#how's THAT for a rent-lowering shotgun blast

[antimony-medusa]

Okay this is 100% discourse, so maybe avert your eyes if you don't want to see me wail at the heavens, but for a fandom so anxious about boundaries, we haven't actually been very good in practice at respecting the actual stated boundaries the streamers put down, and I think it shows what we're actually policing, which is not things to make the streamers comfortable, it's stuff to make us comfortable.

This ranges from inventing new boundaries for people (you can't use neopronouns for ranboo, their pronouns are he/they; there's no boundaries on dark content for streamers so obviously we have to invent and enforce dark sbi rules ourselves) and then harassing people based on those boundaries that we just made up, to ignoring the actual things that the streamers said if we don't agree with them (cc!dream said he was uncomfortable with gore art back during the revolutionary war/exile but he's a villain, right, so we can just do whatever we want with the character, right?) and just doing whatever we want.

This is a recurring problem, with people violently policing boundaries that the fandom has all agreed on, to the point of doxxing and harassment and death threats, and ignoring boundaries that they have decided "don't make sense".

Like here's the example I put in the tags earlier, which is Technoblade related. Everyone knows that family dynamic is great and shipping is a no-go, right? But if you actually go looking for the clips, (or listen to streams in the background recursively while you're doing other things), you'll find that what Technoblade said about shipping was that it was "kinda cringe" (I think the list of things he said was cringe included reading percy jackson books and talking like you're better at video games than you actually are), and he was MUCH stronger in saying that he didn't like family dynamic in canon, saying that he didn't like it, that it was non-canon, and he'd never betray his family like that.

But if you look at the entire "found family" tag on Ao3, 19,860 stories, Technoblade is tagged into 29% of them. That's 5,760 fics just blowing right past what Technoblade said. Boom. Taking that character from his political anarchist setting and setting him right down in a royalty au w. younger siblings.

Because obviously a family dynamic isn't actually going to hurt someone's feelings or make them feel weird, the fandom has agreed, so what he must mean was that saying that family dynamic was actual literal canon is the only bad thing (I have been clotheslined by family dynamic written into stuff tagged as "canon compliant" multiple times as well,) and we can continue with the fun family stuff, right? Because someone saying they don't like family dynamic doesn't make Sense, in the way that I like it, the fandom has agreed, so we can just ignore that clip. Honestly I think that a ton of people have no idea that Technoblade ever said anything negative about family dynamic, because that clip is never brought out or talked about. I literally only know about it because I've watched that stream.

Meanwhile, the much less firmly stated boundary when it comes to shipping is absolutely doubled down on and brought out to justify mobbing people off the internet, because everyone already knows that shipping is bad and terrible and tainted and horrible to do and we don't like it, so even the slightest indication that it's out has to be grabbed and used to police people. So that everyone can be very to sure themselves that what they're doing is not weird, and the streamers are okay with it, and if I showed them my fic they'd say they liked it.

They're not going to give the Ok to your fic, because the fic isn't FOR them, and it shouldn't be. It's for the other weird fans who can't stop thinking about the block men characters, it's not for the actors. The actors have their own lives, leave them alone.

To be clear, I am not saying that we should stop writing family dynamic to respect Technoblade's feelings. Among other things, I don't think he's checking his character tag on Ao3 right now. But like, I've talked before about the way that boundaries culture ends up working in practice, and how constantly bringing problems up to streamers just ends up showing them all the things that are the most weird to the streamer. You only have to look at what most of Benchtrio has done in terms of boundaries, which has been transitioning from very explict boundaries with details on everything to just saying "just use your manners," stopping answering questions, and telling people to actually think about what they're showing the streamer instead of expecting someone to weigh in on it for them.

But even when it comes to the boundaries that we do have, that we know about, the way people enforce them seems to be less about actually respecting what the creators like, and more about making sure we're morally pure and never have to see something that we personally don't like, and we don't happen to have any of that nasty boys kissing content in our work, because we all know that's terrible. (And as someone who's seen crackdowns on LGBTQIA content several times, that certainly has unfortunate overtones.)

As long as it's all kept away from the creators, I really think that fluffy cuddly family dynamic and kissing fic and hardcore whump all falls into the category of "not for the creators, they might find that one weird, but you do you". Like keep it away from the streamers, use your brain, but like, it's all a bit weird and for fun. Let it be weird and for fun in a secluded part of the internet, keep it away from the streamers, tag your shit for people who don't want to see it, and go to town.

So just like, I really think that "creator boundaries" should be more about using your brain as to what you show the streamer, and less about harassing someone off the internet cause they drew kissing art.

#discourse #technoblade #dsmpshipping #how's THAT for a rent-lowering shotgun blast #fandom meta

[thegreatmoof]

Oh. I also love how Tumblr's inherent cringiness - amplified by the rent-lowering shotgun blasts from staff - have driven off anyone who doesn't have a sense of humor. So theoretically the worst Twitter refugees are going somewhere else.

