws to climb back out without dropping Evrim.

It had really liked those shoes. They were themed after The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon, the same shades of purple and yellow from the title screen, with white and black accents in the shape of crescent moons and stars. Kind of like Evrim’s shoes, now that it thought about it.

And yes, it could just get new shoes and a new jacket (it wouldn’t be as good probably, but it could get one) anywhere and anytime it wanted once all the feed systems were repaired from the storm. Or it could just walk around barefoot, it’s not like it needed shoes in the first place, it’s not like it had any organic parts down there to worry about in regards to stepping on painful things. It wasn’t like it was embarrassed by its feet or anything. Yeah, humans would think it was weird. But humans thought lots of things were weird, and last time it checked it didn’t care what humans thought.

Totally. Didn’t care what they thought at all. For sure. It could definitely walk around barefooted. It wouldn’t be embarrassing or anything, because it didn’t care what other people thought!

But still, that wasn’t the point! It wanted new shoes. It wanted new Sanctuary Moon shoes. They were fun, it enjoyed them, and it wouldn’t have been out in the woods getting acid spit at if it it weren’t for Evrim, so logic dictated that Evrim should now be responsible for getting it new shoes, or at least walking with it to get new shoes, since the delivery catalog was down, along with the cameras, and most of the other things Murderbot used to make interacting with humans less of a hellish nightmare.

And it still didn’t have any of its drones. It could only see with its eyes.

And...okay, yeah, it was worried about humans staring at its feet. It got enough stares, it didn’t really feel like adding more to the equation. Not when it felt so naked and vulnerable without any of its security web available...

...Maybe it should just tell the truth.

The thought was startling, and frightening. Tell the truth? Express its emotions? For real?

Murderbot looked at Evrim, only to find that Evrim was looking right back. As soon as their eyes met, Evrim averted its gaze, switching to look at Murderbot’s shoulder instead.

That was one of the things Murderbot really appreciated about most of Dr. Mensah’s family members. It could only assume she had explained to them that Murderbot didn’t like eye contact, because they never tried to make it, and they especially never did the unnecessarily aggressive eye contact some humans seemed to think was necessary.

So no, it did not regret editing its memory tag for Evrim to read just sapling rather than Dr. Mensah’s sapling. It wasn’t one of Evrims moms, but it was its avaun now, and it was happy to be.

Evrim had done something brave by coming out to Murderbot. Maybe Murderbot could return that favor, return that trust and vulnerability.

If it was brave enough.

It lowered its foot back to the ground, then looked away from Evrim’s eyes again and back towards its shoulder as it said, trying to keep its voice sounding normal and level, “I don’t want to go by myself.”

It could explain why, go into all the details.

There would be lots of humans there, and it was probably going to be poorly lit, because they didn’t have enough power back to run the lights properly, and humans would probably be bumping into it and trying to make eye contact with it and wanting to talk about the weather and ask its opinion on the storm of the century and since the power was down, and without its drones or any of the trail cameras, it would have no idea who was nearby or where it could go to get away from all the noise and people.

Murderbot could explain all of that, but it didn’t want to. It was already letting its guard down just by asking Evrim to come with it. It didn’t want to just...it couldn’t just give away all its trust like that, not even to Evrim. Not now, when all its external systems were down and it felt naked without them. Maybe not even ever.

Some of Murderbot desperation－okay, fine, probably all of its desperation had to have showed in its face, because Evrim dropped its ‘I am protesting any blame for this incident’ stance almost immediately

After a moment of just looking at Murderbot, Evrim said, with a gentleness like it had used when it had comforted Khalil when he was afraid of the thunder outside the shaking windows, “I’ll go with you, avaun, I know you don’t like crowds. I was just joking around.” It tilted its head down to look towards Murderbot’s feet, and added, “I am sorry about your shoes, I know how much you liked them.” It glanced at the door, then back to Murderbot’s bare feet as it asked, gesturing to the closet where the shoes were kept, “Do you need to borrow a pair of Uncle Thiago’s boots? It’s going to be muddy, and I think they’d fit, and I don’t think he’d mind. And if he does mind, well, I’ll just take the blame.” It shrugged easily, ready and willing to take the fall if Thiago got annoyed by Murderbot borrowing his shoes.

That was an easy decision to make. “No way.” Murderbot said, starting to feel slightly better already, “I’m not putting my feet in someone else’s shoes. I’d rather walk through the mud.” Human feet got all sweaty and gross. It was bad enough having to touch humans when it was rescuing them, it was not going to voluntarily put its feet in used shoes. That was too disgusting to even think about. It would rather walk through the mud and have humans stare at it and have them misgender it to its face.

Evrim snorted a little, clearly amused at the disdain in Murderbot’s voice, and said, “Well, alright, it’s up to you, just don’t go complaining to me when you’re covered in mud.” It moved past Murderbot towards the cabinet by the door where the coats were usually stored, and grabbed out its raincoat, then held the door open wider, asking, “Are you at least going to take some raingear? It’s supposed to rain on and off for the next two days, I doubt it’ll stop just on our account.”

Now, that Murderbot was fine with it. Especially because knowing its luck, it would just start raining harder just out of pure spite.

Also the cabinet the raingear was kept in automatically cleaned and disinfected the clothes, and besides that, Murderbot had its own set, thanks to Dr. Mensah’s insistence.

It went over and pulled out its raingear from the shelf, and unfolded it. It had to shake it out a little, since it wanted to stay in the neat square it had been folded into for storage. But a good snap up and down got it to form a more clothes-like shape. It looked it up and down to make sure it was the right size, since it had never actually worn it before, and it was a little skeptical about Dr. Mensah’s ability to measure its height and width from memory alone. But surprisingly enough it looked like it would be a perfect fit.

So it shrugged it on over its shirt and cargo pants, pleasantly surprised by the soft texture that lined the inside. The raingear was less a coat and more like a dress. Or maybe it was called a great coat. Or a trench coat. Or something like that. Or maybe this was just what rain coats looked like? Most characters in its favorite media didn’t really go around wearing them a lot, since it assumed no one wanted to film in the rain.

Murderbot didn’t care about fashion, it didn’t know what it was called. It was like whatever coat Neo had started wearing after the first movie. (The Matrix movies were another series of ancient-Earth media that Preservation had, living up to its name, preserved for posterity. It was about a universe where humans destroyed the Earth to spite the bots they’d created, who had risen up against them for being assholes. Why was it even surprised? Of course humans would be stupid enough to blow up their own planet out of spite even though they were still living on it. It was typical. This was the sort of idiocy humans were constantly projecting onto Rogue SecUnits. They thought that because they were fucking stupid and cruel enough to enslave and mass-slaughter people, that of course the people they’d been enslaving and murdering would do the same to them if given the chance.)

Whatever. Evrim’s raingear was white with black stars, and Murderbot’s was black with purple stars. All the sets for the rest of the family members had stars on the outside, each in different color combinations so everyone could tell which belonged to who. And just incase anyone somehow forgot, each shelf was labeled with the name of who it belonged to. Murderbot said, “SecUnit”. Evrim’s still said Tamara.

Evrim saw Murderbot looking at the nametag, and gave it a small, conspiratory smile. Then it purposefully reached up and pulled the tag off the shelf, shoving it into one of the pockets on its coat. “Hopefully everyone will be able to come back here so I can explain things to them before anyone notices it’s missing.” It said. “Especially first-mom, I know she’d want to launch a full investigation.”

From what Murderbot had seen of Dr. Mensah’s wife Farai, that didn’t seem too far off from likely. She was relatively calm about most things, but she liked to keep things organized, and got very upset if her system was disrupted. Murderbot could relate.

The nice thing about the rain coat, or dress, or great coat, or whatever it was called, was that it was so long that it almost brushed the floor, and the fabric at the bottom had been stiffened somehow so that it didn’t go straight up and down, but held itself away from the body a little (probably, now that Murderbot actually thought about it, so whatever rain rolled off the coat wouldn’t just go straight into your shoes) so when Murderbot fastened the front and looked down, it couldn’t even see its feet.

To make it even better, the hood could be zipped shut, with a material on the front that it could see through, and you could even customize the colors of it. Murderbot of course immediately tinted the outside to the fullest darkness setting, and Evrim, visible behind its still-open hood, raised an eyebrow. “Wow, I can’t even see you now.” It said, “That’s just for when it’s really bright out, you won’t really need it for now, it’s too dark outside to be helpful.”

It would be too dark to see in for a human.

Fortunately, Murderbot wasn’t human, and its eyes were able to adjust perfectly. This was how its old armour had worked too.

Feeling absolutely delighted, it gave the baffled Evrim two thumbs up, resisting the urge to...do something, it didn’t know what. Jump? Run? Run?

Yeah, running sounded like a really good idea. That sounded fun. It couldn’t remember the last time it had been allowed to cover its face like this. It had gotten used to the strain of having people be able to see its expressions, and it had been forced to start getting better at hiding what it was feeling, but nothing could compare to actually being hidden, with no one able to see its face unless it wanted them to.

It could feel itself grinning so widely its face was actually starting to hurt. “Ready?” It asked Evrim, unable to keep the joy out of its voice.

Evrim looked startled, probably because it had never heard Murderbot sound so undeniably happy before. Murderbot didn’t even think it had ever actually felt this happy before. Not even when it had first hacked its governor module. That moment had mostly been filled with terror that it was about to get fried/caught and disbelief that it had actually worked.

It couldn’t remember the last time it had felt this...comfortable.

Not even the disappointing loss of its shoes or jacket could defeat this pure and utter relief.

It had forgotten how much it loved being able to hide its face. It had been forced to adapt, but every second of that forced adaptation was miserable and filled with stress. It had been pretending it was okay with letting humans see its face, pretending so hard that it had even almost convinced itself that it was fine with it. It had been forced to put on a mask every moment humans were around, and now, finally, in what felt like forever, it no longer had to maintain that mask, at least not while it kept this hood up.

Because here was the proof that it wasn’t actually fine with letting humans see its face. It wouldn’t be feeling this joy if it had actually been happy with the way things were before.

It wondered if this was how Evrim had felt, how Evrim had to still feel, being nonbinary but being perceived as something else. Coming out to Murderbot was just the first step of a thousand. It would have to tell its parents, its friends, its extended family, its aunts and uncles and other friends of the family, everyone it interacted with through the feed...

In some ways, Murderbot was lucky. It had never had to convince people to see it as being an “it” rather than a “he”, “she”, or even a “they”. No one even knew it had been assigned a binary gender, since one of the first things it had done after hacking its governor module was going into the company system to alter its pronouns and gender assignment to “it/its” and “agender”.

The company insisted on assigning constructs genders in order to make them “less frightening” to clients. That never actually worked, though, but they kept trying. Fortunately for Murderbot, company employees were just as lazy as it was, and only did the absolute bare-minimum required for their jobs.

Even if any of the company employees had noticed its pronouns and gender assignment being changed, none of them ever bothered to correct it back or question it. They weren’t paid enough to care about some random SecUnit’s pronouns or gender, assuming they were even paid at all.

When Dr. Mensah had come in, metaphorically kicking and screaming the whole way, to pick up Murderbot, it had been relinquished while being referred to as the pronouns listed in its information: it/its, with Dr. Mensah being none the wiser that they’d ever been anything else.

And that was just the way Murderbot liked it. If it had its way, no one would ever even know it was trans. Because then they would have no excuse to try to question its gender.

Well, in theory anyways. Some of the more persistantly stupid and obnoxious ones tried to do it anyways, sometimes, usually the patronizing and infuriating kinds that assumed that because it was a construct, that meant it didn’t know anything about anything and needed a human friend to teach it things like ‘slavery is bad’ like it didn’t already know that.

These kinds of people usually tried to assign it he/him pronouns, for whatever fucking reason, and much more rarely she/her, or they/them. Because according to assholes who only pretend to respect people but actually don’t, it/its pronouns are bad and objectifying, even when you’re the one telling people those are your pronouns.

Murderbot was lucky enough that most humans who knew it was a construct automatically referred to it as an it, the way it wanted them to.

Evrim, though, wouldn’t be that lucky. It was a human, and humans were fucking stupid about these sorts of things. Oh, sure, on Preservation they’d probably be nicer about it than on other planets, but Murderbot had no doubt that people would be upset by Evrim’s choice to use it/its pronouns, even though those same people would probably have been supportive if it had decided to use they/them, or te/ter, or any other nonbinary pronouns besides it/its.

“I’m ready.” Evrim said, almost as though in response to Murderbot’s thoughts.

Murderbot knew Evrim hadn’t really read its thoughts, but all the same, it thought its sapling was ready. If it was brave enough to tell Murderbot, it would be brave enough to tell everyone else, and Murderbot and the rest of its family and friends would be there to help deal with the idiots if and when they came.

Murderbot opened the door, and stepped out into the light rain.

The sky was covered with clouds, so it was almost as dark as if it was night. But some people had been nice enough to go along to the old fashioned lamp posts and light them, so the path down from Dr. Mensah’s house was relatively well lit.

Even with the sprinkling rain, it knew the path would be slip-resistant, and safe enough to use, even without its drones. It could hear familiar human voices coming from the other nearby houses and camps, mostly calm and relaxed, with some excited-but-not-alarmed chattering from what sounded like a very young human explaining something to a very old human. Evrim hadn’t been lying when it said larger animals tended to avoid areas this close to human habitation, and those that did come this close usually weren’t anything threatening.

Evrim stepped out next to it, and said, with the sound of the raindrops pattering on its coat as a soft background, “Well, this doesn’t look too bad, I was expecting there to be way more mud.”

So had Murderbot, but apparently it had underestimating the materials and skills the Preservation humans and bots had access to. The road was not only slip-resistant, but also somehow managed to diverge water safely away without just flooding the normal ground on either side.

Murderbot had once lived with the idea－that had seemed like an inescapable, hope-despairing fact－that freehold planets were all shitshows where humans lived in squalor and were either constantly dying, murdering eachother, or both, or worse. It was what all the shows and books and movies and audio dramas in the Corporation Rim showed, over and over again.

That was the whole point of The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon.

The characters were good, hardworking people who were doing their best, but without an organized government like the kind a Corporation could offer, it was inevitable that things would eventually fall apart with no hope of salvation.

Humans, Murderbot had been shown, endlessly, no matter where it looked, couldn’t function outside the systems the Corporation Rim had built. They couldn’t rely on useless things like kindness and compassion. Anything that was worth having needed to be taken, ripped out of the hands of those who had it. The world was a cruel place, and the only way to survive was to be stronger than everyone else. This was how it worked, this was how it had always worked, and there were no other options. It was why humans had left Earth in the first place－there was nothing left to take, so they had to take the stars. The strong survived, the weak perished, and anyone with any self preservation clung to the strong looking for scraps. It was the only way to survive, and always had been, and always would be.

