#love that for me lets make it MY fault whatever

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 12) [note: trigger warning for a pretty rough spanking scene with a belt and minimal aftercare. if you need to, you can skip to the midway point (there's a line between the first half and second).]

first chapter >> last chapter

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He keeps your hands tied behind your back on the ride home.

All that does is confirm the fact that he must know. Graves must have tracked him down or perhaps he was approached by someone who did consider your sudden arrival in town suspicious. Why else would the sheriff chase you all the way into the mountains on horseback and then take you back with him? He would’ve within his rights to leave your thieving self to wander alone in the woods and succumb to the elements.

John doesn’t say a word the first hour of the ride back. You can feel the anger emanating from him though. He almost shakes with it. His anger somehow upsets you more than whatever is left to come. 

“Anytime you wanna start talkin’, I’m all ears,” John finally says, breaking the silence. 

You keep your lips pressed together, stubbornly silent. There’s no use giving yourself away before you’ve learned how much he knows. You haven’t built this life of yours with loose lips. 

“I don’t know what in the Sam Hill has gotten into you,” he continues, and his voice is cobblestone tread rough in the night. “Running off all by yourself. There ain’t nothing out in these parts except outlaws and highwaymen. There are men out here that’d love to get their hands on a woman like you—not even a knife to defend yourself with. You haven’t even got a scrap of food on you, never mind water. You’d’ve been dead in a week if the men out here hadn’t picked you off themselves.”

His words make your stomach ache. You know that there are worse things out there. A thousand gruesome ways to die. You’re less of a lady than John might think—you’ve heard stories. You’ve brushed close to that reality yourself. You wonder how he’d take it if you were to tell him about what had happened back east. 

Maybe running away this time hadn’t been your smartest idea, but it had been your only. You can’t fault yourself for the instinct to survive. 

“I know,” you mumble, dropping your chin to your chest. 

“You gonna explain to me why you stole my horse and ran off in the first place?” he asks. 

It’s the strangest interrogation you’ve ever heard of—sitting on the same horse with your back to the man questioning you and your hands tied together at the wrists. You wonder if you leaned back whether you’d feel his heart beating furiously in his chest. 

You remain mulishly silent though, reticent to answer the question.

“Maybe I’ve been spoiling you,” he continues, trying to rationalize it to himself. “After the fuss you put up those first few days, I thought a bit of structure and discipline would do you well, and it did. Giving you a bit of slack was my mistake.”

You frown at that. Those don’t sound like the words of a man with any knowledge of the circumstances leading to you running off. He might not even have come across Graves at all in the hours since the man made his appearance in the general store. Otherwise, you can’t imagine how he wouldn’t make the connection. 

Still, you can’t make yourself come right out and say it, even though every iota of your being aches to let the truth out. Call it nerves overpowering the need to be truthful and good. You vacillate between honesty and self-preservation, but each avenue feels like being dropped into a nest of vipers. 

But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. If he knew, he wouldn’t question you like this. It’s a boon you can’t give up, not yet. Not when the thought of his inevitable righteous fury fills you with dread and self-loathing. 

“I don’t have to explain myself,” you spit out suddenly, and it’s not you saying those words but something ugly and sad in you. “You’re not my owner.”

“I damn sure am your husband though,” John growls, winding his free hand around your hair to tug you back into his chest. “And I know these parts far better than you, little miss. Beyond running off on me for no good reason when I thought we put your reticence behind us, you went and put yourself in danger the likes of which you couldn’t even fathom.”

“I’m not an idiot,” you snap. “I know what men are like.”

“You’re telling me you pulled that stunt knowing what kinda danger is out there in the woods?”

“I wasn’t thinking!”

“I know you weren’t,” John grunts. “That’s the issue.” 

The rest of the ride home is uncomfortably quiet. John keeps one hand clamped on your waist while the other holds the reins of both horses, the two walking alongside each other back down the trail towards the house. The ride home is a lot longer than the ride out into the woods since John refuses to let either of them go faster than a slow trot while your hands are tied behind your back. 

He snorts in derision at your suggestion to undo your binds. “That eager for your punishment?” 

That gets you to zip your lips. 

When you get drowsy, John tips your head back and makes you sip from his waterskin. His hand fits carefully around your throat to hold your head in place, his fingers curling around to just graze the nape of your neck. Your throat pulses under his palm when you swallow. It’s far too intimate for how restless you feel, damn near shaking out of your skin, but it briefly shushes the voice in your head until he pulls his hand away. 

A shadow under the doorway of the house startles you at first before it takes a step into the faint light of the setting sun and you recognize the bristly blond of Simon’s shorn head and the red bandana shrouding the bottom half of his face. The tension ebbs back into you when you realize with creeping humiliation that the black horse you rode home on must belong to him. 

He watches the two of you approach with predictable disinterest, his eyes betraying nothing. The shame is excruciating. 

John brings the horse to a halt some feet from Simon, not bothering to greet him. You wonder if it’s the anger choking him or if this is just routine, men trading favors in silence lest a word in gratitude break the spell. After dismounting himself, John helps you down, all but picking you up and lifting you off the horse. 

Simon doesn’t say a word to either of you when he takes the reins from John’s hands, giving him only a curt nod and you a cursory glance before leading his horse away to mount. He doesn’t spare you a backwards glance before taking off back towards town. You watch him over your shoulder while John guides you up the porch steps and into the house, until the shape of him disappears into the horizon. Then the door shuts behind you. 

Alone now, your attention turns back to John. He stares down at you consideringly, a hand planted on the door he just shut until he lets it fall to his side. You can see the gears turning in his mind, weighing something out. 

It wouldn’t be right to call it anticipation; it’s not quite dread either. 

“I don’t make idle threats, you know,” he says, apropos of nothing. 

His words make you frown until you glance down to find him undoing his belt. Your blood turns to ice. He tugs the thick strap until it comes sliding out of each loop around his waist. The buckle rests heavy in his palm, thick fingers curling around it, and when he bends the belt in two, you already know that he intends to follow through with his threat from earlier, the one you said you’d gut him for.

“I’ll scream,” you warn, heart in your throat. It almost chokes you. “I mean it. I’ll scream like the devil.”

“Don’t go makin’ no empty threats now, darlin’,” he says in a low voice, almost taunting. You can hear the hard edge in his voice though. It’s not something he craves, but he’ll take it. 

“You touch me with that thing and I’ll never forgive you.” 

John’s eyes go hard. “I’ll just have to take that chance.” 

And then he’s on you.

He hooks an arm around your waist when you try to rush past him back out the door and it forces the breath out of you. 

You struggle as best you can with your hands tied behind your back, trying to wriggle out of his hold even as he heaves you up into his arms and climbs the staircase towards the bedroom. The steps creak under the added weight of you in his arms. The screams come tearing from your throat, ripping your vocal cords and nearly sending you into a coughing fit. 

“Let—me—go—” you shriek, kicking out wildly, hoping to catch something that’ll make him lose his balance. 

“All that squirmin’ ain’t making me feel more merciful,” he growls. 

John kicks the bedroom door open with his foot when he reaches the top of the staircase. The room looks ominous without the oil lamp lit, the shadows growing in the corners swallowing up the end table. The bed is just as you made it this morning, the sheets pressed tight and neat, and you only get a second to take that in before he marches towards the bed and throws you down onto it.  