#twitter refugees #are welcome #so long as they develop an opinion on Goncharov fast

[sylvanfreckles]

Breathe In, Breathe Out (Whumptober 2020)

Why do I always get these prompts the day I come down with a cold?

Summary: A fight with a poltergeist nearly drowns a member of Team Free Will.

* * *

“Where's Cas?” Dean demanded as soon as Sam ducked behind the same counter where the older Winchester had taken shelter.

“Pool house,” Sam replied, jerking his head toward the back door of the old manor's hall. Ever since Castiel had become human, Dean had been treating him like he was somehow more fragile than the rest of them. Cas had always been able to take care of himself, with or without his powers. Sam was getting tired of it, he knew Cas was getting tired of it—even Jack had clued in that Dean was going a little overboard.

Dean was shaking his head as he reloaded the spare magazines for his shotgun. “Any luck finding the bones yet?”

“Nothing.” Sam blew out a sigh and let his head rest against the counter. Dean snapped his fingers urgently and Sam passed over his own empty magazine. “I mean, maybe you had a point earlier.”

“'Course I did,” Dean retorted. “I'm a friggin' genius.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “When you said she'd remodeled this place so much it was practically a part of her. I think the house counts as her remains.”

“Yeah?” Dean flipped the refilled magazine back to Sam. “What about it?”

“I think we need to torch the place.” The old manor was on the historic register, so he hated to do it...but kids kept exploring the old place and getting hurt, or even killed. They'd spent days going through every room, every item, and found nothing to point them to the remains of Emma Chandler, who had died nearly forty years ago. The house had been handed down to members of her family, who had used it as a vacation home until the poltergeist activity had gotten too dangerous and they'd abandoned it.

She wasn't too happy with them by now, and they'd been dodging poltergeist activity left and right. The house was too big for a purifying ritual, unless they could trap her spirit in one spot, and she'd been incredibly hard to pin down. They laid salt lines and she tossed furniture across them, burned sage and she kicked up a wind to blow it out. The only thing that stopped her for a moment were salt rounds, and even then the magazines for their shotguns only held five rounds at a time.

“Guess we need the flame thrower,” Dean quipped.

Sam had opened his mouth to answer (they could set a fire that would be deemed accidental and not have the police looking for them for once), when an ear-splitting scream rent the air around them. It was usually the sign that Emma had materialized nearby, but to Sam's horror the sound was coming from the beyond the back of the hall.

“Pool house,” he gasped, surging to his feet to sprint out the back door. The yard was overgrown with weeds and vines, but with Emma's focus in the pool house there wasn't anything to trip them up on the way. He heard a shotgun blast, a screech of fury, and something large and dark flew across one of the windows to crash against the wall inside.

“Cas!” Dean shouted, somehow moving even faster than Sam. He reached the door first and simply lowered his shoulders and charged through. Thank goodness there had been too much iron in the door for Emma to lock them out.

Cas was on the far side of the pool. The water was murky but still smelled strongly of chlorine, from the owner's failed attempts to “shock” the water a few months before, and the smell permeated the air of the pool house until it was almost unbreathable. The former angel struggled to his feet, shotgun held out before him, but Emma materialized just beside him to knock the shotgun out of his hand.

“No!” Dean yelled, bringing his own gun up to bear on her flickering form. She gave a screech and vanished, then Cas's body pitched forward as though dragged by invisible hands and plunged into the pool.

Dean swore and began sprinting around the edge of the pool to get to the side nearest Cas, while Sam tried to cover him with his shotgun. Emma could be anywhere, visible or not, and she was most dangerous when she could get between them.

“Cas!” Dean was leaning over the side of the pool, hand outstretched. “C'mon, I've got you.” Cas reached for him, floundering a little in his waterlogged clothes and shoes, but before Deana could grab his hand he disappeared under the surface of the water with a sharp cry.

While Dean searched for anything he could use to pull Castiel out, Sam aimed down at the water and fired two blasts into it. The impact from the salt rounds wouldn't be enough to hurt Cas, especially under water, but might be enough to disrupt Emma's spirit.

Sure enough, Cas rose to the surface, coughing and flailing. He reached for Dean again, but somehow Emma re-materialized enough to pull him back under.

“Okay. Fine!” Dean scrambled up to his knees and flipped his backpack off his shoulders. He still had almost a third of a bag of salt in there from when they'd been trying to isolate her in the house, and he unceremoniously dumped that into the pool.

Emma gave another wail and the surface of the water churned. This time when Cas surfaced, Dean managed to snag him by the sleeve and drag him bodily out of the pool. “Sammy!”

Sam was already running around the pool to join them. He dropped into a crouch, shotgun held at the ready, eyes scanning for any sign of Emma's reappearance. “We've gotta get out of here,” he commented.

“No shit,” Dean growled. “Cas, can you stand?”

The former angel was coughing and spluttering, like he'd gotten a lungful of the filthy water, but he shook his head and held his clenched fist out to Dean. “Wait,” he croaked. “I found...” he trailed off in a fit of coughing that had Sam wincing. Yeah, drowning was a lot nastier without a resident angel.