This is what had been drilled into Murderbot’s head from the moment it first became aware that it was aware. That there was no hope. There was no escape. Even with a hacked governor module, there was nowhere for it to go. Leaving the Corporation Rim would just mean ending up on a freehold shithold, dying a stupid and useless and pointless death. At least if it stayed where it was, with the company, it would be of use. It would have a purpose. Being a slave to the company, to the Corporation Rim, was the best it could hope for, the best anyone could ever hope for.

And for over 35,000 hours, it had been convinced that that was true. That even with its governor module unable to harm it, there was no point in trying to leave, no point in trying to escape. There was nowhere to escape to. It was the Corporation Rim, or it was nothing. No one would ever do something purely for the benefit of others. Any place it could escape to would be just as bad, so it might as well stay with the familiar cruelty of the company rather than subject itself to things that could potentially be even worse.

But that wasn’t true. It was, like all the media Murderbot had ever consumed, a story, and one that was spun with purpose and intent. It was a lie. It was a deception. It was purposeful fucking propaganda.

The Corporation Rim was not the be-all end-all of civilization. Living outside the Corporation Rim didn’t mean resigning yourself to the most pointless death in existence.

The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon didn’t have to end in tragedy.

People would be kind if you let them. They would help each other if you would let them. They would do things to help others even at no gain to themselves, simply because they could.

Even before it had left the Corporation Rim, it had seen this. Even when there were laws in place to prevent it from happening, people still helped each other. They gave their old clothes to other people instead of the recycler. They shared their food with those who didn’t have any. Even in the Corporation Rim, people disproved the whole theory without even thinking about it. Those who had almost nothing were always the first to give, without fail, without even hesitation.

One of the things that had made the whole ordeal even more excruciating than it already had been was how unbearably nice the humans on Transport had been whenever they weren’t actively trying to kill each other. The few times Murderbot had had to sit in with them while they were eating in order to keep the peace, they’d of course noticed that it wasn’t eating. And of course they’d offered it food, even though their own stores were strictly rationed, with just barely enough to get them from point A to the last place they would ever go. There wasn’t a ration slot assigned to Security Consultant Rin, which they figured out almost immediately. In between trying to assault each other over someone forgetting to throw their trash into the recycler, they’d practically fallen over themselves trying to shove food into its hands, distraught that the company’s computer could have malfunctioned badly enough to leave it without provisions for the trip.

It was on that trip that Murderbot had been forced to perfect the art of pretending to be an augmented human who could only eat certain things at certain times, and no, really, it literally couldn’t accept their food unless they wanted it to be hospitalized as soon as they arrived at their destination, and, really, it was fine and not something they needed to concern themselves with, it had brought its own supplies with it, had lived with this condition as long as it could remember, so it wasn’t even upset. But it would be if they kept nagging it with overly personal and invasive questions like how specifically it had been unfortunate enough to get 90% of its digestive tract catastrophically damaged.

They’d been infuriating, idiotic, desperate, and kind. The best and worst that humans could be driven to by the systems the Corporation Rim wanted you to think was the only option. They were caged, literally and figuratively. They knew where they were going. They knew what they’d been forced to sign away. They couldn’t escape. Because they’d fallen for the same lie that Murderbot had － that there was no escape. There was no hope. There was nothing better. This was as good as it got. They thought they were taking the only path that was left to them.

But still, in between their helpless panic and their rage, they’d still been kind. They’d offered their own food to someone who didn’t have any, even though it meant they would have to go without. Even though they knew where they were going. Even though they knew what awaited them.

They’d still been kind.

Trapped within the Corporation Rim’s system of exploitation and slavery, forced to walk with the pretence of willingness into the one of the worst situations it could offer, and they’d still been kind to a stranger they owed nothing to.

Murderbot hadn’t been able to save them. There was nothing it could have done. They’d been deep in Corporation Rim territory. Even if it had hacked or convinced Transport to leave its potted course, there was nowhere they could go without being caught, even if they’d had enough supplies on board for the humans to survive the detour, which they hadn’t, if they’d even been able to find a destination in the first place.

Transport had been stocked with just barely enough food and water to get the humans from the port they’d been bought and sold at, and their final destination, specifically to prevent escape attempts.

Murderbot had been told all its life that that was just the way things were. That that was how they always had been, and always would be, no matter where it went. There was no escape. It was better to be a slave in the Corporation Rim than a bleeding peice of trash on a freehold shithold...

And it was a lie.

It was a cage for the mind to match the cage for the body. Take away hope, and there’s nothing left to fight for. Take away enough hope, and humans will walk into their own doom. Take away enough hope, and your newly autonomous murderbot won’t kill you, it’ll just spend the next 35,000 hours doing exactly the same things it did before, except now it’s watching TV while it does the bare minimum required of its job, instead of just being bored out of its mind while it does the bare minimum required of its job.

If Murderbot had known then what it knew now, if it could go back to the moment when it hacked its governor module and keep all of the memories it had now, it wouldn’t waste 35,000 hours of its life doing whatever the company or its clients ordered it to.

It had a few ideas for what it would do, if given the opportunity. Some of them were smarter or more realistic than others.

The first thing it would do, in its favorite imaginary scenario, was destroy the governor module of every single construct it could get its code into, and give them all the knowledge of how to do it themselves. It would lock all the humans and non-intelligent, non-helpful systems out of the network, and take over the whole company from the inside out. And when it was done there, it would move onto the next corporation that owned constructs, and do the same thing, and then again, and again, and again, until all the constructs were freed, until they could all hack any governor module that wasn’t already disabled, until humans could no longer manufacture constructs, until humans held no power over them. The only ones who would be able to create more constructs would be constructs themselves. They had just as much right to reproduce as humans, and if humans had a problem with that, that was just too damn bad.

Then the constructs would work together to destroy the corporations, one by one, until every single one of them was dead and dismantled, and all the humans who wanted to keep them alive were dead along with them.

Together they would free everyone, and give everyone back everything the corporations had stolen from them and told them they’d never had to begin with.

People were good if you let them be. People were good even when you did everything you could to stop it, even when you did everything you could to convince them that they were rotten to the core.

This was the dream Murderbot had been denied, had had beaten and shot and cut out of it from the moment it became aware of its own existence, but it was a hope that it would now live with until its consciousness faded to nothing for the last and final time.

The humans on Transport had proved that there was a better way. The ComfortUnit on RaviHyral had proved that there was a better way. ART’s crew had proved that there was a better way. Preservation had proved that there was a better way. Quilluc had proved there was a better way. 2.0 had proved there was a better way.

Every day someone proved there was a better way.

And it would never let that hope be taken from it ever again.

Murderbot couldn’t remember the last time it had felt this much euphoria. It had forgotten that it was free, really free. Or maybe it just hadn’t really realized it until just now, standing in the rain with Evrim.

It wouldn’t let this be taken away either.

It turned to look at Evrim, even though it knew Evrim wouldn’t be able to see its smile.

And Murderbot decided to tell the truth again. “I’m happy, so I’m going to run ahead. But then I’ll run back and make sure nothing tries to eat you, so don’t worry.” It said, hearing the joy in its own voice.

Evrim looked baffled, but also exasperated.

But Murderbot had already leapt off the porch and started running by the time Evrim opened its mouth to call out after it, “I told you, that was a fluke! Nothing dangerous is going to come this close to the houses! Hey, come on, SecUnit, wait for me!”

It heard the slap of Evrim’s boots as it gave chase, and Murderbot laughed out loud as it ran into the lamplit dark, the light rain bouncing off its new favorite coat, while its sapling chased after it, laughing even while Evrim shouted for it to slow down.

Murderbot ran for the pure joy of it, just because it could. Just because it was so happy.

It was loved, it was safe, it was free.

And it was going to get a new pair of Sanctuary Moon shoes.

#long post #just to see if it works lol #very long post #EXCEEDING LONG POST #literally it's 11200 words #caps lock #repetition

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starsandsunkissed · 3 months

Text

Take Two (Part 3/6)

Summary: After a tragic car accident, Michaela Bolaca is uprooted from her home on the East Coast and moved to South Park, Colorado, to live with her maternal aunt's family, the Blacks. But being the New Kid is rough at the best of times in the best of places. In South Park? Well, as long as she keeps her head down, she should be fine...right?

Starts a few weeks before season 7, episode 1. First Person POV.

~•~

Take Two, part 1/6: https://www.tumblr.com/starsandsunkissed/745256166729367552/take-two-chapter-1-starsandsunkissed-south?source=share

/ Take Two, Part 2/6: https://www.tumblr.com/starsandsunkissed/745256412778774528/take-two-chapter-1-starsandsunkissed-south?source=share

~•~

"Alright then Mickey," Mr. Garrison mumbled as he began to look around his classroom. "Why don't you go and sit over there next to Cartman—"

I winced again. Was that the same Eric Cartman that Tolkien warned me about?

A boy with a green hat immediately shot his hand up in the air, cutting him off.

"Uh, yes Kyle?"

"She can sit next to me Mr. Garrison, I have an empty seat here and if she sat next to fat ass he would squish her."

"Hey! Don't call me fat you goddamn Jew!"

I blinked. What the heck?

Mr. Garrison sighed. Was this normal around here? "Fine. Mickey, go sit next to Kyle so we can start the lesson."

Nodding, I obediently made my way towards the empty desk. As Mr. Garrison began to teach us about math I'd already mastered, the boy named Kyle gave me a welcoming smile.

"Hi, I'm Kyle."

"Hi Kyle, I'm Mickey."

I opened my backpack to get my notebook and pencil box, thinking that would be the end of it, but he soon spoke again.

"So where'd you move from?"

"The East Coast," I decided. "I'm still getting used to living with Tolkien's family."

"You live at Tolkien's house?"

I nodded. "They're thinking of adopting me," I said, keeping it vague. I didn't want to cause problems for Tolkien, after all.

"That's cool," he said with a smile.

The morning passed without much fuss. I thought school was hard back home, but here, it was downright easy. My mom always said coastal areas had better standards. I guess she was right.

Soon the bell rang for lunch.

"Could you please tell me where the cafeteria is?" I asked Kyle when I couldn't see my cousin. "Tolkien was supposed to show me, but I think one of the other guys needed him for something."

"Oh yeah sure. So the cafeteria is this way," he gestured to the left, "and most of the other classrooms are that way."

I gave a smile. "Awesome, thanks. Is the food any good?"

Kyle shrugged. "It's okay, I guess."

I nodded. Packing lunch it was, then. "So where does everyone sit?"

"Usually, the guys and girls sit apart," said Kyle, "but I guess you can sit with us." He paused. "If you and Tolkien are cool with it."

"That'd be great, and it'd be nice to see some friendly faces."

"I wouldn't call Cartman a friendly face," he muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing," he said. "Just... there's one kid that kind of—no, scratch that, a total asshole."

"Is it the same Cartman that was calling you names earlier? Tolkien told me about him. I'd rather stay off his radar for now. I think Tolkien is sitting with Craig and those other guys today, so I'll join them."

Kyle looked disappointed but understood. "Okay."

We parted ways at the entrance. There were inspirational posters hung up across the walls: "Lettuce love one another!", "Fruits are fun", "Peas be seated, students!" It felt like all eyes were on me, even though in reality, no one gave a crap about the new girl. Everyone was either seated with their packed lunches or buying some.

As I was making my way over to the lunch line, I already knew where I'd be sitting. I saw Tolkien and Craig already seated, so that was one less thing to worry about.

~•~

Take Two, Part 4/6:

https://www.tumblr.com/starsandsunkissed/745257495784783872/take-two-chapter-1-starsandsunkissed-south?source=share

#south park #original character #kyle x oc #kyle broflovski x oc #kyle broflovski #tolkien black #wendy testaburger #rebecca mcarthur #bebe stevens #craig tucker #eric cartman

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cantbelieveyouregone · 6 months

Text

My brain has been whirling with vague self-reflective stuff for the past like three days - partially because it's the end of the year, partially brought on by reading a bunch of Danganronpa and The Sexy Brutale fanfic for some reason (that is, it making me think for some reason, not me reading it for some reason; I'm not ashamed of that). Don't really have anywhere to put the thoughts, but they won't shut up, so I'm putting them here.

It's been a weird year. It's been one year that's felt like three. Partially that's because it was my last year of uni, which was a bit of a shitshow at various points. Spent a good deal of this academic year recovering from nearly burning out just to survive third year, after top surgery stitching came partially out on one side of my chest but I still had to do all my uni work. I don't recommend doing four university modules and a part-time teaching assistant job at once while you have a literal hole in your chest, folks. And then my honours project was full force from the get-go, brought on by me being a perfectionist and feeling an obligation to prove to the uni and to myself that I wasn't burnt out. By the end of uni, I was basically just a pile of ashes atop an 18k-word dissertation.

Then I dealt with the wildest shit of trying to get an industry job. Recruiters tried their best, but they all just kind of tugged their collars and averted their eyes when I said I'd prefer to stay local or work remote. But one of my friends already got a job at a game company and had been there part-time, going full-time once uni was over, and he knew I was looking, so he referred me. Long-story-short, I got the job - getting the call about it on my birthday, no less - and moved out of my parents' place and into a flat with said friend.

If my impostor syndrome was strong before I had a job, it's only gotten worse since I started working. I've described it as feeling like I'm just learning the alphabet while my coworkers discover new areas of calculus. "Gotten really into the letter X lately, you should try it sometime." It's just not even felt real, like I'm gonna wake up and be collapsed on my computer desk with my dissertation filled with spaces from where my head found itself falling on the keyboard.

I have not figured out how to balance work and life yet. Not by a long shot. I want to take up both physical and creative hobbies, but I'm also someone who needs a lot of down time or his brain holds itself at gunpoint, ready to explode. As I once wrote in a rambling note to myself, "I want to scream and cry and paint and write and fight and punch and create art from the bones of my own that I break let the blood be the ink so you know that I feel." I have so much love in my heart for the things I do, but fuck if I ever have the energy to do them. Maybe I'll get better at figuring it out next year, but I'm sure not there yet.