You hit the bed hard, bouncing slightly. He sits down heavily enough to jostle you and when you try to roll away on instinct, a hand catches you by the bicep and pulls you back. He hauls you across the bulk of his thighs this time, far different from your first meeting back in the sheriff’s office all those weeks ago. Your feet don’t even touch the floor this time around, dangling in the air and flailing for purchase. 

“You brute—you bastard!” you screech.

“I’m not gonna be as charitable this time,” John says, yanking your dress up and your drawers down until your bare bottom is exposed. You gasp at the cold air, murmuring something like please, please, please under your breath. “Even if I knew why it was you decided to run off, that doesn’t excuse the fact that you did. You coulda been hurt or worse out there, darlin’, and I’d never have forgiven myself. I’m gonna make sure the lesson sinks in this time.”

He folds the leather belt to hold it in one hand, leaving the other to pin you down over his thighs, making sure you don’t wriggle out. The leather is cool at first when he drags it over your butt. It makes your breathing pick up. It’s so gentle that you can almost trick yourself into thinking that it’s all he intends to do. 

The first lash comes so quick that you barely register it. The second knocks the wind out of you, and then the pain sets in. 

It stings something fierce. Where his palm hurt that first time he bent you over his desk and spanked you, the belt burns. It goes deep and it lingers when he pulls the leather away from your stinging bottom. 

“Hurts like the dickens, don’t it?” John asks, not bothering to wait for confirmation before bringing the belt down again. “You’re lucky it’s only ten this time.”

You howl into the bedsheets, eyes tearing up and spilling down your cheeks. When you try to cover your ass with your bound hands, John grabs them and pins them to the small of your back. 

“What’ll you never do again?” he growls. 

“I—I’ll—”

“Say it, darlin’: I’ll never run off on my own again.”

“I’ll—n-never gonna—oh, it hurts, John—please—”

At some point, you must say the words he’s looking for. You lose count of how many times his belt has struck across your ass. Like thunder coming after lightning, you feel it and then you hear it. The sharp snap comes as a second wave of agony in and of itself. 

Your throat is stripped raw by the time it’s over. The aftermath finds you with a puddle of drool under your cheek, hair matted to your face. Sweat slicks the backs of your thighs and down your spine. Even the gentlest brush of John’s hand over your backside, the belt deposited off the side of the bed, makes you flinch, the skin there tender to the touch. You’ll surely feel it deep in your bones come sunrise. 

Too exhausted for anger, all you can do is lie there. It sits heavy in your stomach though, a pit at the center of you. You want to say, who gave you the right? The answer burns a ring around your finger though. You want to say, you don’t understand, it had nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with him and you. 

You can tell he wants to say something. It gets choked in his throat, but you can hear it in the way his breath draws in, like he’s trying to coax it from his chest but it simply won’t come out. 

“Stay right there,” John rumbles instead, shifting you onto the bed to let you lie on your belly. 

You moan in pain when he moves you, sniffling into your arms. The crook of your elbow is sticky with your tears and snot. 

The bed dips under his weight when he comes back. You flinch violently when he draws the skirt of your dress up again and smooths his hand over the tender cheeks of your backside, spreading a cool salve over your skin. The first touch of his hand makes you hiss, tears beading in the corners of your eyes again, but then the cool sinks in, alleviating the ache. 

He does that for another few minutes in silence. Gentle, tentative touches, only stopping when the salve has been spread evenly over your bottom. He’s quiet when he shifts you up the bed until your feet are no longer dangling off the end. You’re distantly aware of him taking off your shoes and tucking you into bed, but the events of the day have finally gotten the better of you. It would be easier to push a boulder up a hill than crack even one of your eyelids open.

Time passes slowly; sluggishly. Your thoughts can’t quite catch up with it, either too quick or too slow. You’re stuck in thoughts of the desert, caught in a sandstorm that manifests too suddenly for you to take cover. All you can do is close your eyes and wait it out. 

Morning comes like a brutal summoning into the waking world. 

It hurts, but you expected that. Before your eyes even open, you’re aware of a throbbing pain coming from your backside. You wince when you shift to your side, squeezing your eyes tight. You contemplate rolling over and taking your chances with John’s temper. The thought isn’t as appealing in the light of day though. 

It takes some time to get out of bed and when you do, you have to step tentatively from floorboard to floorboard, the ache making it decidedly uncomfortable. You can’t imagine what sitting down will be like. Riding a horse is just out of the question. 

From the bedroom window, you see John standing in front of the house with Simon, back again not even twelve hours later. With the window closed, you can’t hear their conversation, nor can you read their lips. Their exchange doesn’t last long though. After another minute or so, and a nod goodbye, Simon walks back over to his horse standing nearby and lifts himself up and over onto the saddle, taking off towards town. 

When John turns back towards the house, you see him glance up towards the bedroom window where you stand. The circles beneath his eyes are dark, pronounced. On another day, you might’ve ducked out of sight or jumped away from the window, but now you hold his gaze. 

He breaks your stare first this time, heading back inside. It’s less satisfying than you thought it’d be. 

You spend the day resting in bed and avoiding John for the most part. He spends the majority of the day out of the house. You hear him downstairs in the kitchen around midday, fixing himself up something to eat, and you listen attentively to the scrape of the chair across the floor and the pan on the stovetop. Like the day he brought you home, he brings you up a tray only to leave it at the door, rapping the door with his knuckles to let you know before heading back downstairs. 

When he comes up for bed, you’re already lying down with your back to the door, the oil lamp left unlit. John doesn’t say anything to you as he changes into his nightwear. He smells fresh when he climbs into bed, like he bathed in the creek out in the woods. You breathe in deeply, trying to keep your breath quiet enough to not disturb the silence. The pillow under your head is saturated with his scent. You turn your nose into it when he lies down on his back instead of curling into you like he usually does. 

Your chest aches at that simple denial. There’s a wall between the two of you and you know where it came from. Any trust that you’d built lies in ruins now. 

Perhaps that’s not quite right though. It’s a romantic notion that you’ve been building something together all this time, but it doesn’t feel right now that you have the wherewithal to look back and reflect. All this time, whenever you’ve touched, you’ve held him steadfast and at an arm's length away, stopping two degrees short of intimacy. 

Deliberately effusive; and worse, you’ve called it affection. 

The tenderness in your heart is the worst of it. There’s a bruise there, and it’s been there awhile. It’s only grown with your recent troubles. You tell yourself every year that you’ll air it out come spring, but then the winter comes and it freezes over again.  

The pillow under your chest grows damp with your tears. 

Your dress the next morning is cornflower blue. The wheatfields are golden stalks swaying in the breeze. It’s a pleasanter day than how you feel. 

The ride into town is as painful as you thought it might be. You wince with every stride, your bottom still tender as a rose. John’s arm tightens around your waist when you squirm, like you might slide off the saddle and try to flee again, and you bite your lip to hold back the urge to snap. 

The little bit of independence you’d grown to enjoy is snatched away from you. You expected that as well, but that loss of privilege comes with a biting ache. You fight the urge to gnash your teeth and bark at him that you’re not a child when he grips you under the arm and leads you down the road. It wouldn’t do you any good. 

When John leaves you off at the general store, you’re surprised to find Kate back, hale and hearty. She looks up when the chime over the door jingles and raises her eyebrows in greeting. The sound makes you flinch, memories coming back unbidden. 