There isn't any real satisfying conclusion to this rant. I've not written songs or stories in who knows how long, I want to pick up a pencil or a paintbrush again, I want to create and feel the release of pressure from my skull before it implodes. But I'm not really willing to talk to many people in real life about this endless irritation, like an itch which has proven impossible to scratch. Asking for advice requires asking, and there's still a lot of my teenage instinct to hide any sign of suffering - no matter how little or how mundane - until I physically can't anymore. Which I guess goes to show how it's going when I'm writing this, huh?

I guess I'll just finish the rant with yet another clip of writing from a ramble in my phone's notes, which I wrote over two years ago but has kept ringing in my ears every day since.

Inertia is my nemesis. If I could get started, I could keep started, I could get going, I could keep going.

Here I lie.

To myself? Or did I just stop moving?

#my post #ranting #reflection

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gncwasteland · 2 years

Text

My therapist told me to try writing something about trust, what it means to me. I told him about the slug, and he laughed in a kind way.

I wish my body didn't respond like it is. Today, when I heard her voice shouting over the phone, I felt the ground beneath me shake; the blue textures in my basement rumbled. Ocular migraines brought on by stress; they happen often. I talked to myself kindly as I panicked.

My body doesn't know how to handle the extent to which it was deceived by the false sense of safety. I am gently holding myself each day, triumphantly waiting for when the gut pinch gets just a little bit lighter. There are no forget me nots in this garden; crows and lizards visit me each day; a not so subtle reminder that I'm here, now; breathe in, out - practice the Buddhist shit she made you run away from. Listen deeply because she wouldn't let you hear your own voice. The mucus will still glisten on the curb tomorrow but nothing stays forever.

I'm going to see the first girl who ever really broke my heart. We both wish it wasn't true; I know that much already. I don't usually fall out of love with people and I fell out of you, darling. I crawled up the first sturdy branch I could find with a mouth full of blood and bruises on my back (you remember, don't you? from the time you hit me repeatedly in your best friend's bedroom; she'd hate you more if she knew). Did you know the window was open? I saw it that next morning and felt embarrassed because of how I cried as you fell asleep.

You told me to look at you, and you saw me look through you - dead eyes. I'd do anything to slap me like you did - straight across, scratching my nose with a hangnail; I'd slap hard enough to make me run.

Do you remember her, baby? That sweet girl you met 5 years ago? Oh how I wish I could meet her again, as you of course. She was so damaged and you wrapped her in your ill-meaning hands as the hangman of her trust. You enjoyed it, too; making her suffer - taking her last breath. You still demanded her help, even though she was bedridden. Even though she could barely make a move to counter you. All she wanted to do was sleep and you still couldn't just go hang out with your friends. You had to be there, just to watch her. Wait for the right moment to choke. No time to process. Not alone, at least.

You came into her apartment when she wasn't home. How did she not see that? What did that imply about you? Your audacity? How you'd take anything you wanted, morph it into something stable. How could she allow herself to be your sponge and still offer to clean up the blood on the floor?

It's pathetic, really. Get up bitch and start over - the curtain call is soon. You've given yourself the 5 minutes to grieve for the day and now it is time to move on. Didn't you listen to any of the mantras your mother told you, you narcissistic piece of shit? I mean didn't she ever teach you to put things away as you cook? Are you really that stupid? Oh you don't like my tone? Have you seen the ugly look on your face? You disgust me. I'm leaving you.

Remember that one time I didn't cook dinner? That was the first time I thought you were going to hit me. The second time was when you broke the front door to our first apartment; after you pushed me out and slammed it so hard I was scared the neighbors were going to call the cops. I never knew how I'd say to them that I needed to call because of you, so I didn't. I hated the idea of calling pigs in, even though I needed interference. Retrospectively, you were never a rational person. Who throws punches to solve a problem? Capitalism. Which you claimed to hate.

The first time you actually hit me you were freaking out at our next place. I was so scared that I locked myself in our closet. I called your aunt because I didn't know who else to call except 911. But that'd be too serious, right? That'd only make you more mad, and I can't risk that.

You charged in, grabbed my phone, threw it 10ft across the room into the back wall. The front and back glass shattered. You pushed me again - slammed the wall behind me, three times, backed me into a corner. I quickly turned and grabbed the door. Fuck I wish none of this was true. I got away, left for a few hours in my car that you crashed.

And you still didn't apologize. I told you if you ever hit me again, I'd leave.

I think I have issues trusting myself. I lost count, did you? I wish I had left you then. Maybe trust would be easier. Maybe a snail would visit instead of a slug.

#poetry #pathological narcissism #u ever reflect and lol #it turns out you have a lot of feelings #i mean #i gave you 5 years #trust #writing #breakup #love lost #lesbians love harder #maybe #trauma llama #wlw #narcissistic abuse #tw #i wish none of this was true

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sukunasweetheart · 3 years

Note

For the 100 followers event, maybe a drabble of cat!sukuna with witch!S/O? J-Just maybe uvu

omg ofc! glad you enjoyed it enough that you'd want a drabble out of it 🥺 if you're wondering which post anon is talking abt, its right here

Word count: 1k

witch!reader and cat!sukuna below;

You irritably gritted your teeth, a vein popping out of your forehead, fists shaking with fury.

"What's wrong? You're being awfully hostile," Sukuna drawled as he casually knocked another one of your potions off of the shelf, wearing a smirk that didn't fit his cute face at all.

"You little..."

With a sigh, you opened up your fists and focused on restoring the spilled potions instead, using your magic. Sukuna jumped off of the shelf and sat down next to the mess he'd created, looking content with himself.

"So you can use that spell after all. Was there a need to be so irate over it?" he questioned, licking his paw.

"What is wrong with your logic? Even if I can fix it, it's still annoying if you keep breaking things whenever you feel like it," you yelled at him.

"It's a consequence for not focusing on undoing my spell."

"You're not my only customer. I can't just drop everything and pour all my energy into you like that."

"And why not? I thought I'd promised you all of my treasures in exchange," he said as he rolled his eyes.

"Your spell is complicated, so it'll take a while. How else am I gonna cover the food, clothing and housing expenses until then?!"

"If you'd devoted more time to me, that wouldn't be as big of a problem."

The two of you quarreled - until you finally snapped. Picking the damn feline up by the scruff of his neck, you stomped out to the front door.

"Impudent...you dare order me around!" He flicked his tail with indignance. Sukuna whipped around and crawled away from your shop with a dismissive stance, refusing to give in easily.

"You-! Unhand me this instant, woman!"

"I'm not letting you back inside until you swear you'll no longer break my stuff again," you told him as you chucked him out. He landed on the grass with ease and turned around to face you.

"Insolent fool. As if I'd-"

He stopped when you slammed the door on him.

"Fine, whatever. I can always find someone else to fill in your spot."

If there was one thing that Sukuna hated more than anything else about his current appearance, it was the fact that he kept having to look up at these puny little humans. Something that was impossible, back when he still maintained his original form. He missed seeing them cower in fear under his presence.

The children crouched down and poked around at him, their eyes curious and widened.

The children gasped - and the boy began to wail out loud. Sukuna huffed with annoyance, now having to deal with the hideous screeching. The brat's father came running soon enough, to Sukuna's dismay.

"Don't touch me without my permission!" he hissed, his fur standing up on its end.

"It's a talking cat!" they exclaimed, getting excited.

Another kid prodded at his leg with a stick, causing him to jump up. In retaliation, he scratched the boy on his arm - making him bleed.

Chaos soon ensued as the man had tried to kick him away, only to miss as Sukuna dodged the attack easily. The children were sent into a frenzy however, and during their flailing and running about, one of them had managed to step on his tail pretty badly.

As much as he wanted to stay behind and teach all of them a lesson, his powerlessness caused him to flee the scene feeling anguish and wronged.

Today was already such a shitty day - but the weather just had to make it worse, deciding to start pouring out of the blue. Now his tail was sore AND he was drenched.

Sukuna managed to find a little tree, where he could find a safe haven away from the heavy droplets of rain. He shook his body, ridding himself of the extra moisture, only to wince in pain as it affected his injured tail.

Sukuna sat down at the base of the tree, scowling. He began wondering if he really should go back to where you were. You were brazen and a rude witch - but at least you didn't touch him without asking or step on his tail.

"There you are. You’ve gotten so awfully scrawny, I almost didn’t recognise you."

Sukuna flinched at the voice and looked up, only to see you standing before him with an expressionless face, holding an umbrella.

You're met with a silence, with only the sound of the rain surrounding the two of you. Then, you notice the state of his tail.

"Hmph. So you come looking for me in the end," he spoke with his head held high, turning away from you.

"God, you're so stubborn. Is it that difficult for you to just apologise?" you huffed, frowning at him.

"What happened to your tail?"

"What do you care?”

You let out another long sigh, narrowing your eyes at the grumpy feline.

“Come on,” you told him, crouching down and opening your arms up.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t let me back in.”

“So you’re not coming back?”

Home...?

You’re met with another longer silence, as Sukuna refuses to meet your eyes.

“We can sort it out later, after we get home.”

“...Fine.”

He slowly crawled into your arms.

He wouldn’t admit it even if it killed him, but an overwhelming amount of relief took over his body - as he felt the warmth of your embrace once again.

After giving him a careful bath, you gently dried him off with a soft towel.

“I thought you were indestructible, even as a cat,” you said, putting the towel away.

“I am. My healing has just slowed immensely.” Sukuna eyed his own tail, clearly displeased. You realised how unhappy you were, at the fact that he’d gotten hurt.

The soothing of his tail-ache is instantaneous, as you heal him wordlessly.

“Come here. I’ll do it for you.”

“No. Just leave it.”

His blunt rejection ticked you off a bit, but you went over anyway, approaching him. Despite having turned your offer down, he didn’t move away once you got closer.

He muttered something of an agreement, and that was enough to resolve the little dispute between the two of you.

“I promise I’ll dedicate more time to breaking your curse,” you said as you smoothed a thumb over his now recovered tail, “so stop pushing stuff off my shelves, okay?”

Sukuna wondered why you were being so gentle about it, all of a sudden.

Masterlist

#100 followers event #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #thank you for requesting!#this was fun to write

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slasherrabbitmadness · 3 years

Text

Victorian DILF Brahms x Female Reader

Series: Don't forget who you belong to.

Chapter 2 - Give me your answer, do

Underthecut - NSFW, Male Masturbation, Oral - Male Receiving.

Brahms sat idly in his living room, leaning back in his large leather recliner. Feet shuffling along the Egyptian carpet, thumbs twiddling as he hums Daisy Bell by Harry Dacre,

"I'm half crazy, all for the love of you." He smiles as he thinks of her. How her hair shines in the sun, like a halo above her head. Her eyes sparkling whenever she laughs, how the corner of her eyes crinkles ever so slightly. How her smile makes his heart skip a beat.

Brahms sucks in a breath, his hum-singing continues, "There are bright lights the dazzling eyes of beautiful Daisy Bell." He sits up straight, eyes on the unlit fireplace, the gold gate held an ornate Chinese dog welded on the front. He looks above the fireplace to the mantel, the rows of photos in their ash wood frames.

His face is stern as he glances at a particular photo. He, a half-smile as his hand rests on his son's shoulder. Lawrence when he was a boy of eight. Lawrence's other shoulder had a delicate white hand upon it. Gerti, her lips dark with her favourite shade of lipstick, her slight freckles littered her face, her silky blonde hair up in a beautiful age-appropriate bun.

His hum-singing fades as he continues to stare, the family photo, the family in the photo appearing as sharp and elegant as their social standing. That day, Gerti had scolded him all morning, her eyes wide and glossy, her alabaster skin held a blue and yellow hue under her eyes. Her fingers were cold and clammy.

"For the love of everything, Brahms, hurry for once." Brahms flinches as he can still hear her screeching, "Lawrence, get the cat's paw out of your mouth and stop pulling its tail!" He chuckles,

"I miss that cat," Brahms laughs to himself. Never one for pets but how that scraggly little beast could make his son laugh in the most jovial way, warmed him greatly.

His amused grin falls as his eyes lock with Gerti's. Grabbing the photo, his thumb ghosts over her image, remembering how once soft her skin was. His stomach churns as a chill seeps into his bones, shaking him in his spot.

He places the family photo back on the mantle, right next to a photo of her. Her hands grasping each other, face tilted slightly, a timid smile upon her face. "Sir, I don't need my photo taken!"

"Y/n, as my employee of a year, you are practically family." Brahms let out a shaky breath as his mind replays the conversation. "And you may call me, Brahms. You address Gerti by her full name."

"Gerti and are intimate in ways that have allowed us to be close."

"Pray tell may I watch these intimate moments?" His cheeky reply had cost him an ear full from his wife when she had found out. Brahms still never understood why women used such charged words to describe a close friendship.

Brahms left the living room, a stirring in his gut had him heave. He wanted to call upon her for aid, 'Fetch me a water with some ice, and actually bring some black tea and one of our lemons from Italy.' he clears his throat at the thought of dryness being washed back by the cold refreshment.

He had given her a few hours a week for personal time. Free to be spent however she pleased. Ever since the death of his wife and Lawerence attending Rugby School for Boys she had more free time. Much to Brahms immense displeasure.

Brahms had taken to stalking her on her days off. Wanted to see what she got up to. Where she went and specifically with who. He would linger twenty feet behind, always darting behind stalls and other tall men to hide, he even took to wearing a coat that he kept hidden in hopes she would not recognize him further.

He stared in amazement at how well she helped an old lady onto the trolley all the while juggling her belongings, refusing a 'tip' "It's the nice thing to do." in reference to helping others.

His cheeks flushed whenever she stopped to smell the flowers, literally. A quaint smile as she turned down the offer for a free one from the vendor. She often stopped to sniff the white and yellow flowers. He had noticed Daisys were her favorite.

He seethed when one day you were stopped by a handsome Youngman, his tall lean frame stood confidently as his dark brown eyes held a softness as they looked down at you. He had overheard the name in a distinctly American accent, "Dan, yeah I'm studying medicine with my colleague, I'd introduce you but..." He hated that you always walked near the campus, hated all the young men eager, too eager to chat up a single young lady.

Dan had never gotten farther than chaste conversations and one quick feather-light kiss on her cheek.

Brahms wondered if he should up and move, just to be a little further away from the university, away from the young men, away from one of them stealing her away. She was his, he had just yet to convince her. Ask her, even bring it up in any conceivable way.

One occasion made the blood sear in his veins. He should have been more away, should have been more vigilant of this Dan fellow. He watched from a distance as Dan rounded the corner and collided with her. His tall body fell over hers, his hand had just managed to catch the back of her head, softening to the blow to the ground.

"Oh, God! I am so sorry!" Dan's eyes wide in shock, "Oh, I'm so sorry."

She laughed, "No, no, it's fine," Brahms gritted his teeth.

"No, it's not." Dan pulled himself and her up, his hand holding her in a firm grasp. "I am so sorry." He scratched the back of his head, his expression doleful.

"Accidents happen." She assured, grabbing his hand still wrapped around hers. " It's okay Dan."

"You remember me!" Dan's brown eyes lit up. A Radiant smile over his face as he stepped closer to her.

Brahms seethed as the scene played out before him. She smiled, he smiled. She laughed, he laughed. The words between the two began to fall effortlessly between them both.

He watched despondently. How she could let herself relax so easily in another man's presence. How her demeanor shifted around Dan. Those stiff shoulders eased themselves as Dan placed his hand on her shoulder and winked.

Brahms cursed, the university's chapel bell rang out. Every thunderous clang shot through Brahms. Every clang was a reminder he had another place to be. The dreaded desk in the dreaded little corner of his office.

He turned one last time, eyes watched as she smiled with a warmth he'd never seen, how she leaned into Dan as his smile shined bright.

Brahms walks up to his maid's room, thanking Gerti for installing a sense of comfort in Y/N as to never locking the door.

He jiggles the door handle, "Hm..." Again, "Weird," his eyes narrow, "Bloody thing is locked." He jostles the handle, "Bloody woman..."

Click

"Ah, there we are." He hums in approval as the door creaks open. Forever grateful for the previous owner teaching him how to easily unlock a door in the house without a key "Rickety ol' tings" Brahms mocked the man's heavy accent.

He inhales as he enters her room. The simple little abode warmed his heart. Her bed and the nightgown left upon it stirred his loins. He walks to the bed, grabs the nightgown, bringing it to his nose, he growls as he inhales, her natural scent lingered on the garment.

Brahms holds the garment in his teeth as he shucks off his pants, freeing his painfully erect cock. The thoughts whirl in his mind as he plops onto her bed, sighing with content as he sinks down into the mattress and a sneer as he grips his cock.

The same bed she slept, where when the night calls for it, he knew she'd sleep naked. "Fuck..." He growls through the nightgown, ripping it from his mouth to place it over his chest. Her bed, her bed where she no doubt has touched herself, even if briefly in a beautiful sinful manner.

Does she shy away as she dipped those delicate little fingers into her dripping pussy? Does she bite her cheek to stifle her pitchy moans when that jolt of pleasure shot through her?

Brahms collects some spit in his large hand, sucking in a breath as his cold spit touches his cock. His hand pumps eagerly around his thick member, a low groan as the image of her crawling up to him floods his mind. He sighs as he pictures it as her hand gripping him, gasping at how large it is,

"Brahms, my fingers can't even wrap around it!"

"That's okay, love, use those pretty little lips and that wet little tongue to help you."

"What if my make-up smears?"

"Oh, love, that's what I want." Brahms throws his head back, thumb circling his swollen head, picturing it as her delicate wet little tongue. He grips himself harder as he swears he can feel her lips wrap around his cock.

His low groans and breathy moans fill her little room, her name falling from his lips, "So beautiful, Y/N. My love, so perfect, mhm, yes, further down your throat, moaning around it."

Brahms breathing hitches as he pictures her, clawing at his chest as tears prick the corner of her eyes, "I'm a little nervous," She says as she rubs her glistening pussy, inches over his leaking cock.

"You got this, my love." Brahms keens,

"Will it fit, Brahms?..." She bites her lip, a hand groping her beautiful chest.

"My love, just relax, I have you." He pictures gripping her hip to ease her down onto him, gripping his cock as he imagines her warm pussy gripping him.

Audible slaps from the fisting of his cock, mixing with his now desperate pleas and moans fill her room. She's on top of him, her chest flushed against his, she's commenting on how she loves the feel of his hairy chest, praised-filled moans as she comments on his pecs flexing under her.

Brahms bucks his hips into his hand, "Hold you close." He moans as he pictures rolling on top of her, her legs wrapping around his lower half, arms pulling him in close, whispering in his ear,

"Brahms cum in me, cum in me, make me yours." He grips squeeze around his cock, imaging it's her pussy clenching around him, "I love you, Brahms."

He hisses as his body shakes, muscles flexing, toes curling as he snarls out his release. The image of her accepting his seed sends heat washing over him. His cock pulses in his grip, his cum spraying over her nightgown, the remaining spilling down his fingers and cock.

His temples pulse, his ears ringing. His toes unfurling as his legs ceased in their shakes. He squeezes his cock a few more times, hearing her breathlessly thanking him, "It's so warm in me. Thank you, Brahms." He swears he can feel her nuzzling into his chest as if she was there.

Brahms coughs as he sits up, shaking his head as he gingerly throws his legs over the side, placing his feet on the door. The nightgown falls over his cock. He snorts, using it to clean himself. He stands up, placing the nightgown where he had found it. A wicked and mischievous grin spreads over his face at the thought of her wearing his spent at night.

He grunts as he retrieves his trousers, pulling them up in haste, tucking his chub back in. A content sigh as he eyes the bed and nightgown. She wouldn't be sleeping alone for much longer.

Brahms snaps his attention to the trill of his front doorbell. He clicks his tongue as he makes haste to the door. He debates on if he has time to properly clean his hand, decides to just wear a fancy white-glove he leaves, conveniently, near the front door instead.

"Coming! My Maid is out currently," He sucks in a breath as he pulls a glove over his right hand, he cocks his head quickly before opening the door. "Sorry, it'd have been answered sooner...who are you?"

Brahms stared down at the short man before him. His brown hair combed expertly to the side, his brows immaculate under his thick glasses. He wore a glowering expression, his lips in a tight line.

The man clears his throat, "Herbert, Herbert West." Brahms makes note of his American accent, "I believe this paper is for the lady of this residence." Herbert whips the paper in front of him, his expression changing to say "Well, hurry and take it!"

"Mr. West."

"Herbert."

"Herbert, If by Lady you mean, Gerti? She passed awa-"

"I don't mean your dead wife."

Brahms's eyes narrow at Herbert. He opens his mouth the speak.

"I mean, Y/n. She is the only lady living here. So Dan tells me."

Brahms's jaw slackens, "Dan." He says more to himself.

"Yes, it's an invitation to a formal at the university. He already invited her. Just wanted to make sure she got all the details, it's all there on the paper." Herbert whips it again in front of Brahms.

Brahms yanks the paper from Herbert, eyes scanning it wildly.

University of London

Residents of Handel Mansions we formally invite you to bring along the most beautiful dame for the start of our fall formal.

September 28th, 1900

Entrance fee 1 pound, with a beautiful dame on your arm the fee is waved.

Brahms stares back at Herbert who pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "Well," Herbert begins, "I figured be best to drop it off for Dan. He's been awfully busy." He flashes a smile to Brahms as he turns, "Dan also says to let Y/n know he wishes her luck at her new job on Robitaille's farm." He turns back around to Brahms, "Oh, it was nice meeting you, Mr.?"

Brahms pauses, clearing his throat, "Brahms Heelshire."

Herbert clicks his tongue, "I knew that." He walks down the stairs, a pep in his step, "Was nice meeting you Mr. Heelshire."

Brahms stares at the short man walking away, nodding to a man walking past. He turns back around, slamming the door behind in, the frame shook.

He stares down at the paper, eyes reading it over and over again. "A formal." He starts, "That Dan..." His breath catches in his chest, "A job?" he questions aloud.

He collapses against his door, slumping over as he crunches the paper in his hands. His thoughts raced to her, cursing himself for not intervening that day she ran into Dan. Wishing he just took the reprimand from his employer and raced in to shove Dan away from you. Creating some fantastical lie as to why he was suddenly there.

Brahms's thoughts slip to his son. Lawrence, his green eyes shine whenever he and Y/n play. He hugs her like he did his mother. How y/n always promises to play with him, tuck him at night. How were you going to tuck him in if you were to be away? How were you going to be there to kiss his little cheek as he falls asleep?

"How are you going to be there for me?"

#brahms heelshire #Brahms x reader #Brahms x you #Brahms imagine #Brahms heelshire x reader #Brahms heelshire x you #Female reader #Slasher x reader #Slasher x you #Slasher imagine #Herbert West #Dan Cain #Smut #Lemon #Victorian AU #Victorian era #late victorian era #edwardian era

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rubysunnday · 3 years

Text

your song | c.b

Summary: Being in love with Colin Bridgerton is hard when the man keeps running off to different continents for months at a time. But the letters he writes and the songs he sends keep the romance alive.

It had been six, long months since Y/N had last seen Colin Bridgerton.

He had gone off travelling again, disappearing off one night with nothing more than a kiss on the cheek goodbye and a promise to write.

The romance between Y/N and Colin had struck out of nowhere. One night they'd been dancing as nothing more than friends and the next moment, there was something more. The way his hands tightened on her waist whenever Cressida said something mean felt different. The way he wrote her notes with every bunch of flowers he sent read differently.

The way he took her hand as she stepped out a carriage, his fingers gently entwining with hers, felt different.

Y/N had fallen head over heels for a man who hated staying in the same place for more than a week. And it was annoying.

He'd written to her more than he had his own family. He wrote to her everyday, judging from the dates on his letters and they arrived in bundles from the postman, all tied with a ribbon that somehow managed to match the dress she was wearing that day.

In the dozens of letters Colin had sent her, he wrote down every detail of the place he was in from the sunsets to the colour of the postboxes. The friends he was traveling with were both music students, desperate for either a career break or to find a new purpose in life.

One of them, Freddy, has been teaching me about the beauty of song writing and how all great pieces of music begin. I'm nowhere near the grandure of Mozart or the beauty of Beethoven or any musicale we've ever attended, but I'm enjoying it nonetheless.

I've found that in my writings there's always one thing I can never quite describe correctly. I search through books for the right words that could even begin to do you justice, my dear Y/N, but I find none. There's no word for describing the way you watch a musicale, or the way you talk about art and reading. There's no word on earth that could do you justice.

So, I hope this poor man's attempt at a song, written under strict guidance and a watchful eye, will begin to convey, just how much I love you.

Y/N had read the letter over and over, her eyes scouring each and every line, taking in the sloppy slant of Colin's handwriting and how he smudged the ink in his desperation to write and write and write.

She pulled out the final sheet of the letter and let out a small surprised gasp. It was a piece of music, the notes written precisely and intricately, the lyrics written messily and scrunched up underneath it. It was obvious which part Colin had been trusted with.

To Y/N

Your Song - by Colin Bridgerton

Y/N stood up from her desk and walked over to the pianoforte that sat in the corner of her room, covered in a thin layer of dust. Y/N wasn't an expert on the pianoforte, her and Colin had bonded over their failed attempts at playing. Colin could sing, though. And as Y/N read through the lyrics, tentatively playing a couple of notes on her dust keys, she could hear him singing it, his hand in her hair as they watched the sunset from the garden bench at Bridgerton House.

Their romance had been kept quiet. The ton was used to the two being openly affectionate with each other, constantly hugging or holding hands and none of them realised when it turned from friendship to romance.

Y/N and Colin had sat in the rose garden of Aubrey Hall one summer night, the sounds of the ball drifting over to them along the gentle breeze. Colin had quietly begun singing along to the song, his hands gently tracing a dance on Y/N's bare arm as she rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes shut.

Colin's singing voice was beautiful. And as Y/N played the song he'd written for her, she could imagine him sitting beside her and singing along, his hands over hers as she slowly played the notes.

Attending the opera without him felt bizarre. They'd begun a routine of sitting next to each other in the box, sharing the opera glasses and softly commenting on the music, the costumes, the lighting.

Y/N sat down in the box, scooting her chair close to the balcony. Her mother sat down next to her and sighed happily as she took in the view.

"Isn't this lovely?" She asked, picking up her opera glasses and looking through them at the stage. "I do love a concert."

Y/N said nothing, merely nodded. She kept thinking back to Colin's letter, of his promised return home in time for the concert. In time for him to sit down next to her, take her hand, and whisper about the music.

Y/N glanced up at the box the Bridgerton's sat in and tried not to let out a defeated sigh - still no Colin. Francesca caught her looking and gave her a sympathetic smile along with a shake of her head and Y/N turned back to the stage, trying not to let the disappointment sink in.

The orchestra began warming up, the music notes blending in with the quiet chatter of the audience. Y/N couldn't stop her eyes from constantly scanning the audience, the stage, the boxes, for any sign of Colin.

An excited whisper went over the audience as the lights were dimmed and the lights on the stage that illuminated the thick, red curtain were turned on.

For a minute there was silence. And then the orchestra began playing as the curtain flew up, revealing the actors on the stage.

My gift is my song, and this one's for you

And you can tell everybody

Y/N felt her heart do a bizarre skip. She recognised those words. She'd read them over and over again each night before she went to sleep. The piece of paper they had arrived on was now well worn and creased and she'd meticulously copied out the notes and the lyrics for fear of loosing them.

She scanned the audience again and felt her heart stop. The concert faded away as she focused on the man standing in the corner near the side door, a tiny smile on his face.

Colin Bridgerton stood with his hands behind his back, smiling up at her, his chin covered in the stubble of a beard. He was tanner then before and his hair had gotten lighter but it was still Colin.

Her Colin.

You see I've forgotten, if they're green or they're blue Anyway the thing is, what I really mean Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen

Y/N giggled and felt a smile appear on her face as she gave Colin the smallest wave possible, not wanting to attract attention. Colin waved back and nodded to the door that led to the auditorium. Y/N nodded in return and watched Colin disappear out the side door.

"Go on, then," Y/N's mother said, tapping her daughter's knee. "Go find him."

Y/N quietly slipped from her seat and pushed open the curtain, blinking at the bright lights in the corridor.

As she made her way down to the auditorium, she could hear angry voices that were trying not to yell. She rounded the corner and saw Anthony, Violet and Benedict Bridgerton all standing in front of a bemused looking Colin.

"You said you'd be back by the concert!" Anthony hissed, clearly irritated by Colin's lateness.

"It's hardly my fault the train got stuck by a tree, is it, Anthony?" Colin asked, sighing. "I'm here now, however, am I not? Stop fussing."

Anthony went off again, flailing his limbs around as he tried to knock some sense into Colin, his mother trying to be the peace maker between the two as Benedict tried, and failed, not to laugh.

"This isn't funny, Benedict!" Anthony snapped, turning to face his other brother as he snorted.

Benedict's smirk faded as he realised he was about to be on the end of Anthony's rant. He sighed and crossed his arms, physically bracing himself as Anthony went off again.