You look over your shoulder to say something to John before he leaves, but the door is already closing behind him by the time you turn around. Your lips are pursed on a word that dissolves in your mouth. It has a bitter aftertaste. 

“Thought you wouldn’t be back for a few more days,” you say instead, turning back to Kate. There’s already a chair pulled up for you by the wall and you make yourself comfortable there, grimacing at first when your sore backside touches the wood before settling in. 

She shrugs. “Plans changed. Gaz and I made it back late last night.”

You frown. “Gaz?”

“Kyle Garrick. Sorry—slip of the tongue. You’ve met him already. He used to go by Gaz way back when.”

“Way back when?”

“Not my story to tell. You should ask one of them, if you’re curious.”

You are, but not enough to ask. “Maybe.”

The two of you lapse into silence after that exchange. Before leaving the house, you remembered to bring with you some needles and wool to pass the time. They’re not as familiar in your hands as you’d like them to be, but you suppose, barring the possibility of Graves or another bounty hunter showing up in town to cart you off, you’ll have time to learn. 

The thought leaves you anxious. It feels distinctly more possible now. 

“You met Miles while I was away?” Kate asks, out of the blue.

Your head comes up at her question. “Miles?”

“He was minding the store for me while I was away. Said you came in the other day.”

You swallow reflexively. “Oh. Yes, I suppose I did meet him. I didn’t stay long, since you were gone and all.”

She hums and looks back down at the book in front of her. You feel nervous all of a sudden. 

“He said you were very helpful,” she says abruptly, breaking the silence. You flinch. “Told me some gentleman came by with a warrant for a murder back east and you were kind enough to take it to your husband for him so he could keep minding the shop.”

Your throat constricts. She pins you under her gaze, unblinking eyes staring into yours but not looking for anything. Wispy blonde bangs brush along her forehead when she tilts her head ever so slightly. 

You nod instead of answering. 

“Did you give it to him?” she asks.

“I didn’t have a chance to. The day got away from me,” you say tersely. 

“I heard something about that. Kyle said John had to borrow Simon’s horse the other day. Said something about him taking off in a hurry.”

Again, you don’t answer. It feels like without knowing it, you’ve crossed over a threshold. 

“Do you still have it?” Kate prompts when again you don’t respond. You don’t tell her that you don’t because in all the fuss the other day, it must have slipped out of your pocket and drifted off into the wind. “The warrant?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. 

“That’s alright. I have a good enough idea about what it might’ve said.” 

Sweat beads on your upper lip. She all but says it outloud. You’re as still as a ferrotype under her gaze, imprinted in place, unable to move so much as a muscle or force a word past your stiff lips. 

“You’re under no obligation to tell me or anyone,” Kate says, and her voice is suddenly gentle, softer than you’ve ever heard it before. “I’m sure you had your reasons. I won’t be telling John, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh. Thank you,” you breathe, throat so tight that the words almost don’t come out. 

It’s the closest you’ve come to admitting to it, tangentially or not, and even now it’s spoken only out of the corner of your mouth. You don’t think you have it in you to recite the events sequentially. Even in the privacy of your memory, it comes piecemeal, in fragmented images that flicker across your mind because maybe to remember it whole would be too much. 

You don’t say much more after that, and neither does Kate. That wasn’t the point of bringing it up, you think. You'd know if it was. 

When John comes to fetch you at the end of the day, you leave without saying goodbye to Kate. Only a stiff smile before heading out on your way. If she returns your smile, you don’t notice it. To John, you simply duck your head and follow him out the door, letting him help you up onto the horse without a word. 

If it bothers him that you refuse to speak to him, he doesn’t show it. 

It’s so many steps back that you might as well be back where you started. Maybe even further back, a voyage gone so wrong that when you look over your shoulder, you can’t make heads or tails of where you came from. The trees from the other side of the trail never look quite the same. 

If you could open your mouth and say it, you would. If you knew he’d listen. But you don’t think John is that kind of man. Against the gold of the setting sun, he cuts a figure from times of yore. He speaks plain while you tend to speak in fricatives and bilabial stops, incapable of enunciating the words. 

You feel like a wound on the world. Getting it wrong again and again. 

It’s an old pain, one that started back when you were too small to hold it all. Now, you’ve grown large enough to hold it, though it holds you back in turn. You remember your parents studiously ignoring first creation like some noxious cloud billowing from the chimney. There’d been too many children for them to care about the runt. Shipped off to your aunt’s and uncle’s just for the cycle to repeat itself. 

It’s an old grief, this one, friendly because it nudges at your hips when you brush by, striking in the blue-green. And when it burns, it burns.

“John, I—” you say when he helps you down back at the house. 

He stares down at you, waiting you out. Your mouth goes dry, the truth beyond your grasp again. Your heart aches when his brows furrow and the lines around his eyes crease again, frustration welling beneath the surface. 

You understand. It sits under your skin too. 

"Go inside," he says instead when you don't go on. "I'll bring in the horses and start supper."

Your God sits at the edge of the bed, wholly lacking praise. It’s not His fault that it’s been awhile. These days, you can hardly muster up the energy to say hello. You gargle saltwater before you bathe and scrub your skin free of blood, waiting for the next morning to come.

And you think, lying on your side while John sleeps on the other side of the bed, wouldn’t it be lovely to get it right now, rather than in retrospect?

[pippytmi]

Your ennemies to lovers prompts make me think so much about kacy during S1. I appreciate all of your Kacy fics and love the emotions you manage to create with your writing. I was wondering if you would be interested in writing a story that combines prompt 4 and 6?

It is an unspoken rule that when the DIA is involved in a case, Lucy needs to be kept far, far away.

At least, that’s how Jesse rationalizes trying to keep Lucy away from DIA Officer Whistler. He cites repeated complaints to Tennant (undeserved ones), numerous whisper-shouting matches in the halls (all Whistler’s fault), and ending in the middle of tense stare-downs more often than not (obviously biased). So really, it’s a no-brainer that Lucy indignantly ignores Jesse’s pleas and makes it her mission to give as good as she gets.

“Good morning, DIA Officer Whistler,” Lucy tells her sweetly this morning, having been waiting outside the elevator just to catch the briefly-perplexed, then immediately-annoyed expression on Whistler’s face.

“Special Agent Tara,” Whistler says curtly. “I was told I would be speaking with Agent Boone today.”

“He’s busy,” Lucy says. “Small mishap with his car.” (She’d let the air out of his tires, actually, just in preparation for today).

Whistler’s expression does not waver. “I’ll speak with Special Agent Tennant, then,” she says.

“Or,” Lucy says, following as Whistler begins to stalk through the bullpen, “you can discuss the case with me. I haven’t actually been briefed on why you’re here, but if you give me two minutes…”

Whistler comes to an abrupt stop, and Lucy nearly knocks them both over; Whistler has to grip Lucy’s arm just to keep her from falling on her face, and when Lucy meets Whistler’s gaze, she sees—strangely—a kind of uncharacteristic apprehension that Whistler never has. Whistler drops Lucy’s arm like she has been burned, and her voice goes quiet when she says, 

“It really would make more sense to discuss clearance with your boss. It’s a time-sensitive matter.”

“Oh.” Lucy tries to hide her confusion, but it’s a halfhearted attempt at best; usually, the back-and-forth with Whistler is inevitable (and maybe even slightly thrilling). Whistler never just…gives up. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course,” Whistler says, already heading towards Jane’s office with renewed intensity. “Excuse me.”