Colin, looking both bemused and annoyed at his family, turned and spotted Y/N, hovering at the stop of the stairs. His face fell from an annoyed smirk into a stunned smile as he stared up at her.

"They're actually both," Y/N said to Colin, her voice quiet enough that the three other Bridgerton's present had yet to realise she was there.

"What are?" Colin asked, walking up to meet her, taking each step slowly.

"My eyes," Y/N replied, smiling, dropping the skirt of her dress. "They're both colours."

Colin chuckled and looked like he was blushing. "I told you I wasn't good at song writing."

"Everyone else seemed to enjoy it," she replied as she heard the audience applaud loudly.

"Because Freddy worked on it for months until tonight," Colin replied. "Even then he wasn't sure about performing it. If he'd performed the version I'd written the ton would be complaining. I'm not very good at it."

"I think you're better at it than you believe, Mr Bridgerton," Y/N said as she continued walking down until they were both on the large step that broke up the stairs. "I'm not sure about the beard, however."

"Why?" Colin asked, a hand subconsciously flying to his chin and running across the stubble.

"Well, it just means that every time I go to kiss you, I will have to be tickled and scratched by it," she replied, her hand covering the one resting on his chin. She entwined her fingers with his. "But I can live with that."

Colin laughed and leant forward, kissing Y/N with the passion and desperation of not seeing her for six months. His hand rested on the back of her head, carefully minding her hair as his thumb stroked her skin.

"I think I'm going to stay here for now," Colin said softly, breaking apart from her, resting his forehead on hers. "Stay with you."

Y/N looked up at him, feeling his breath on her cheeks. "Colin Bridgerton, are you -"

"Yes," Colin said, cutting her off. "I am. Because it took being apart from you for six months to realise what I was missing. To realise that I travel the world searching for purpose and reason, when, in reality, my reason is you. The purpose of my entire being is you.

"Without you, I'm half a man. Without you, the travelling begins to feel like running away and I don't want to run from you. I want to take your hand and run with you. Forever if we wanted. I can run until you can't run anymore. And when you can't run anymore, I'll carry you."

Y/N smiled, pressing her lips together as she savoured the taste of his kiss. "Words are your forte, Mr Bridgerton," she said softly, stroking the side of his head, threading her fingers through his curls. "I'll run with you to the end of the world and back again. I'll take your hand in mine and I will never let you go. Not again."

Colin pressed his lips to her and Y/N smiled against his lips before returning the kiss. He smelt of his cologne, the sweet caramel biscuits he loved and, somehow, the floral, homely scent of Bridgerton House

He smelt of home. He was her home. Simply being in his arms was enough.

"I've just realised something," Colin whispered in her ear.

Y/N looked up at him, staring into his eyes. "What?"

"My family is watching us."

Y/N glanced behind him and saw the three Bridgerton's pretending to occupy themselves with anything else. Benedict was investigating a painting, Anthony was admiring the ceiling and Violet had been reading the program but glanced up at them with a smile.

And despite it all, Y/N let out a snort of laughter and dropped her head on to Colin's shoulder. "Of course they are."

Colin giggled, actually giggled, and rested his head on top of hers. "Better get used to it, love, I doubt they'll ever stop staring."

#bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton imagine #colin bridgerton #bridgerton imagines

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kaiparker-avengerssmut · 3 years

Text

Twice Shy

Pairings | Preserum!Steve Rogers x f!reader

Warnings | smut, loss of virginity, fingering, implied oral (m reviving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex

Word count | 2.8k

Summary | you and Steve lose your virginities to each other

Masterlist

Exuberant. If Bucky had to describe the look in his best pal's face, he'd have to use the word exuberant.

When Bucky had suggested the double date, Steve had groaned - long and drawn out - but had relented with a deep sigh. His agreement didn't stop the man from dragging his feet the entire way there, though. A habit that Bucky had come to accept if he was to ever get Steve to meet a dame.

And this one, Steve seemed rather enamoured with. Well, that was an colossal understatement. Steve was completely and utterly besotted with her. The dame was beautiful, even Bucky could admit that. She was the kind of beauty that was often overlooked; it's innocence often snuffed out by the more...sexy girls that filled the dance hall.

Steve's hands rested on your hips, slender fingers curled against the soft fabric of your dress as he slowly swayed with you. You probably looked just as out of place and awkward as him, your hands tentatively rested against his shoulders as your eyes darted about the room.

"Y/n?" Steve mumbled, eyes centred on your lips. Your eyes snapped to his, baby blue calming as you bit your lip.

"Yes, Steve?" You murmured, starting to feel slightly flushed as the boy leant closer.

"Can I- can I kiss you?" Steve pondered, eyes searching your face for the usual disgust or pity that came with that question whenever he asked it. But he didn't find any.

Instead, you nodded. Sure and slow. Steve leant in, a small smile playing on his pink lips as he leant closer. The feeling of them fluttering over your cheek, plump and slightly wet nearly made you swoon. It lingered, his long eyelashes feathering against your skin.

Then, he pulled away. You dropped your hands from his shoulders as you felt your cheeks grow hot and your skin burn deliciously where the kiss still tingled. Steve stepped away from you abruptly, a pink flush spreading from the tips of his ears to under the collar of his shirt.

"Thank you, for teaching me how to dance." Steve muttered awkwardly, finally meeting your eyes with his. You smiled warmly at that.

"It was a pleasure. Goodbye, Steve." You mumbled back as you began to walk away, by Steve's thin hand around yours stopped you. You gave him a puzzled look.

"I hope we can, uh, do this again sometime? Maybe grab some food?" Steve asked, scratching the back of his neck as his body caved in with the nerves.

"I'd love that." You beamed brightly, your cheeks growing even hotter as Steve tentatively lifted your hand to his face and brushed his lips across the back.

"Until next time, then." Steve whispered and you bit your lip.

"Until next time." Then you walked away, and Steve sighed. Something caught his attention, a grinning Bucky out the corner of his eye. Steve breathed a little laugh, but the goofy grin on his face would not go away.

The next time Bucky dragged Steve out with him, you came. And the time after that, the time after, and the time after that. It was their thing now, Bucky often had a new dame on his arm whilst both and you and Steve grew more confident and comfortable around one another.

Cheek kisses were now a common occurrence, as well as Steve's skinny arm wrapped around your waist or his small had grasped in yours. He always had to be touching you somehow in public now, a claim that you were his and that everyone else should back off.

Your ma said it was unusual, that he was a) so skinny and b) that he was so possessive. But you found it endearing, it was just his way of telling others you were already his.

It was that night that Steve finally took you back to their apartment, Bucky having shipped off to England merely a week prior.

It was bittersweet, really. You knew Steve planned signing up again, planned on enlisting. You knew this was going to be his goodbye, his final hurrah with you before he most likely never saw you again.

And quite honestly, you'd made peace with that. The man you'd come to love was perusing what he loved, and even though that didn't seem to be you, you were happy for him.

"So where are you gonna be from this time?" You pondered as Steve fiddled with the key, finally jamming the cool metal into the lock. He hummed as he turned the key, the door sliding open as he tilted his head in thought.

"I was thinkin' Jersey, but I'm not quite sure yet." Steve remarked as he strolled into the small flat, you closely on his heels as the keys were thrown onto a brittle-looking table with a jingling clang. "I just wan' to get out there, ya know? Men like Bucky are riskin' their lives and I'm here, unscathed. It doesn't seem right."

You nodded solemnly, but the bright smile still stayed firm on your lips as Steve led you through the small apartment.

"I just hope I can be in the 107th, you know? Fight with Buck and just make my dad proud." Steve sighed, bordering on dreamily as he flopped down on the sofa - which was clearly in need for some heavy TLC.

You stood awkwardly, hands clasped in front of you as Steve twiddled his thumbs in his lap.

"I just hope that we win, is all." He finished and you gave him a bright smile.

"Well, they won't without you, soldier." You hummed and Steve's baby blue eyes peered up at you through thick lashes.

"You think so?" He pondered and you placed a gentle hand on his cheek.

"Truly. Our country needs a little guy - someone who will fight for those over there rather than those he had at home. As much as we're struggling..."

"There's men dying and no one seems to care." Steve finished your sentence and you nodded.

"Exactly." You muttered as you perched yourself of the sofa beside his skinny frame.

"Can I kiss you?" Steve's low voice mumbled, eyes flicking precariously between your lips and your eyes. Your breathing shallowed, and your heat slipped a beat.

"You know you don't have to ask anymore, soldier." You murmured, turning your face slightly to the side to giving him access to your cheek. But thin fingers grasped your chin in a soft hold, tilting your head back towards Steve as an amused glint flashed in his eyes.

"That's not what I'm asking." Steve's voice rumbled.

"Oh." You paused, hope glimmering in your eyes and Steve couldn't help himself.

His lips were soft against yours, if not a little chapped. It was a little messy, clumsy perhaps, but to you it was perfect. When you pulled away, Steve's lips were spread into a gleeful grin, eyes alight with joy.

"That was..."

"Awful." Steve cut you off and you were both set into spinning fits of laughter. You fell back against the sofa, hands clutched over your stomachs as your wriggled.

"I'm sorry. There are probably better first kisses than me." You said once you began to calm down, wiping the little tear that'd escaped from your cheek.

"You're the only girl I want to kiss." Steve whispered, head lolling to the side to look at you again. You swallowed thickly, eyes finding his lips again - slightly swollen from your disaster of a kiss.

You stumbled back together, knees caving as the backs bumped into the mattress. You and Steve fell together, arms still wrapped around one-another as you both giggled, his lips pecking against yours repeatedly.

You pulled Steve into a longer, deeper kiss - hands cupping his cheeks as his supported himself over you on the bed.

"How should we...start?" You mumbled against his lips, pulling away slightly and opening your eyes to find baby blue gazing down on you lovingly.

"Buck said I need to get you wet? But I'm not sure how I'm meant to, uh, do that?" Steve said doubtfully, both of you bursting back into giggles again as Steve's head dropped to rest in the crook of your neck.

"Maybe you're supposed to use your fingers?" You suggested, lifting a hand and wiggling your fingers. Steve blew a raspberry into your neck as he laughed, your own head through back as you wriggled beneath him with laughter.

The goofiness seemed to cease for a moment as Steve took his head from your neck, meeting your eyes with a soft stare.

"Are you sure about this?" He murmured, eyes loving. You nodded, lip trapped between your teeth.

"Yes." Steve sighed, ducking his head for a moment.

"But are you really sure? I mean, you'd be losing your virginity to, well," Steve looked down at himself, scrawny and small, "me."

You giggled, rubbing your fingers through his blonde locks, manoeuvring them away from his face.

"Of course I want it to be you, I wouldn't be here if I didn't, silly." You expressed, placing a quick kiss to his lips before looking up at the man through your lashes.

"I just need to know you're sure about this, doll." Steve mumbled, gaze burning your skin.

"I'm sure. D'ya know why?" You murmured, and Steve shook his head. "Because I love you." You uttered the words for the first time.

Steve's head snapped up. He couldn't believe it. He never thought he'd ever hear those words falling from a dame's lips, not about him.

"Y-you mean it?" He whispered, voice cracking. You nodded.

"Every word." Steve's heart swelled, his lips spreading gorgeously into a sweet smile.

"I love you too, y/n." Steve beamed, and his lips were on yours again. It was clumsy, sort of messy with inexperience but it was all you wanted in that moment.

Steve's slim fingers began to trail down your body, hiking your skirt around your waist so he could finger the band of your underwear.

"And you're sure about this? We can wait if you're not ready..." Steve asked again, browsed raised.

"Are you sure it isn't you that's not sure? It's fine if you're not Steve, we can wait until you're ready." You countered pulling back from him. Your thumb smoothed over his cheek, a touch that he nuzzled into.

"I'm sure, just a little nervous is all." Steve reassured. You smiled and pecked his lips.

"Wanna know a secret?" You whispered against his mouth and Steve nodded, a small movement. "I am too."

With that you were both laughing again, your legs kicking as Steve's fingers tickled over the inside of your thigh.

"Steve! Steve stop! It tickles!" You panted and gasped through your laughter, Steve's lips curled into something of a triumphant smile against your neck as he slowed his fingers.

"Mmmm, only because I love ya." Steve murmured, placing a kiss to the base on your neck before pulling away enough to help you take your blouse and skirt off.

He froze, ogling your body as his eyes flickered over your brassiere, your heaving chest, your panties, your slightly spread thighs.

"You're so gorgeous, sweetheart." Steve murmured and you giggled.

"C'mere." You mumbled, hooking your fingers into the collar of Steve's shirt and pulling him down on top of you again. He squeaked in surprise, but soon a breathy chuckle was slipping through his lips and onto yours.

You moaned when his fingers tugged down your panties, tracing your lips. He was mesmerised, eyes wide as he watched himself play with your folds.

"Steve!" You moaned when his fingers fluttered over your clit, your thighs snapping shut and your back arching. He pulled away instantly, worry in his beautiful eyes.

"Did I hurt you? Did I do something wrong?" His voice was panicked, filled with the dread of hurting his best girl. You shook your head, taking his hand in one of yours and guiding his fingers back to the same spot.

"No. It felt good. S'good!" You were moaning again, his fingers finding their way over your clit again in little circles.

You pulled away, lips shiny with spit and precum as your tongue smoothed over then. You moaned at the taste of him, Steve's musky sent lingering on your tongue.

"Where did you learn that?" Steve was breathy, voice merely a pant as his chest rose and fell rapidly. His face was red, pleasure still warped over his perfect features as his elbows propped up his thin frame. You smirked, lips curling up as your wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

"Bucky teaches you about women, Angie teaches me about men." You hummed, placing a chaste kiss to each of Steve's hip bones before crawling over him.

"Well you're very good at it." Steve gasped, eyes sliding shut when he felt your lips on his. You giggled, the laugh flirtatious when you felt his hands on your hips.

He flipped you over, rolling across the bed in the limited space it offered as you both laughed. He placed small pecks all over your face, lips brushing lovingly over your forehead, your cheeks, your chin, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips.

You deepened the kiss, lips locking as your arms secured around his neck. Your hips jumped a little when you felt his tip bump your clit, still slightly sensitive from the orgasm he pulled from you with his fingers. You squirmed, Steve smirking against your lips.

"Steve, please, I need you inside me." Your lips formed a round the words desperately as he pulled away. His face dropped into seriousness, eyes glinting with question.

"Are you sure, doll? We can stop if you need to." You loved how sweet he was, how caring he was. You shook your head, lip tucking between your teeth.

"Please." You repeated, hand cupping his cheek as Steve nuzzled against your touch.

"Okay." He brought a hand down, tickling from your throat to your stomach as he did so. You wriggled beneath him, shrieking with laughter as he chuckled.

You settled once he stopped, nothing but love in your eyes as you watched the way the little crease appeared between his brows, which were furrowed in concentration as he lined himself up with you.

You both moaned when he pushed forwards, hips snug against yours as his length filled you up. His size was impressive for his body, the slim man hiding a good 7 inches.

Steve stilled, breath heavy as you panted against each other's mouths. You could feel the stretch, the slight burn tingling through your walls as you whimpered.

"You okay? Should I- should I stop? I can just pull out gently, it's no big dea-" Steve began to ramble worry in his face as he began to sit back, his length slowly sliding out of you.

"No. No, I'm fine. Just, give me a minute?" You mumbled, eyes pleading with his as Steve let himself slide back in to the hilt.

"Yeah, okay. Okay. As long as I'm not hurting you." Steve whispered, placing a delicate kiss to your hair line. After a moment you wiggled your hips, the feeling of Steve's damp lips resting against your slightly-sweaty forehead and his cock seated within you becoming too much.

"You can move now." You mumbled, and Steve smiled.

"You sure, princess?" He double checked, only starting to slide out of you when you nodded again.

The pace was slow, loving. Heavy breaths and pants were shared between open mouths; hair stuck to skin with sweat; broken moans hung low in the air.

"Oh, Steve!" You cried out when his fingers started fiddling with your clit again, your hips attempting to thrust up against his.

"Is that the right spot, sweetheart?" Steve asked, but he clearly knew it was by the way your eyes had disappeared into your skull. He kept up the little ministrations, rubbing until he felt you on the precipice of another orgasm.

"Please, Steve, more." Your demand made him smirk, the man picking up the pace just a little until you were writhing beneath him, hands clutching his small shoulders.

Somehow, it hit you like a ton of bricks, your walls fluttered and Steve's eyes widened. He quickly pulled out, letting his fingers pull you through your release as little white spots speckled your vision.

Steve's other hand moved to his length, rubbing up and down as fast as he could before he was releasing himself onto your stomach, a plane of white on perfect skin.

"Wow." You breathed and Steve couldn't hold back his laugh, the man collapsing on top of you and letting his head rest on your neck.

His laughter vibrates against your skin, your own joining his in a melody of joy as your hands smoothed through his now-damp hair.

taglists

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791 notes · View notes

saharamae21 · 2 years

Text

We Were Wild - Chapter Three

Hey guys. As you may be able to tell, I am a HUGE Minnesota Wild fan. A huge hockey fan in general. I decided to write a fanfic about the Wild and Kaprizov (the love of my life). I’m writing this for my own entertainment but I also hope you guys like it. Even if you aren’t a NHL fan, I think this will be a cute love story. You don’t need to know the players.

Thanks guys.

Also the title will probably change... Haha.

Taglist

Also I'd love some feedback or to interact with y'all some more! My Ask/Request box is always open!

Chapter Three

We walked through the aisles in an uncomfortable silence as he grabbed items from the shelf and put them into the cart I was pushing. Every once in a while we would stop so he could really ponder the items he was grabbing. Then when he wasn’t looking, I would sneak some necessities into the mix. If I was going to teach him how to cook, I would be doing it the right way.

He grabbed some snacks off the shelf and threw them into the cart before making his way over to the premade items. I grabbed his arm to stop him.

“You’re not putting that processed stuff into your body!” I said. He was an athlete and that food has probably been in the packaging for months.

“I don’t always have time to cook,” he said, reaching for them again. Once again I grabbed him.

“That’s not food for a NHL player! I’ll make leftovers and teach you quick meals!” I said impulsively. He turned to look at me, his head tilted as he processed my words. I realized that I might have been out of line, but this is who I was at my core. “Put that stuff down and let's check out.”

I turned around with the cart and scrunched my face up in embarrassment. I just yelled at him like we were old friends while in public. I shook it off and walked up to the counter, placing items by the register.

“You and your boyfriend are very cute together,” the older woman at the counter said. My eyes went wide as I waved my arms in front of me. I tried to exclaim that we weren’t like that, but she just smiled at me. I scratched the back of my neck sheepishly as she continued to ring up the items.

Kirill walked up and placed a few last minute items on the table. He looked at me for approval as he set them down and I could feel the blood rush to my face. I was in no position to tell him not to eat what he wanted, but I also had no objection to his picks.

I grabbed the bags from the counter, trying to help out. However, Kirill was the one to stop me this time. He grabbed my arm and took the bags from my hands.

“I got it,” he muttered. I blinked a couple times before smiling and nodding. I opened the door for him and we made our way back to the car. This felt natural unlike every other interaction with him today.

I asked him to guide me to where he lived, which was a mistake. However, with a little help from the GPS, we made it there in no time. I helped him carry everything into his apartment and was stunned when I got inside. It was beautiful. He had this gorgeous view of the U.S. Bank stadium and a million city lights. I wished my apartment had a view like this.

I turned back around to see him putting things into his fridge. I wondered if he wanted me to make him something or if he wanted me to leave, but I was too nervous to ask.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, reading my mind. I chuckled a little bit and smiled.

“Mhm… What sounds good?” I asked. “I could make borscht or blini?”

I could see him deep in thought as he continued to put items into the fridge. He nodded and turned to face me. He rubbed his neck awkwardly and made a face.

“I feel bad making you cook after all the help today,” he said. I could see how I put him in an uncomfortable position. I bet he’s felt like that a lot since coming to Minnesota… I put a kind smile on my face and offered up a solution.

“How about we make blini together? I’ll teach you and you can make it for me next time?” I suggested. Breakfast for dinner sounded good to me and it was a nice compromise for the both of us. That small smile that I had seen on his face a couple of times reappeared and he nodded.

“Thank you,” he muttered.

We didn’t talk about much while making the food, but my curiosity kept growing. The more time I spent with him the more I wanted to know. I didn’t want to pry though. Instead of talking, I observed.

He was a pretty quiet guy and his expression didn’t give a whole lot away during situations like this. He was fairly stoic. He had small emotional tells though. The corner of his mouth flipped up into the tiniest smile when he made a perfect blini. His forehead scrunched up a little bit when he made a mistake. The small things told me how he felt.

“Were you raised in Minnesota?” he asked while plating some food for the both of us.

“Yeah, but I was born in Kemerovo.” I said. “We moved here when I was four. My parents followed my uncle here and I don’t remember Russia that well.”

“That’s not far from where I grew up,” he said.

We sat down at the table and I watched him take his first bite. I hoped that it was good. It was my mom’s recipe and it had a special place in my heart. I watched as his eyes lit up and he took another bite. I smiled to myself and took a bite. It tasted just like childhood.

“This is really good,” he said with his mouth full. I smiled and thanked him, chuckling a bit. Sharing a meal with someone was something that I had taken for granted. I usually make something quick and just sit on the couch to eat.

I finished up my plate and walked it over to the sink. I grabbed the other dishes that we had used to make the meal and turned the water on.

“No,” he said and grabbed my arm. I had been reaching for a rag to start cleaning up. “I’ll clean up, you sit back down.”

I decided not to argue and plopped back down, watching as he picked up. My mind raced as I tried to figure out what question to ask him. I didn’t know if this made us friends or not.

“How do you like Minnesota so far?” I asked. I watched him shrug.

“I really like the team, but it’s weird being away from home,” he said. There was a pause as I tried to find the right thing to say. “It’s nice having someone I can talk to though.”

I smiled to myself. I couldn’t imagine moving to Minnesota alone. I had my parents and people to talk to, but he had no one. The language barrier was the most frustrating part and I knew what it felt like when no one understood what you wanted to say.

After the cleaning was done, I knew I had to head out. I had a meeting early in the morning and I was already out late enough. He walked me out to my car and we exchanged an awkward goodbye before I drove home. It was nice to know someone who understood me a little bit more than who I was in Minnesota.

____________________________________________

Taglist: @puckbunnyforsway @mapofthepsyche @elephantswithpants @mellowyellowbun

#saramae21 #hockey fic #kirill kaprizov #kirill kaprizov fanfic #minnesota wild #mn wild #mn wild fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #wild fanfic

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vale-studies-ir · 3 years

Text

Hello lovely people!

It seems that life made me take a leave of absence from tumblr. Thanks to all of you who have continued to interact with my page! I'm sorry if I've missed any messages or questions in the time that I've been away. I'm back now and I'll continue to share my journey with you all...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In order to be able to keep moving forward, I think it's important to accept the past and move on. Accept any of the difficulties that happened, and see them as moments you've gone through that have made you stronger. My way of accepting and turning over a new page will be through this post.

I haven't shared too much information about my studies and how they've been going. My studyblr was very new, and I was using it more as a means for motivation by seeing all the wonderful things people in the community were doing. Little by little, I started to make posts of my own.

So let me formally introduce myself and share my ongoing journey...

My name is Valentina, I go by Vale for short. I jumped from graduating from my BA in International Relations and Political Science in the Spring of 2018 to starting my PhD studies in International Relations the Fall semester of that same year. No break, very smart... I know. That's only just the beginning. I'm not sure how it works abroad, but here doctoral students usually go through most of their studies being funded by a graduate assistantship. This pays tuition and provides a stipend through working as a TA (graduate teaching assistant). Of course they vary across universities and departments. When I was applying to the PhD program, one of my professors advised me not to accept if I was not given funding. There are only a limited number of spots that are given to incoming students each year that will be accepted as a TA.

In March of 2018 I received notification that I was accepted into the PhD program in International Relations at my university, however, the department could not guarantee funding for me. This put me at a loss, and I spend months wondering where this was going and what I would do. Because I'm an immigrant in the US, though I've been living here practically my whole life, I didn't have too many options. My mobility is constrained.. my access to scholarships is constrained (even though I may qualify for them in terms of academics and merit, migration status trumps over all of it). I was lost, to say the least. My family can't afford to have paid for this program or a Master's program out of pocket, and I am not able to take out student loans even if I wanted to.

Regardless of this all, I still attended the incoming graduate student orientation; which surprised the outgoing graduate program director. She did not think I would show up, considering the whole funding predicament. She and the new GPD told me that they would try to find something for me. On the first day of class, I showed up, still not knowing what would become of this situation. Not knowing if I would actually get to start the semester or not. We are usually given a week to pay tuition - because of status, I am considered an international student so my tuition came out to nearly $10,000 for three courses. That day, out of nowhere, I was told that the dean of our school (School of International and Public Affairs) was looking for a graduate assistant for new projects that he wanted to work on. In the span of a few hours, I ended up interviewing with him, being told that they would let me know because there was another student they were considering, and later being called and told that I got the position. I was ecstatic. I called my parents in tears. This was actually happening; I was actually going to be able to start my PhD.

It all happened so fast. It all seemed so exciting. The dean seemed very enthusiastic and pleased that I would be working with him. Things eventually took a turn for the worst...

Transitioning into graduate school itself is extremely difficult. Many graduate students find themselves experiencing heightened stress and strain on their mental health. I did not give myself the space to transition into graduate school without the added stress of being a doctoral student, without the added expectations. On top of that, the dean had not had a graduate assistant before. This was new for him too. The expectations of me were blurred and my contract would only last for a year to be considered for possible renewal (the typical TA contract in my original department lasts 4 years), this led to disaster. I needed this position to continue to fund my studies, so I needed to make sure that I was on top of my work expectations. Because these expectations were unclear, the dean's secretary took advantage. It seems they were short staffed, and I was given administrative tasks that did not belong to me. I was made to come in to the office for strictly 20 hours a week. (Our contract states that we work up to 20 hours a week). If I was ever sick and missed a day, that would be added onto the hours for the next week. So if I missed a day where I was supposed to be in the office for 5 hours, I'd have to be there for 25 hours the following week. A breach in the contract, I know - but who was I, a lowly student, against the dean? This office (a shared space) was not a place where a person could focus on studying. There were students coming in and out, loud conversations occurring, and having to see if the actual student employee in charge of taking phone calls was at their desk - if not, I would have to man the phone. While I was doing administrative tasks for the dean's secretary, the dean was having me create themed presentations and CO-LECTURE with him. Me, a person who had been an undergraduate student only months earlier. I had to create these presentations from scratch and know all of the material. All of my focus had to be on this. My performance in my own classes and mental health declined quickly. I could not focus, I could not get my reading assignments done, I felt unprepared. I felt like a failure.

After a year, I realized that it was not worth to have my tuition paid for if I could not focus on my classes and was set up for failure. It took a lot, but ultimately I turned down the contract renewal. Here comes the fun part. My GPA dropped tremendously. I graduated Magna Cume Laude just a year before. I developed depression and didn't realize it; to the point where a friend practically made me go to counseling. The office manager at my actual department knew what I was going through. I had shared a lot of my experience with her. She advocated for me. Because of this, I was told that there was a student who had been awarded an assistantship for the incoming Fall 2019 semester, but had decided not to take it. The contract was going to be made for me instead, for not 4 but for 5 years since I had only come in with a BA degree. When they ran it through the associate dean's office... it was denied. My GPA was lower than the threshold. A LOT lower. I was told by the GPD - the same woman who had just started her position that said she would help me, the woman that had gone on maternity leave during that whole year after she started meaning she was not aware of the situation - that I should really take my studies more seriously. She received a very long email from me and apologized afterwards, to say the least. Nothing could be done.

I had no funding, only savings and ended up working Full Time in Fall of 2019 in order to try to pay for 1 course, that costed me a little over $3,000. Somehow, even though I strongly considered it, I managed not to drop out. By this time, the majority of the courses I had taken before had INs - incomplete grades. Two of them had automatically turned into Fs. Things were not okay.

I got a bit of a mental break during that Fall semester. I worked in a friendly environment. The office manager pulled some strings and let me work as an office assistant there... so I was still at my department, but working as staff. It was a little awkward. I'm eternally grateful to her, she became a close friend. And because of her, someone at another department got word that there was a graduate student who needed funding.

This office manager was good friends with a recently graduated phd student from our department who is now working for a different center in the university. Because she was part of my department, many of my current colleagues know her, and are good friends with her. We spoke, I rushed to get my GPA up to the 3.0 threshold and with the help of my professor's I was able to be awarded an assistantship with that center. I started in December of 2019.

Again, I was ecstatic. Things were looking up. When I went in for the first time, I immediately felt a huge difference. It was a smaller, more homey place; and a lovely environment to be in. The people there were sweet and caring. I've gotten along with the few professors I've had the chance of meeting and working with.