Lucy is practically rooted in her spot, bewildered, and she watches as Tennant beckons Whistler inside before shutting the door. “Huh,” she says aloud. “Weird.”

“What’s weird?” Kai comes in carrying coffee, and he freezes in place as he, too, realizes what Lucy is looking at. “Damn. DIA’s here already? We haven’t even been briefed on the case yet.”

“Apparently it’s ‘time-sensitive’,” Lucy says, complete with air quotes and everything. “Think this means Whistler will actually give us something for once?”

“I’m not holding my breath,” Kai yawns, offering Lucy her cup before he wanders over to his desk. “Hey, where’s Jesse?”

(Lucy decides not to incriminate herself by answering that).

By the time Whistler and Jane emerge, both Kai and Lucy are pretending to be working and Jesse is just barely bursting through the doors. Jane doesn’t comment on either; instead, she waves her arms to get everyone together and begins her spiel about how they need to work with DIA and be a happy team or whatever. Honestly, Lucy is kind of tuning out the pep talk and is instead studying Whistler—everything about her body language screams discomfort, from the stiffness of her shoulders to the sharpness of her set mouth. And when she catches Lucy staring, all she does is quickly look away.

Weird.

Later, after they've been fully briefed and Jane dismisses them to do boring grunt work, Lucy tries to edge closer to Whistler and ask what exactly DIA needs to be here for. But when Whistler sees her coming, she makes a beeline towards Jesse instead, and Lucy is left frowning at their backs.

At first Lucy doesn't think too much of it. Jesse is probably handling the precious, redacted DIA files that point them to the possible suspects in this abduction case. But then, after Lucy is tasked with talking to their kidnapping victim's husband, she tries to be polite and ask Whistler if she wants to sit in. A gesture of goodwill, really, to make Whistler feel like she’s part of the investigation. 

“Hey Whistler, do you want to get in on this?” Lucy waves her case file enticingly when Whistler emerges from the break room. “We can do a good cop/bad cop routine. Obviously we know who's who in that scenario, but if you ask nicely I might consider flipping you for bad cop.”

Whistler blinks at her. “What?”

“I'm going to interview Sergeant Nguyen’s husband,” Lucy clarifies. “Want to help?”

“That's not in my job description,” Whistler says, brow crinkling in deeper confusion. “And I have to go talk to Tennant.”

“Again?” Lucy asks this question to the empty space where Whistler used to be. Except this time, Whistler is not being invited into Jane’s office. No, Whistler is just walking away, and pretending to get a call so she has an excuse to exit the hallway.

In an instant, Lucy is pissed off. Here she is, extending an olive branch, and Whistler is acting like she's too good for it. Fine—if Whistler wants to avoid her, then two can play at that game.

Ernie patiently listens to Lucy explain all of this once the interview with the Sergeant's husband gets them nothing. “So that’s why you're hiding in here,” he guesses. “Because Whistler doesn’t want to fight with you like usual.”

“I'm not hiding,” Lucy scoffs. “I actually came here to discuss…” She lamely grabs the top file on his desk, flipping it open to the first page. “Timothy Summers. Hm. Yeah, I think he's our guy.”

“Great,” Ernie says. “So an arrest is imminent, then?”

“Oh, definitely. That's why I'm here…with you…for our next move.”

“And how does the fact that he's been dead for six months fit into this?”

Lucy pauses. “You couldn’t have just told me that?”

“It’s literally underneath his picture. Deceased.” Ernie jabs at the file with his finger, and Lucy smacks him with it. “Ow! God, you’re mean when you fight with your girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Lucy’s voice comes out several octaves higher than it should. “Why would you say that?”

“Uh, lots of reasons.” Ernie pops open a box of candy on his desk, offering Lucy a sympathetic red vine which she numbly accepts. “Everyone can see it. Honestly, I thought you two were going to start going at it on Kai’s desk the other day when Whistler broke the news that we were off the Dominguez case.”

Lucy’s jaw drops. “Because we were arguing?”

“Intensely arguing,” Ernie corrects. “Kai and I placed bets on who would kiss who first.”

“Are you serious? She hates me.” 

“Does she?” Ernie continues chewing on his red vine before whispering conspiringly, “Or does she secretly burn for you?”

Horrified, Lucy ditches the candy; surely, that must be the reason she suddenly feels sick to her stomach. “Forget it. I’m going to hide somewhere else.”

“So you are hiding. I knew it! Hey, can you—”

Whatever Ernie wants, Lucy doesn’t stick around to find out. She decides she’s going to find Kai instead, see if he has any actual leads in the case.

Except she ends up bumping into Whistler again. Full-on body contact this time, even—Whistler jerks backwards, Lucy tries to jump into the wall, and really it's a wonder it doesn't end in catastrophe.

“I'm sorry, I…” Whistler trails off when she sees Lucy. “Um, Tennant said I had to talk to Ernie about Sergeant Nguyen’s finances. Is he here?”

“Yeah, he's in there.” Lucy gestures vaguely over her shoulder. “The tech-nerd talk is all yours. I need to go talk to...other people. About things.”

Whistler nods awkwardly, still waiting, and Lucy belatedly steps out of the doorway in order to head back to the bullpen. Okay, so, Operation Avoid Whistler is officially off to a bad start.

But when she catches up to Kai, he has a much better idea of how to spend their time, and it also guarantees Lucy can avoid Whistler perfectly.

“Sergeant Nguyen was last seen at a Vietnamese restaurant two blocks from here,” Kai says. “Do you want to go check it out? Maybe we'll get something the police didn't.”

Lucy’s spirits are immediately lifted. “Yes. I could go for a banh mi,” she says dreamily. “Ooh, and some spring rolls.”

“I'm…pretty sure we're not allowed to order food from our suspects.”

“We don't know if they're our suspects,” Lucy reminds him. “And besides, spring rolls never kidnapped anyone.” She pats him on the shoulder reassuringly. “Give me five minutes and I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

It ends up being closer to twenty minutes to update Jane on their next move, but Jane does give her blessing to investigate (and bring back lunch). Lucy has a pep in her step the entire way out to the parking lot, where…Whistler is standing.

Lucy notices her first; Whistler is facing the ocean, hand cupped above her forehead and frowning at something. She looks so serious—and out of place—that Lucy almost considers asking what’s wrong. Key word almost, because she is still on avoid-Kate-Whistler-mode, and she makes a mad dash to Kai’s car before Whistler can spot her.

Kai yelps when Lucy yanks the door open with, admittedly, a sense of urgency that is a tad unwarranted. “What—?”

“Drive, Kai,” Lucy demands, and he immediately starts up the engine, but he eyes her warily all the same.

(Unfortunately, Lucy makes eye contact with Whistler through the window as the car peels out of the lot, and she groans and sinks low in her seat.)

“What was that?” Kai ventures to ask. “Are you and Whistler fighting?”

“For once, no,” Lucy says. “She’s been avoiding me. So now I’m the one avoiding her.”

“Well did something happen?” The drive is quick, and before they know it, Kai is easing the car into a parking spot. “I know you two get…uh. Really passionate sometimes.”

“Because she hates me,” Lucy reiterates, feeling like a broken record at this point. “So I hate to break it to you, but you and Ernie are not going to collect on any bets related to kissing.”

Kai winces. “You know about that?”