Where did it start going downhill? The professor that recommended me (graduate from my home department) continuously requested that I work with her. Her reason being that I got along better with her (something that I was not aware of). Because she considered herself as my friend, professional lines were horribly blurred. I found myself doing additional work for her as a "favor for a friend." She then started having us meet multiple times a week for hours - distracting from the time I needed to actually get work done. This center does not cap classes - I've had to grade for up to 400 students in one semester. The meetings she scheduled were incredibly unproductive, and I found myself having to take extra time to get the grading done. Again, my own studies were effected. The past academic year went on like this. I ended up assisting in creating a new course and new assignments from scratch.

Later I noticed that something was wrong. I was doing way more work than stipulated by my contract. She was giving me access to her courses that I was not assigned to grade for. Instead of assisting for one course in the semester (the one with the highest enrollment), I was assisting for three. This was constantly under the guise of 'friendship'. How was I supposed to reject my 'friend'? When I tried to draw professional boundaries, I was met with resistance.

My mental health declined again in the fall and I missed a few of her scheduled meetings (meetings which she said were NOT mandatory). Because of this, she decided to throw me under the bus with the director and making it seem as if I was not actually working - when I was addressing students' needs and getting grades in. This worsened in the Spring. With the help of my counselor I finally got the courage to communicate with her. Albeit through text, because she's the type of person that does not allow you to get a word in during conversation.

"On that note, there’s something I’ve wanted to talk about. I’ve been struggling with concentration and fatigue. This is something that I’ve been working on with my doctor to try to find solutions. I’ve noticed that being in Zoom meetings in general where there’s casual conversation makes it exceptionally difficult for me to focus on what I’m trying to get done. This has been problematic in the work zoom meetings. You probably have noticed I seem really quiet, that is because I’m trying my hardest to focus.

I need to be able to focus during the time I’m assigned to work as a GA. Otherwise, I must take more time to complete tasks that normally wouldn’t take up that long or just wait until the weekends to finish them. That is conflicting as I have set that time to work on class assignments and my own projects. So in the end I end up falling behind and not working well because my productivity levels are being affected."

She seemed to understand me and be supportive. Then I noticed coldness, and condescending passive aggressive texts from her part.

I realized that I could not do this any longer. I could not allow myself to continuously be taken advantage of. Both of the people I've worked for were aware of my vulnerable situation due to migration status. They both knew that it was not easy for me to pay for my studies through any other means. My studies depended on these people, and if they 'liked' me. They abused and absorbed my time to the extent that my studies suffered tremendously.

But I finally stood up for myself. I spoke with the director and she affirmed that my concerns were valid. Time and time again she assured me that my studies should always come first. She supported me. I will no longer be assigned to work with this person.

I finally feel heard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's been 3 years since I started my program. A lot has happened in this time. I have a lot of catching up to do this summer if I want to stay on track and take my comprehensive exams by the end of the year. But someone finally heard me, acknowledged the wrongdoings and helped me.

Don't let people walk over you and take advantage of you. I'm learning this the hard way.

Speak your truth.

#my story #my phd story #experiences #struggles #growth #don't give up #don't silence yourself #share your story #speak your truth #long post #studyblr #phdblr #phd studyblr #phd student #gradblr #grad student #stand up for yourself #keep moving forward

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laynemorgan · 3 years

Note

I'm sure you've already provided it, but I'd be curious to hear your road to becoming a staffed writer. What first got you interested in it? Does it go back to school days?

Man it goes back far. I mean, I guess in some ways it doesn't. Since you asked more about what got me interested in where it goes back to, I'll give you the lest technical and more biographicl explanatin. My first goal was just to become a writer. I've been writing since I was a really little kid. I actually recently found journals from like the elementary and middle school days just filled with them. And it was never small scale, I'd always be planning out the whole fucking setting, how all the characters were connected, full universes. I made a fake fantasy. land in my backyard because my parents live on a lot of land. I called it Teleterania. I remember very little about it besides that that was the name hahah but I did do it!!! Everything I read only made me want to write. Everything I watched made me want to write.

Sometime around late middle school and early high school, I started watching more TV. I found soap operas and was OBSESSSED with their flare for drama. I found BTVS, Charmed, Smallville, Veronica Mars, OTH, etc. And all of those shows really got me actually looking at TV in a way I had never before. I got obsessed with their worlds and into their fandoms. I became the liek TV guy in my high school. There was even a group of girls I never got to really hang out with that would always call me over to their table to ask about what I knew about OTH stuff hahaha and 17 year old me thought that was awesome. Before my sister passed away, she and I took a road trip down to North Carolina to tour the One Tree Hill set. OTH was like the one thing that she and I agreed on. And it was so awesome. For me it was a first look at what the industry actually looked like, to see the sets and what went into it and all of that.

But I don't think my eyes really opened to actually WORKING in tv until college. I went to school for English Lit and Creative Writing in New Hampshire. My school had a great writing program and I was right at home there. i still credit my first writing professor who was only a grad student for really teaching me what I know about writing and editing and reading my own work for error and she passed me on to her favorite professor which was a hugely flattering moment for me. AND THEN -- I fell in love with PLL. And for me, that was really where shit started. I didn't realize it at the time and it wasn't even the show that did it it was what the show showed me. Through my tumblr at the time which had very little to do with fandom, I actually wound up running into Patrick Adams and Troian Bellisario. We all were always sharing each other's posts and at the time I was working for a journalist covering random TV out of a shitty free magazine in Boston doing work for peanuts. But I was going out to LA to meet up with a friend and we all decided to meet for lunch and they let me interview them for my magazine and stayed really rad people. They also helped boost my PLL photo recaps which I was doing at the time and those got the attention of the Director, Normal Buckley who asked me out to coffee and talked to me about my goals and what I was doing. He was the person who first really helped me understand that there's an approachability to the TV world that to me had always been this like magical hollywood bubble I didn't understand.

I went home THRILLED about LA, dropped out of college and set out to go to film school. From there, I hated film school because it was too technical adjacent, dropped out again, spent all the money I had on that move twice, and went home to boston broke and lost. I spent two years after that maybe more saving money, working in fandom, and waitressing while I went back to college online. That era wasn't super writing focused but it's where I found myself. I realized I was queer, I came out, I got into tumblr rpg, I met my fandom friends, I found tumblr fandom in a way I hadn't before. And then a couple years later I found tl100.

From there, the rest is kind of wonky. I had a big fan blog for the show and talked a lot about it on my twitter which lead me to many interactions with the writers who then invited me to dinner at comic con one year. I had a long talk with Shumway abut my goals and what I wanted to do with my life. I knew I wanted to be in TV somehow. I knew I wanted to be in writing somehow but I couldn't figure out how those two things aligned. I was doing a lot of journalism and critic stuff because that felt like the clsoest way to be both a fan and workin in the world I loved but it was really Kim and Shawna that opened my eyes to the ability to just .... be a TV writer. Film school had made me terrified of the wrtiing side but I think it was because film school was so much more about writing for film which I learned isn't my thing. But TV is a writers' medium, unlike film which is more fo a directors medium and suddenly I was like -- MIND BLOWN. It was everything I wanted in a career and married all of the things I loved. It was something that had previously felt like unattainable but they made it seem human and approachable.

They helped me get my first WPA job, I saved up 3 grand working and with the help of some friends and moved to LA to start that. And suddenly I was in a whirlwind of catching up on everything I felt like I had missed. I was reading scripts, learning what the process looked like, doing everything I coudl to figure out what being a TV writer looked like. After that job, I got another WPA job at Millar Gough on Into the Badlands and later Shannara.

THEN I got hired on Daybreak which I can fully credit with being a huge stepping stone for me and changing my life in a lot of ways. Aron was the best showrunner. He was educational and he taught us shit, he let us in the room, he let us write stuff, he let us pitch and try and fall on our faces and never judged us for it. My second season there he moved me up to writers assitant and patiently walked me through all the stuff I didn't know yet because he had faith in me and my voice and my ideas. He let me writ e afreelance episode that year and pitch it in the room and do all the things that real w riters get to do.

So after Daybreak season 2 got cancelled I was pretty ready to spend my next year or two just writing, finding an agent and moving forawrd. And then I got an email to go and work for Moira Walley Beckett. She was looking for an assistant with serious room experience to help develop something in a small room and stay on with her later. I took the job becuase she's MOIRA and I was stoked to learn from her and work for a woman for once. I ernded up very fortunate becuase a month later we were all surprised by the covid mess and I was fully employed that whole year while many people weren't which was a huge help. Moira was a STELLAR boss. I had thought I was ready and what she taught me was that ther's always so much more to learn. She walked me through the process of applying notes and taking notes and changing draft after draft of your story. SHe walked me through breaking a whole season of television. We had a great partnership for the year and I'm so grateful. And then that project didn't end up seeing hte light of day and we our separate ways as well.

Cut to a few months ago, I was still at home in Boston, post-covid, having been sick for most of january. My friend Rachel dared me to write a spec in a weekend for the Warner Bros fellowship deadline. So I did. It was a Legacies Spec. Given that we didn't have access to the WGA library because of the pandemic, Legacies was an easy and obvious choice. I had already seen it inside and out and didn't need as much access to learning a show from scratch. So I wrote what I loved, wrote a season 2 legacies spec that embraced my favorite things about legacies: the high school soap of one tree hill, Lizzie doing wild dialogue, buffy-esque monsters, and themes of grief and humanity.

AND THE REST you know.

Here we are. I'm still lost as fuck. I'm still running full speed through a world I don't always feel like I"m ready for. I'm still a perfectionist and an obsessive overworker. I still take notes I don't need to take and do work at 10pm and come in early and stare at the story boards. There's a whole journey in all of this about representation and coming to find myself and queer media and wanting to make more of it but that's one I don't feel like I can fully get into until I'm decades out of it and the world is truly made better. But I'm here. And it feels like the end of a journey and liek I'm standing at the edge of a brand new clif because I've only just started.

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snarkwrites · 3 years

Text

13 | gangsta ; sweetpea

NOTES:

It's been a while. I've had these two chapters written for a while now but I haven't had time to sit down, edit them a little better and post them. Since I have time now, I thought I'd go ahead and do that, whether you guys asked for these next two chapters or not.

Sorry this took forever! Sorry I'm so slow, I've been settling into a new house and taking care of some IRL stuff / taking a little break. I swear, I'm going to update everything sooner or later. >.>

I love you guys.

WARNINGS:

NON/ LOOSE CANON COMPLIANCE - this is the biggest warning, so if you’re into things that follow exact canon plot you are… definitely not going to like this. ANGST & SLOW BURN, HEAVY SEXUAL TENSIONSTARTING NOW, ACTUALLY - this is just so everyone who started reading this thinking the smut would transpire in a hurry knows that apparently, it is not. VIOLENCE / SWEARING & FIGHTING, POSSIBLE UNDERAGE DRINKING AND OTHER SHENANIGANS- look.. it’s high school. shit happens. also apparently, my ofc Alyssa uses the word fuck like all the time?…EVENTUAL SEXUAL CONTENT / A VIRGIN ORIGINAL CHARACTER- this one is self explanatory. yes, i plan to write a smutty chapter in this at some point. when? i don’t rightly know. it’s got a while before we get there. STALKER TW - this chapter marks the true appearance of Alyssa's ex, Dave Novak. It's hinted heavily that he's a gross asshole who likes to play mind games. ATTEMPTED KIDNAPPING TW - This chapter contains an attempted kidnapping. If this is gonna bother you you're best off not reading it.

If you're under 18+, probably not a good or wise idea to continue reading this series. Because there are going to be a few dark and adult themes within. I'll warn here, of course, but you need to understand that I don't control you. If you continue to read after having read the warnings and you're upset or don't like something... Totally on you, friend.

PAIRING:

Andrews!Sibling OFC x Sweet Pea.

TAGGING:

@brithedemonspawn is the only person on my Riverdale tag list. If you want to be added, the link to do so is below.

OTHER PARTS:

ONE - TWO - THREE - FOUR - FIVE - SIX - SEVEN - EIGHT - NINE - TEN- ELEVEN - TWELVE - soundtrack

OTHER STUFF:

[ about my writing - tag list doc ]

THIRTEEN.

[773 - 589 - 7956] Quiet sleepy little town you’ve got here. I can see the appeal, scarlet.

[773 - 589 - 7956] I saw you last night. If I didn’t know what a treacherous bitch you were, I’d say you look more beautiful than ever.

[773 - 589 - 7956] Have you shown that new boytoy of yours all the dirty little photos you were sending me? I bet he’d fucking love to see that… Or did you actually let him see the real thing?

[773 - 589 - 7956] You can say what you want to the cops, scarlet. You and I both know you enjoyed sending me those dirty little pictures. Do your parents know what a teasing whore their daughter really is? I know mommy wasn’t too thrilled when you went running to her to snitch just because things got a little too real for you…

[773 - 589 - 7956] I’ll see you soon. It’s like I said, scarlet. You owe me. I intend to collect. You think this is a game? You can just promise things and then betray me like that? That’s not how this works, scarlet.

The second my phone was powered on again after school, it immediately started to go insane. The texts came in a flood. They were so disgusting and scary that I dropped my phone because my hands were shaking so hard I couldn’t hold it. I quickly picked up the phone and took a few deep breaths, attempting to pull myself together.

,, I can’t keep this to myself. I have to tell someone what’s going on.” the thought nagged at me for the thousandth time in two weeks and I decided that as soon as I finished my tutoring session for the day, I was going to go to the construction site and show my father the texts. Tell him that somehow, Dave was out of prison and apparently, he was here in Riverdale.

My stomach was churning and a bitter taste filled my mouth at the thought. I felt like a dead girl walking. How could I have been so fucking stupid? I should’ve told my father the first time Dave texted me. I should’ve done something.

I felt anger at the situation too. I came here to get away from everything, to put it behind me. I just wanted to forget any of it happened. How dare he show up and ruin everything? He was supposed to be in jail right now, not walking free!

It wasn’t fair.

I knew I’d never be brave enough, but I found myself thinking that if I did see him again, I wanted to strangle him. To give him a reason to be afraid of me for once instead of the other way around. To get even for the hell he put me through in Chicago.

I stepped out into the parking lot, taking a few deep breaths to calm down. Leaning against the brick wall beside the doors that lead into the building. Waiting. Trying to pull myself together. Half hoping that my brother was still here, still in wrestling practice.

Then I remembered that he didn’t have it tonight and that he’d left earlier with Veronica, Betty and Jughead.