“Yes, Kai, what the hell? I expect this from Ernie, but from you?”

“Any way I can make it up to you?” Kai asks weakly.

“Buy me lunch and we’ll talk,” Lucy says, and Kai—newfound meddler that he has proved to be—can at least follow instructions beautifully.

The restaurant turns out to be a dead-end case wise, but their menu is grand; they order too much food and bring enough lunch for everyone. (Even Whistler).

But when Lucy ever-so-casually mentions this, Jane just shrugs and says,

“I told her to stick around for you two, but she said she had to finalize some reports.”

“Wow,” Ernie says around a mouthful of noodles, “that’s dedication. Turning down free food just for work.” He pointedly raises his eyebrows at Lucy, who in turn tries very hard to glower at him with just her eyes.

“Good for her,” is all Lucy has to say about that. Jane gives her a curious look for the comment, but thankfully doesn’t ask.

“Hey, Lucy,” Ernie says suddenly. “I left my tea in the lair. Can you do me a favor and bring it to me?”

Lucy—still cradling her precious, half-eaten banh mi—has to do an actual double-take. “Why can’t you get it?”

“Because I have a cramp…in my leg…and you love me,” Ernie says. When Lucy stares back at him, unimpressed, he tries again with: “And I’ll owe you?”

“Fine,” Lucy sighs. “But you’re being so weird.” Suspiciously weird, even, but his scheming doesn’t click until Lucy is actually opening Ernie’s door and—“Oh.”

Whistler lifts her head at the intrusion, her stunned expression likely a mirror of Lucy’s. “Special Agent Tara,” she says.

“Whistler,” Lucy says slowly. “What are you doing in here?”

“Ernie said I could borrow his computer,” Whistler says. “DIA wants me here until we get a ransom demand, and I wanted to get some work done.”

“Ernie let you borrow his computer,” Lucy echoes. “Willingly?”

“Yes?” Whistler tilts her head questioningly. “Sorry, did you need something?”

Lucy knows she should be looking for Ernie’s tea. She also knows she should probably ask Whistler about it. But all that comes out is: “You know, we brought lunch for everyone.”

“Thank you, but I had lunch already.” Whistler glances back down at the computer screen, tapping away at its keys in a silent dismissal, and in an instant Lucy has had enough.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

The mechanical typing falters. “I’m not.”

“You’re working with everyone else on my team but me,” Lucy says. “That kind of feels like you’re avoiding me.”

“Maybe I felt like getting actual work done for once.” Whistler looks up again, this time with a deep-set frown on her lips. “And I wasn’t in the mood to fight.”

“Hey, you’re the one who fights with me!”  Lucy argues. “Literally, from day one. You yelled at Jane about me in front of everyone.”

“Because you stole a sensitive report which you had no clearance for!”

“Actually, I read it upside down while you were talking about how I didn’t have clearance for it,” Lucy counters. “No stealing required.”

Whistler’s jaw clenches. “That is not any better.”

“But it means I’m not a thief. I’m just…you know, crafty,” Lucy says. “Come on, haven’t you ever bent the rules a little to break a case?”

“I don't break cases,” Whistler says flatly. “I protect intel.”

Lucy rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she snaps, exasperated, “you’re a saint and a better person than I am. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Are you—what is your problem? That is not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” Lucy lets the words hang between them in the ensuing silence. She doesn’t even realize that she has placed her hands on the desk in challenge—barely any space between them now—until Whistler is hastily standing up.

Even as tall as she is, Whistler’s voice comes out incredibly small. “Nothing,” she says finally. “Please forgive my…gross unprofessionalism. Clearly, I have overstayed my welcome.” She steps out from behind the desk without even bothering to close whatever she’d been working on, and Lucy sees red.

“Oh sure, just run away,” Lucy huffs. “Go ahead! Prove you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t been—”

“I’m sick of playing this game with you!” Lucy cuts her off.

Whistler doesn’t move an inch. “What game?” 

Dammit. Ernie is most definitely in her head. What the hell; it’s not like Lucy has anything to lose. “The game where we pretend we don't like each other,” she says firmly. “You’re an asshole and I like to piss you off, but obviously there is something else here and I’m not crazy. This is—”

Honestly, in the back of her mind, the most Lucy expects is more denial. At worst, she expects Whistler to march out of the room and report her to Jane again. She certainly does not anticipate Whistler yanking Lucy in to kiss her breathless—just for a brief, dizzying moment—before pulling away.

Whistler tries to apologize, but Lucy doesn’t let her; she is once again determined to give as good as she gets (in a very different context). Lucy pulls Whistler right back in, grasping desperately at her face and stretching as fall as the tips of her toes will allow. 

It seems to reassure Whistler in any case, who eagerly slides her hands along Lucy’s back and melts against her. Maybe it's the months of pent-up aggression between the two of them, or maybe it's the knowledge that Whistler is an actual human being, or maybe it's just the ghost of the faint touch of Whistler's fingertips underneath the hem of Lucy’s shirt, but the kiss gets really intense really fast.

Lucy debates sliding her own hand under Whistler's shirt—see if she is as serious in her bra choices as she is in pantsuits—but then Whistler flicks her tongue into Lucy’s mouth and she cannot possibly be expected to focus. It's intoxicating and exhilarating and…

“Wait, wait,” Lucy regretfully manages to twist away. “We can't do this.”

“Right,” Whistler says, nodding rapidly. “It would be a mistake.” She's clearly trying to school her features into her usual stoic demeanor, but her efforts are completely undermined by her kiss-swollen lips and the obvious flush on her cheeks.

“What? No, I meant, we can't do this here,” Lucy says. “You think it would be a mistake?”

“Not if…you don't,” Kate says, almost like a question.

“Are you seriously going to throw yourself at me but not even say what you feel out loud? I think you're addicted to fighting with me,” Lucy decides.

“I didn't throw myself at you, and—if anything, you're the one trying to fight with me!” Kate exclaims. “Every day I come in, and you're there trying to undermine me. I've been trying to keep my distance for both our sakes. Obviously our working dynamic is…less than ideal, most of the time.”

“I'm not trying to undermine you. I'm just trying to get you to loosen up a little maybe,” Lucy says. “Which…okay, might be annoying. So I get why you're an uptight asshole sometimes. No offense!”

Whistler frowns. “Some offense taken.”

“Oh, it's fine,” Lucy says. “The asshole thing is unfortunately very hot. Ernie may or may not have had a point.”

“What does Ernie have to do with this?” Whistler looks horrified now.

“Not like—Ernie and I don't sit around discussing how hot you are,” Lucy tries to save face. “He just suggested that we might…you know…jump each other at some point.”

“You're not making this any better.”

“Then forget Ernie,” Lucy says. “Take him out of the equation entirely. Do you also find me unfortunately hot?”

“I wouldn’t call it unfortunate,” Whistler says. “But. Yes?”

“Okay, so…” Lucy trails off. “What are we doing here, Whistler? Do you want to walk out of here and pretend this never happened?”

“No.” Whistler steps forward hesitantly. “That’s not what I want. I…I like you, Lucy. And I know this would completely ruin our working relationship, but—”

“Shut up about work,” Lucy says, dragging Whistler back in for another fervorous kiss, delighting in the fact that Whistler certainly isn’t fighting her now.

(Lucy’s phone buzzing, however, does effectively kill the mood.)

“What is that?” Whistler is instantly back into work mode, smoothing her hair haphazardly as if someone is about to walk in any second. “Is it about the case?”

Lucy unlocks her phone with bated breath. “Maybe we finally have a ransom call,” she says, before the familiar face in her text messages proves otherwise. “...nevermind, it’s just Ernie. He wants to know if we’ve ‘kissed and made up’. I’m going to tell him we’re going to have sex in his chair.”

Whistler half-coughs, half-chokes. “Are we?”

“Obviously not,” Lucy says. Then, thoughtfully: “But I’m technically still on lunch. Did you drive here?”

“Yeah, I have a company car,” Whistler says. “Do you have another lead?”

“No, but I do have thirty minutes to spare,” Lucy says cheerfully. “Get your keys. We’re totally going to have sex in your company car.”

Whistler turns very, very red. “I…don’t think my boss would like that.”

“Fine, then we can make out in your company car,” Lucy amends. “But you’re going to have to leave first. Kai and Ernie have a bet going about us, and I don’t want either of them to win.”

“Your team has a strange obsession with your love life,” Whistler tells her matter-of-factly.

“Eh, could be worse,” Lucy says. “Jane could get involved.”

Whistler—marginally disheveled—manages to crack a smile. “Let’s not let it get that far,” she suggests, brushing one final kiss against Lucy’s mouth with a resigned sigh. “So…are we keeping this between us for now?”

“I guess so,” Lucy says begrudgingly. “Think you can keep on fighting me in front of everyone?”

Whistler shrugs. “Are you going to keep being an asshole?”

“Wha—hey, no fair! You’re the asshole. I’m the good-meaning, happy-go-lucky agent who just wants to keep you human,” Lucy says, poking at Whistler’s cheek until her smile grows even more.

“Challenge accepted,” Whistler says, smoothly tucking a strand of hair behind Lucy’s cheek before casually making her exit. 

Lucy places her hands on her hips and wistfully watches her go. This day has gone absolutely nowhere she expected it to, but dammit, she can’t be mad.

(Especially when her phone buzzes again with another text from Ernie. All it says is: NOOOOOO 😭).

[bloodyquillink-blog]

Animals, CoD Ghosts HC’s

What animals/creatures are the Ghosts?

A/N🪶: These are just my options! Feel free to send me yours. These are for all the Ghosts, including former, deceased and current within the Ghosts game. This list will include Rorke, Ajax and Elias Walker. Also this is going to be formatted differently from the first HC, Natural Disasters.

David “Hesh” Walker - German Shepard

Hesh is loyal, probably to a fault. Willing to do whatever it takes to protect the ones he loves and get the job done, even if he gets injured in the process.

^ Bringing me to my next point, Hesh is very protective of his family. The mere idea of anyone getting hurt is enough to get this man baring his teeth and attacking.

In the Natural Disasters list, I mentioned that Hesh, according to Urban Dictionary, means courageous, another trait of German Shepards.

One more trait that applies is also Shepards, really any animal in general, being alert as well. This is a given, though, considering he is a soldier in active war zones especially with such effective and deadly enemies. He needs to make every second count and can’t afford to slack in these areas.

I should mention that Shepards are obedient yet stubborn. Hesh knows when to listen to his superiors but he’ll easily let you know when he doesn’t agree with something. Think about when Merrick, Keegan and Elias (mask on) picked them up and Hesh was yelling about their dad still being caught in the crossfire. Merrick got Hesh to sit his ass down but Hesh was clearly not happy about it, understandably.

Logan Walker - Mountain Lion

Mountain lions can’t roar and Logan can’t, or —depending on your headcanons, consciously chooses not to— talk.

Logan finds other methods of communicating, for example, when he and Keegan were about to bust into the room to get to Ajax, Logan used his fingers to count down.

The National Wildlife Federation website says “Mountain lions are territorial and solitary. They use pheromones and physical signs… to define their territory.” (Mountain Lion, Fun Fact.)

Mountain lions are known for being very stealthy predators, again a given considering the fact we’re talking about the Ghosts.

The Mountain Lion Foundation describes them as being relentless hunters which almost connects it to the wiki quote for Logan that calls him a cold-blooded killer and an excellent soldier (CoD Ghosts: Wiki, Logan Walker, Personality.).

Elias T. “Scarecrow” Walker - Black Bear

Scary but not as scary as you may expect.

While Elias is certainly ready to do his job at any point no matter how bloody, he still has his weak spots, that being his sons.

He’s caring but while be stoic when necessary. He’s not territorial but will protect his friends and family when the time calls for it.

Also one detail I find cute about bears is that they have DNA relation to dogs, albeit very distant. I like to call bears giant murder puppies :D

Thomas A. Merrick - Grizzly Bear

I want to say that grizzly bears are often considered to be more dangerous than black bears and more likely to attack if given a reason to.

Both grizzlies and black bears can charge but where black bears may shift away at the last second and avoid attacking, grizzlies may continue to charge and attack their target (once again I’m thinking about Merrick punching Rorke because it just makes me laugh, that man was not ready).

Of course, Merrick is dangerous but he knows when the time is and isn’t appropriate despite his temper. Merrick is a big dude too, so I think this works (“stocky”).

Gabriel T. Rorke - Polar Bear

Once he has his sights on you, you’re already gone.

Hehe, polar bears are mighty dangerous.

Polar bears are bigger and stronger sometimes, but other time grizzlies and polars can be about the same in build.

Polar bears are more likely to attack considering they have fewer resources for food and typically eat a lot as well.

Fun fact: Polar bears don’t hibernate.

^^^ Piggy backing off that, Rorke doesn’t seem to be resting. He’s always planning something, whether it be a plan B or future plans.

He’s a very large and commanding presence who will find alternatives when desperate, willing to do what he must to make sure his plans are completed.

Keegan P. Russ - Leopard

Fast, sneaky. You don’t know he’s there until it’s too late.

Fun Fact: Leopards can roar. Keegan, though very quiet, stills speaks and intimidates with his voice when necessary.

Leopard’s are solitary and ambush hunters, I don’t need to explain this but I will.

If you recall, Rorke had a lot of trouble getting his nasty ass hands on Keegan after kidnapping the Walker family and Merrick.

His first objective was to find Keegan. In my eyes, it’s because he knows that as long as Keegan is alive, Rorke isn’t safe.

Like many animals, leopards care for one another, seen with families. I think Keegan is a very caring person but he avoids showing it often, which is fair.

Keegan continuously checks in with Logan throughout the game. In the underwater mission, he made sure Logan was okay. If you look closely when walking behind Keegan on the submarine, Keegan turns his head back to us briefly.

Alex V. “Ajax” Johnson - Elephant

Ajax is smart and powerful, I want to say he’s very determined.

In the short time we knew him, he was very stubborn as well. He didn’t give up anything and held out for a while. Though he was a lower rank than the other characters.

In his last moments, he made sure the last Ghosts knew what was happening in a last ditch effort to keep them safe and aware.

It’s hard to pin down super specific traits due to the fact that elephants can exhibit many and there’s not much we can give to Ajax.

I want to say that Ajax was more laid-back with his friends and comrades, leaving his bold energy for those who don’t deserve his respect ( insert the iconic scene where Ajax puts up his middle finger right at the Federation soldier ).

Like all the animals and characters on this list, Ajax was dangerous when necessary. He wasn’t spending every moment trying to be scary or intimidating or anything. He’s confident in himself and his abilities and he doesn’t need anyone else to speak up for him.