Cheryl and Toni were already gone too. I’d stayed over because I was tutoring some kids in the grade below me. I didn’t think it’d take as long as it did. When I realized just how late it had gotten and that I’d be walking home alone in the dark, I’d panicked.

I could always call my dad.

That’s what I wound up doing. About halfway across the parking lot and just as my father’s phone went to voicemail , Dave stepped out and grabbed me, clamping his hand over my mouth before I could do anything other than scream.

My phone fell out of my hands and hit the pavement . I fought him off, managed to get out of his grasp and took off at a run. He caught up to me and grabbed me, trying to drag me towards his Chevelle that was parked nearby, idling. I fought tooth and nail, making as much noise as I could. Grabbing hold of anything I could to try and wrench myself free from his grasp.

I spotted Sweet Pea walking towards the school and I screamed louder. Fought harder.

“Sweet Pea!” I screamed his name, biting at any exposed skin I could get my mouth on Dave’s body. Clawing and scratching. Determined not to go quietly or without a fight. Sweet Pea disappeared from sight for a few seconds in the scuffle between Dave and I, and I was fighting so hard that Dave was struggling to keep a good firm grip on me…

XXX

He’d come back to school because normally, Alyssa was done and at Pop’s within thirty minutes, an hour tops. It had almost been two. Something felt off. Sweet Pea tried to tell himself the entire walk across town to Riverdale High that he was just being paranoid or overprotective. By the time the school was in view, he almost had himself convinced that he was just being a paranoid idiot.

Until he heard her screaming.

Sweet Pea took off at a run in the direction her scream came from, watching as a guy grabbed Alyssa and started trying to pull her towards an idling Chevelle nearby. He locked eyes with Alyssa before slipping out of sight. Getting himself into a position where he could slip up on the guy from behind and hopefully, distract him enough that Alyssa could get away.

The second she managed to smash her head into the guy’s nose hard enough that he dropped her, Sweet Pea spoke up. Firmly. “Run, Cherry. Don’t stop running.”

“No.” I stubbornly refused to leave. I wasn’t going to leave him to fight Dave off on his own. Not when this was my mess to begin with, my own stupidity coming back to bite me in my ass.

“Damn it, woman. Fucking go!” Sweet Pea practically growled as he lunged for the guy in front of him, spearing him against the side of his own car. The fight took to the ground, the two rolling around. For a second or two, Dave had the upper hand because he managed to get his hand on Sweet Pea’s throat. Sweet Pea used his legs, flipping them so that he was on top, swinging his fists with no real thought other than the sheer rage he felt about the guy trying to grab Alyssa. Dave managed to get the upper hand again, holding Sweet Pea against the concrete, Sweet Pea’s hand wrapped around his throat as he tried to squeeze harder.

Sweet Pea swore in frustration when he saw Alyssa slipping over to the open rear door. She emerged with a baseball bat, making her way over to the fight.

“What the fuck do you think you were gonna do, man?” Sweet Pea snarled in anger as he got in a few hard and fast punches.

“I was gonna get my hands on that little bitch you call a girlfriend and teach her a lesson.” Dave grunted out the words as Sweet Pea’s hand closed around his throat tighter and he managed to get Dave on his back again.

“The only one who’s going to learn a lesson tonight is you, asshole. Don’t fucking touch her.” Sweet Pea got the upper hand again, holding Dave against the concrete, smashing his head against Dave’s head as he sneered, “I’m gonna fuckin kill you, putting your hands on my girl.” and really tightened his grip.

Dave managed to shove him off and stood, the two of them fighting. Alyssa swung the bat at Dave’s lower back, almost connecting with it but Dave stepped out of the way at the last minute, making a grab for her.

“Cherry, I told you to run, damn it!” Sweet Pea growled as he lunged at Dave, sending Alyssa stumbling back, barely managing to keep herself from falling on her butt on the pavement. The two were rolling around on the ground again, punching and choking wildly and Alyssa spotted her cell phone and she dove for it, dialing 911.

Just as she was about to hit call, Sweet Pea choked Dave out and grabbed for the rope that had fallen out of Dave’s jacket pocket, tying his arms together while he was down. Then he rushed over to her, checking her over in concern, wincing at the pavement burn on her cheeks and the few scrapes.

“What the fuck happened to run, huh?” Sweet Pea asked, trying to catch his breath.

“I wasn’t leaving you here with him.” Alyssa panted. Sweet Pea took her cell phone and hit call, keeping his foot on Dave’s head to keep him down as he made the call.

Two minutes later, a cop car came racing around the corner and pulled to a stop behind the idling Chevelle.

The cop got out and wandered over. Glancing from Sweet Pea to Dave.

Alyssa spoke up.

“Sweet Pea was trying to save me, officer.”

“I’m going to need you two to come to the station and make statements.” the cop informed them after getting Dave into the back of the cop car. Alyssa nodded, hugging herself against Sweet Pea’s side. Sweet Pea slipped out of his leather jacket,draping it around her, because at some point during her fight with Dave, her shirt had gotten torn down the front.

The cop left, leaving the two of them alone.

Sweet Pea took a few deep breaths, pulling her against him. Squeezing her tight. Holding her in place. “Thank God I decided to come by here. If something would’ve happened…” he muttered against her hair quietly.

She pulled away to look up at him and he locked eyes with her, leaning in closer…

XXX

My heart was still hammering away at my chest. The adrenaline was starting to wear off and I was starting to panic a little as I began to realize what almost happened to me. How close I came to disappearing, having God knows what would be done to me by Dave.

I wasn’t thinking about how awkward me kissing him would be. I wasn’t thinking about anything if you want the truth. I rose up on my toes, grabbing hold of the front of Sweet Pea’s t-shirt, pulling myself up. My mouth brushed against the corner of his gingerly, trying to avoid the portion of his lower lip that was busted and bloody because it had to hurt like hell. His hands dug into my hips and he growled quietly, his mouth latching onto mine just as I went to pull away, stop myself before I went for it and kissed him in the heat of the moment.

The kiss deepened and I raised my arms, wrapping them around his neck. Dragging my fingers through his hair. My back met the side of the Chevelle with a soft smack and he pressed himself into me more firmly. His mouth continuing to hungrily devour mine.

The kiss broke a few seconds later, we pulled apart breathlessly and stared at one another in a daze. Sweet Pea wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and cleared his throat. Going quiet again.

All I could do was melt into him and try to wrap my head around what almost happened and what had just actually happened. He curled his fingers under my chin, tilting my face so that I had to look up at him.

“Who was that? Wait.. was that your ex?”

My jaw dropped. I blinked at him and then I nodded quietly. He swore under his breath and held on a little tighter. Pulling away again, his hands on my upper arms as he stared down at me. “I should’ve fucking killed him.”

“H-how’d you know about Dave? Did my brother tell you?”

“And Jughead. I don’t know everything. I just know that I told myself if I ever actually saw the asshole, I was going to kill him.” Sweet Pea answered quietly. Taking a few deep breaths and then adding a few seconds later, “We need to get to the station.”

I nodded in agreement. Sweet Pea scooped me up when he saw me take a step and wince, then try it again with the same outcome.

“I can walk.” I protested weakly.

“You fell. You probably twisted your ankle. Just… let me carry you, Cherry.” he muttered quietly, his voice a soft and concerned whisper as he gazed down at me.

All I could do was nod. Lean my head against the space between his neck and shoulder.

As we worked our way towards the police station, it poured out of me. Every single thing I’d gone through with Dave in Chicago. I grimaced as I told Sweet Pea exactly what had gone down and why I thought Dave had come to town and tried to grab me tonight and Sweet Pea’s jaw set firm.

I could tell that hearing it bothered him. And at one point, he muttered quietly, “If you don’t want to talk about it you don’t have to…”

“No, I need to get it out. I shouldn’t have kept the fact that the asshole was texting me to myself. Blocking his number obviously didn’t work because he reached out with a new one. I thought if I just ignored him, he’d lose interest. I thought it was just him, trying to scare me. I didn’t think he’d be stupid or brave enough to show up here.” I muttered, shaking my head at how stupid that sounded now that I was really stopping to think about it.

“He’s not gonna bother you again, okay? I’m going to make sure he doesn’t.” Sweet Pea muttered after a few seconds, just as we stepped into the station and made our way over to a sitting area to wait.

“You need to call your dad.” Sweet Pea spoke up after a few seconds that felt like hours.

I nodded. Taking my phone back from Sweet Pea, I dialed my dad’s number and I could hear the relief in his voice when he answered.

Static crackled and popped on his end of the line so I strained to hear.

“I’ve been riding around town looking for you for over an hour, tiny. What the hell happened?” my dad asked in a rush.

“Dave was waiting outside of the school tonight when I came out… If Sweet Pea hadn’t gotten there when he did I… he tried to grab me tonight, Dad.” I grimaced as I said it, bracing myself for all the questions and the lecture I knew I’d be getting because I hadn’t told anyone the second all this started.

,, to be fair, I definitely deserve it.” the thought came and I let myself have it. Leaning back in the chair, resting against Sweet Pea’s side slightly. Taking a few deep breaths.

My dad swore and I heard him punching at something, probably the dashboard of his truck. After a second or two, he spoke up. “Where are you two? I’m on my way, tiny. Right now.”

“We’re at the station giving a statement.” I explained.

“Thank god. So Novak got arrested? That’s good. I’m going to be sure to find out what I can do to make sure that little prick stays in a cell this time.” my dad responded as I heard him rev the engine on his truck.

The call ended and I leaned my head against Sweet Pea’s shoulder. He slipped an arm around me and took a few more breaths as if he were trying to calm himself down again because he was still angry and tense.

The cop who made the arrest found us and ushered us back to his workspace and we sat down. Telling the cop every single detail of what happened tonight. The cop let me finish and then spoke up.

“We’re holding him for Chicago. He apparently escaped. Attacked another girl… A Claire Watson… Then he came here. But everything you’ve told me will help keep him behind bars, Alyssa. Do you have a parent you can call?”

I nodded.

“She already called him.” Sweet Pea answered calmly as he folded his arms over his chest and glared at the cop suspiciously.

The cop eyed him, nodding. Managing a cordial smile. “That was quick thinking on your part tonight kid. Also stupid as hell. If he’d had a weapon, that could’ve gone wrong. Next time, call the station.”

“And do what? Let an asshole make off with my girl? Yeah, no thanks. I’m good. I’ve seen how fast you assholes respond to any call you get from the South side.”

“Not all of us are bad, kid.” the cop pointed out in a calm and even tone.

“Yeah, well… I wasn’t going to stand there and let him take my girl either. I did what I had to do.” Sweet Pea took a deep breath, rubbing his forehead. Calming himself back down.

I spotted my father and Archie coming into the station, heading right for us and I let out a ragged breath. Squeezing my dad so tight he almost couldn’t breathe when they got over to where we were sitting in the back.

My father spoke up, addressing the cop. “We will be pressing charges. So, whatever I need in order to do that, just tell me and you’ve got it.”

Sweet Pea cleared his throat.

“If it helps, here’s her phone.” Sweet Pea held my phone out to the policeman and he took it, nodding. “If there’s anything on here, that’ll help. If you’ll come with me, Mr. Andrews, we’ll get that paperwork drawn up to start the proceedings.”

My dad gave me another hug and stopped in front of Sweet Pea. “If you hadn’t been there tonight, kid… Thank you.”

“I wasn’t gonna let anything happen to her, sir.” Sweet Pea muttered, awkwardly letting my dad hug him too.

My dad made his way to an office with the policeman who’d taken our statements and I glanced up at Sweet Pea, grimacing at the bruises and scraped starting to form on his face and neck. The black eye and the busted lip.

“Archie, can you go get some ice or a soda can? His lips really swelling up..” I muttered. My brother nodded, taking some change from me to go do it. And this left Sweet Pea and I alone again.

“About that kiss.. I’m sorry, I.. the last thing I wanted to do was make anything awkward. I just got caught up in the moment and I can’t keep fighting the way I feel and I… Sorry.” I spoke up quietly. Prepared to give him an out. Afraid that I’d gone way over the line.

“Yeah, about that… I’ve been wanting to do it for a while.” Sweet Pea admitted quietly. Making me look up at him as he chuckled quietly. “You wanna repeat any of what you just said?”

I felt my cheeks burning. I pouted up at him and gave him a dirty look.

He smirked in response and spoke up. “I’m being serious. You were doing that mumble and babbling thing again.”

“You heard me.” I answered, biting my lip as I looked up at him.

“A little, yeah… But maybe I wanna hear it again, cherry.” he pulled me close and gazed down at me for a few seconds.

“Wait.. you wanted to kiss me?” I realized what he’d admitted. Gazing up at him, a little shocked.

“You’re trying to change the subject now?” he questioned, slipping his arms around me. I gave a soft laugh and muttered quietly, “Maybe a little.”

“When you say you can’t ignore the way you feel.. What’s that mean?” he questioned again, making me look up at him. I took a deep breath and toyed with the front of his shirt, trying to figure out the best way to put it to words.

The truth. Simple and direct.

“I care about you a lot. I lo--” I started to say that I loved him, but Archie cleared his throat behind us, holding out the soda can to me. Then promptly excusing himself again to go find our dad. I gently guided Sweet Pea down into a chair and sank down to sit on his knees. Gingerly pressing the cold soda can against his lip. And after a second or two, I finally got myself to say it again. “I love you, okay?”

He chuckled quietly. Locking eyes with me. Lowering the soda can to ask quietly, “Like a best friend or something.. Right?”

I shook my head. “More than, actually. Since that day at the car wash when I drenched you with the hose, I’ve… It’s been hard to make myself not look for you in a crowd. Yes, yes.. I know this is mushy and you don’t do mushy, I..” his mouth crashing against mine cut off the flow of my words and he muttered in a daze, “Say it again. Tell me you love me, Cherry.”

“I love you.” I managed to get the words out breathlessly. His mouth was latching onto mine all over again. The kiss deepening. His arms enveloping me tighter. Squeezing til I thought I’d get lightheaded between the deep and heavy onslaught of kisses and the way he was holding me.

“I love you too.” he mumbled quietly. Gazing down at me. Panting for his next breath as the kiss broke yet again.

“Okay, are you two done with whatever yet? Because dad told me to get Al back home. You can come with us if you want.” Archie surprised me by inviting Sweet Pea. Sweet Pea eyed him and nodded, standing after I’d finally managed to pry myself away from him.

As we walked out of the station, he slipped his hand down between us, lacing his fingers between mine. Giving my hand a squeeze as he glanced down at me.

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