The respect we hear given to him by the Ghosts after his death was well deserved.

Love you, Ajax <3

Kick - Monitor Lizard

Some kind of reptile (I was so tempted to put him as a Gila Monster but I can’t do that to my best boi).

I’d say probably a water monitor.

These lizards, which can grow to 9 feet btw, don’t surprise their prey, but “actively pursue” them.

While these creatures have venom, but it’s not necessarily fatal.

Kick is definitely dangerous when he’s needed but it’s not like a “I am the grim reaper.” type of thing, it’s more like “I have a job to do and you won’t be in my way.”.

These creatures are known for being intelligent which lines up with Kick’s likely (not confirmed?) role as an information specialist.

The main thing that doesn’t quite line up is the fact that water monitors can be friendly whereas Kick is, if not more stand-offish, then solitary. I do imagine that he eventually opens up, but he’s definitely more comfy with his computers.

Neptune - Owl

I imagine that Neptune, being one of the original Ghosts, is very wise, though more subtle. I can’t think of what kind of owl he’d be, maybe snowy.

I mostly just wanted to include him here. Feel free to add onto him.

Riley… Riley

The most dangerous creature ever, himself.

World’s Best Throat-Snatcher over here being a cutie patootie with blood on his maw. 10/10 best boi.

[pakunod-a]

Abstained.

A/N: a repost from my old blog (@ayayabaroque) with a few tiny revisions, based on Kung 'Di Rin Lang Ikaw and Sa Ngalan Ng Pag-Ibig, both by December Avenue <3 Warnings: Sumeru Archon Quest spoilers, (Use of Scaramouche's real/given name) horrible English </3

If you aren’t the reason to love, would I stop my heart from getting hurt?

Kunikuzushi was beyond saving, he was impossible to love. His own creator abandoned him, his only friends left him, and being faced with his own immortality, he knows that you’ll leave him too.

You believe that though your flaws of mortality remain, you would do your best to stay by his side for eternity.

But as he drifts of into the company of another, a scholar by the name of Haypasia, you question if he is worth the trouble of loving.

“Scaramouche, it’s been only 2 days after your most recent visit to Haypasia, would it be possible to ask you of one thing?”

He merely scoffs, dismissing the idea of resting, if it meant showing affection to his most devoted follower.

It is a true wonder you haven’t left him yet, despite how inconsiderate he is towards your personal feelings.

If it isn’t you, then it won’t be at all, I won’t hope for us anymore.

The Doctor offered you revenge, wealth, and power, all you had to do was to betray Kunikuzushi.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to put him in a much more dire situation, thus you decline.

Yet do you truly feel this way about him?

“You never truly cared for me, Haypasia has been showing her dedication and devotion to me ever since she made contact with her new-found God.” 

Scaramouche seethes, venom spilling from his mouth

“If I were you, I’d do exactly as Haypasia, in hopes to win over my companion again.”

I’m shivering and I can’t move, my heart can’t force myself to love you anymore.

It proves true that the snow-ridden land of Snezhnaya is not suit to your tastes,

but if it means staying as far away as humanly possible from Scaramouche, you’d go through whatever length to ensure his happiness.

For Haypasia's happiness too, yet not yours.

If the frostbite and cold doesn’t take you, then may the fake god abrew in Sumeru take your life.

You once believed that you would take any step toward a brighter future for you and Kunikuzushi, but it seems near impossible to achieve that, if he is in the glory of another.

Do you truly love him now?

If it won’t be us in the end, I’ll stop myself from loving someone else.

“I vow to stay by your side for eternity, let the damned wake, and let the souls who mourn, do so with agony. I will shield you from the world and all it’s cruelty.” —yet you, who makes such sacrilegious promises, only to succumb to sheer cold, and a slight pang of jealousy toward his “first” follower.

If you couldn’t love another, you might as well die with the vows you’ve made to each other.

That way, when he succeeds in entering godhood, he won’t remember you anymore.

But if I don’t remember who we were, who’ll cry in the morn for us?

Before setting foot into Sumeru, you haven’t even heard of Irminsul.

Much less known that Irminsul contains the memories of everyone, which holds little to no regard from Scaramouche, until he caught wind of what recently happened after his downfall.

“They have been pronounced dead. I believe you have no use for them anyway, since Haypasia is your one and only follower, am I correct?”

Il Dottore, 2nd of the Harbingers, announcing your death to the former Harbinger has his mouth agape and speechless.

He descended into madness, believing that it was all his fault, his status, his arrogance, and his vile nature that caused your death.

Shortly after his defeat, he was assigned to carry out a task for Lesser Lord Kusanali and the Traveler.

Enter Irminsul and attempt to find more information on the Descenders of Teyvat. In his subconscious, his new-found information on the erasure of existence from the Traveler has his full attention. Perhaps, if he never met you, if he never tainted his self-image, you could live happily together with him in his next life. With the knowledge of Irminsul, he begins infiltrating its memories in hopes to have his soul reborn into your arms again. I’m letting go, since I can’t move anymore. But would I stop your heart to yearn for another? He succeeded in erasing The Balladeer’s existence of this world, but it was in vain. You couldn’t hang on to the tiny bit of life you have anymore, and withered away from his grasp. In all the years of his life, he has never experienced such grief in his life. His mind, though hazy, tries to cling on to what little memory he has of you in the back of his mind. Kunikuzushi was impressed to say the least, you really did love him, even if he wouldn’t love you anymore. At the cost of the recognition as a God, the price would be his only source of hope and warmth. “Until the end of our time,  until our hearts feel nothing anymore, even if forever ends, I’ll wait for you in the name of love.” - A/N: i wish that i too, can be erased by irminsul. that sucks. Stay safe, keep yourself hydrated, and continue on treading your path in life, with hopes of success. Believe in yourself, and stay positive. <3 -1, Yuan

[sockiess]

im back ELOHEL (im sorry these are like all sam, im just obsessed with him😣) telling sam you're pregnant, and you think he's gonna get mad and leave you, but he's actually so reassuring about like ☹️☹️ but hes definitely like screaming on the inside cause YOURE PREGNANT 😭😭‼️‼️‼️‼️

we are not gonna mention how late this is!!! 🤗

Pregnancy

warnings: pregnancy and sex mentions (please use protection yall 🙏 unless you’re planning to have a baby than good luck with your journey and I hope it works out)

I starred at the white stick with the word Pregnant starring back at me. I was shaking and tears where running down my face. I mean me and Sam where only 19 —and yeah this was our fault— I mean we didn’t always use protection when it came to sex but it’s still scary and shocking. I had called Sam to come over before I took the test because I knew that if I was pregnant I wouldn’t be able to keep control of myself. And if I wasn’t pregnant I could just tell Sam that we needed to be safer and use protection. Well it was obviously to late for that now.

I knew Sam would be here any minute now so I quickly cleaned up and tried to stop crying. I quickly put the stupid little stick in my pocket and sat on my couch waiting for him to come in. I didn’t bother locking the door and I knew he was here when I heard his foot steps outside my apartment door.

Sam opened the door and softly closed it after he saw my red and puffy eyes. “Baby?” Sam asked softly as he sat down in front of me. “What’s wrong?” He whispered rubbing my thighs and cupping my cheek. “Sam we have to talk” I quickly stood up and stepped away from him. Sam quickly stood up with me and starred at me with sad confused eyes. “What’s wrong?” Sam asked again. “You’re going to hate me” I whispered and quickly moved away from his touch when he tried pulling me closer to him. “Love you’re really scaring me.” Sam said quickly. I just broke down in tears and hugged him crying into his chest. “Just tell me what happened.” He spoke softly playing with my hair. “I’m so so sorry” I sobbed into his chest. “For what?” He stopped playing with my hair but kept his hand resting on my head. “I messed up so badly.” I sobbed even more. Sam softly pulled me away from his chest and looked at me with scrunched eyebrows. “you think that I’m going to hate you and that you messed up…did-did you cheat on me or something?” He blurted out. I starred at him with wide eyes and finally registered what I had said probably sounded like I did cheat on him. “God no.” I quickly said. “Than what’s wrong?” He asked again this time looking mad.

“i’m pregnant.” I blurted out, not him wanting to think that I cheated on him or hurt him in any way. His expression dropped quickly and so did his arms. He starred at me with an expression I couldn’t read. I could see his breathing start to get heavier and he quickly sat down. “When did you find out?” He spoke softly. “45 minutes ago.” I answered as I sat down beside him. “I understand if you want to leave me.” I said to him. “what?” he quickly answered and whipped his head around me. “you think i’m going to leave you to deal with this by yourself?” He asked. “I mean most men don’t want to have children at 19” I said softly. “Yeah well i’m not most men” Sam mumbled while pulling me into his lap.

“Sammy i’m scared” I whispered. “Me too baby..me too” He responded. “But you don’t have to do this alone. I won’t let you.” He said. “What are we going to do?” I asked. “Whatever you want darling, it’s your body and i’ll support whatever decision you make” He smiled at me. “We’re going to be parents” I laughed out through my tears. “We are going to need a bigger apartment” He laughed back. “Good thing I have an amazing boyfriend who knows how to build houses.” I wink at him. “Sammy?” “yeah?” “I love you” “I love you too”

TEEHEE SORRY ITS SO LATE POOKIE😞💔 BLAME TUMBLR💔 I HOPE YOU LIKE IT AND IF YOU WSNT ME TO CHANGE OR ADD ANYTHING LET ME KNOW🫶🫶

[blye-flower]

.

[mashmouths]

[bumblingbabooshka]

Having Nonbinary Sapphic Tuvok Brainrot Lately…

You're the realest motherfucker on planet Earth and I hope you know that.

Here's a bunch of bullshit I doodled on the topic of Nonbinary Sapphic Tuvok !!!! And I HOPE you will share YOUR personal brainrot with the class (my ask box, the masses, a text post....whatever gets the word out.) If you've been paying attention you KNOW I love a 'Tuvok discovers he's trans while in the delta quadrant' story Guy who likes girls and has always liked girls...but....not in the same way OTHER guys seem to like girls... Tuvok who never quite fit in with 'other' men even Vulcan men...always preferred spending time with women and girls but never felt precisely LIKE a woman or OVERLY uncomfortable with being identified as a man and Vulcan society doesn't seem like it would be heavily gendered so he never really questioned it seriously. Tuvok who found comfort in titles like Husband and Father...those fit, those are good. Then in the delta quadrant he isn't able to be a husband or a father any more and is just some guy surrounded by humans...hmmmmmm....

Still doesn't really seriously think it's worth questioning or exploring his gender identity (partially out of a desire to return home as he left...what will his wife and children think? He's experienced a LOT of sudden change in regards to his personal identity and life, he doesn't really want to undergo more.) until Seven of Nine comes along and also begins to go through a "Questioning Her Gender" arc. Tuvok thinks about it on his own time for a long time and then finally goes to Janeway for support and assistance and together they spend like SEVERAL months just the two of them seeing what this whole gender thing's about. Tuvok slowly exploring expressing himself in a more feminine manner because he's spent his whole life adhering rigidly to one sort of Look. Unexpectedly struggles with anxiety about this. Neelix: Don't be nervous Ms. Vulcan! Tuvok: [nervous] I am not nervous. Tuvok and Seven BOTH exploring masculinity/femininity and their own nonbinary gender identities...late night slumber par- experimentation. Painting each others nails is...very scientific. It's important. Talking with Janeway was good because she's his friend but talking with Seven, another person actively questioning their gender is....well, it's something else.

[emuwarum]

oh so baby pond snails are bastards on purpose

[designernishiki]

yeah I wish I could feel that excited for the kiwami movie adaptation but. if youve been following me a while you’d know that I kind of hate kiwami 1’s story so shzhdjshdjcj yahoo

[lion-buddy]

being the resident nezuko liker is such a challenge sometimes

[ruffgem]

I hate school so fucking much lol and I always just thought I was taking too many credits but this semester I finally took a normal amount of credits and it doesn’t matter. It’s not the amount of classes, it’s just having any classes at all. I feel like there was definitely a time where I could handle it but not anymore lmfao… this place was crazy. Sent me into my first real and scary panic attack, broke me out in stress hives, ruined my sleep, turned me into a mega hater…. smh. I know it could be a million times worse so I feel bad for complaining but it was not cool. All I can hope for is that my degree and good grades that I damn near died trying to get for literally no reason do me some good in real society tho I doubt it lmao

[bylertruther]

sorry for being that guy but absolving a character of any and all flaws or accountability and ignoring the parts of canon that are proof that this character is (thankfully) complex and human aka capable of making mistakes and doing good and being smart in some ways and dumb in others and so on and so forth is just like. sorry but i always imagined that to be the most boring way to enjoy a character and yet.........................

[florenceisfalling]

like idk. i miss seeing content from s.igne (though i respect gab wholeheartedly). i miss fanart from my favorite artists. i miss older eras of j.se at times (and yes, there were older eras, the way people pretended he Never Changed is just weird). i miss old anti designs. i miss the old fic trends. i miss having a very active fandom (though i am so happy to see the new arrivals) and i miss seeing him interact with fans the way he did on tumblr back in the day. i miss the way i used to interact with some of the blogs here before i decided to fuckin,,, wage holy war and make enemies out of them (joking, but i have seen sides to some of these people that i wish i could tear out of my memory). i miss feeling confident that i could trust the good intentions of people here and even the big man himself (not god. that makes sean sound like god. you know what i mean). i miss when some of you weren't so fucking bitter which is funny because i'm the bitterest bitch alive. idk. i don't think it's bad to miss any of these things because i'm not going to be an ass and act like it's anybody's fault. i'm not going to be bothered by gab for being happy because i'm glad she is happy, and i'm not going to get bothered by sean taking a reasonable step back from this hellsite when people were cruel to him, and i'm not going to get mad at trends for changing because that is how time works. but i do miss things and i know its cringe and parasocial and perhaps even problematic but i hate having to pretend like i never have Any feelings about the past lest i break a hypothetical rule of what is the Normal level of attachment to an online community. okay. i think i'm done now.

[sophiathebanished]

Can something NOT traumatic happen to me *eye twitching* for FIVE MINUTES??!!!!! *screams like a banshee*

🤬👹🔥👿😡😤🤬

[autism-corner]

realized that satan and mephisto are the ones that bring me comfort in certain moments simply because they dont care all that much. they are the guys who just let me be, who wont fawn over me and try to get me better. if im already extremely overwhelmed its nice to have a person that doesnt care.