Dean let out a low whistle. Sam glanced down and saw that Cas was holding out an old-fashioned bracelet, the kind that looked like a twisted chain with a single clasp, which had a few strands of gray hair caught in it.

“Worth a shot,” Sam said when Dean looked up at him. He tightened the grip on his shotgun while Dean dug lighter fluid out of his backpack and Cas curled up with a moan on the ground behind him.

Emma appeared across the pool, screeching and snarling, and Sam took a potshot at her even though he knew she was too far away for the shot to be effective. She raised her hands into claws and charged, letting out another scream of rage, but dissipating into smoke halfway across the filthy water.

Dean rocked back on his heels, eyeing the little smoldering pile of melted metal. “Good job, Cas.”

Cas threw up.

* * *

“Pneumonia?”

Dr. Richards barely looked up from the chart as he nodded. “You said your friend fell in the pool at the house you were renting?”

Dean nodded. They'd really been too worried to concoct a story, once Cas had started complaining about his chest hurting. He couldn't stop coughing, not even long enough to take in a deep breath, and they'd hauled him to the ER despite his assurances that he could walk it off.

Who knew the angel would inherit the Winchester Stubbornness?

“It was a pretty dirty pool,” Sam said. “We weren't going to swim in it.”

The doctor nodded again. “That part doesn't really matter,” he explained, tucking the chart under his arm. “What we're looking for is the cause. If it happened in a pool, we could be looking at chemical irritation, like pneumonitis. We'll add a broad-spectrum antibiotic just in case, if the pool was in as bad disrepair as you say there could be anything swimming around in it.”

The nurse came out of Cas's room as the doctor finished. Sam thanked the doctor and followed his brother into the room, where Cas had finally been settled after a round of tests to determine the harm his dunking had caused.

Cas looked pale against the white sheets of the hospital, though there was a flush high in his cheeks from his fever. He was connected to a couple of monitors for his pulse and blood pressure, and the room was filled with the regular hiss of air from the oxygen mask strapped to Cas's face.

Dean made a dismayed sound but Sam laid a hand on his arm. “He's not ventilated,” he reminded his brother. “Just a precaution, right?”

The older Winchester managed to nod and pulled away, resting both hands on the railing at the side of Cas's bed. “We shouldn't have brought him,” he said over his shoulder. The words sounded callous, but Sam recognized the pain and vulnerability in his brother's voice. Whenever one of them got hurt, Dean took the blame for it on his own shoulders. It didn't matter that it could have been anyone in that pool house, just the fact that it happened was enough to fill Dean's heart with guilt.

“He found the bracelet,” Sam reminded him. “We would have had to burn the whole house down if it wasn't for him.”

“And he almost died,” Dean retorted. “Should've torched the place yesterday.”

Sam blew out a sigh and sat on the edge of the bed, arms folded across his chest. There was silence in the room, nothing but the hiss-hiss, hiss-hiss of the respirator for a few long minutes. “The doctor said he's going to be all right,” he finally said, leaning over to catch Dean's eyes. “We caught it in time, we got him here.”

Dean finally seemed to un-clench a little. “Still wish we could lock him up at home,” he muttered out through clenched teeth.

That made Sam smile. Dean always reacted like this when one of them got hurt, then he'd be the first one to pull them back out into the hunt. It was just how he showed he cared.

“Hey,” Dean slapped him on the arm. “He's waking up.”

Sam twisted so he could see Cas's face. Between the near drowning, the pneumonia, and the drugs the hospital was pumping into his system Cas had been in and out pretty much since he'd been checked in. Sam leaned up to take his hand—Cas's hands were always so cold when he was hurt, Sam had to wonder if Jimmy had had any circulation problems.

Dean was practically hovering, one rough hand on Cas's shoulder. “Cas?”

The former angel reacted to Dean's voice, turning his way and slowly opening his eyes. Sam couldn't quite make out Cas's mumbled question, but Dean huffed out a laugh.

“Still hospital. You tried to inhale half the pool, remember?”

Castiel groaned and closed his eyes, head falling back onto his pillow. Dean patted his shoulder, then spent a few seconds fussing around with the blankets to make sure Cas was tucked in as comfortably as possible. Sam dragged a chair over next to the bed, then stretched his long legs out to rest his feet next to Cas's. “Want me to put something on?” he asked softly, reaching for the remote.

Cas gave a slight shrug, so Sam flicked around on the channels until he found an old black-and-white movie playing. Cas was already dozing off, and despite his incessant mother-henning it was starting to look like Dean wouldn't be too far behind.

The job was done, and they were all (for the most part) in one peace.

All in all, they'd definitely had worse days.

#whumptober2020 #no. 13 #breathe in breathe out #chemical pneumonia #oxygen mask #supernatural #fic #fanfic #castiel whump #team free will #drowning #fluff

[dissociativehatred]

//Request// @silverknife94

Purged from Hatred

The morning was going to be busy so he made sure to arrive just when the store opened. He stood in front of it and was soon invited in by the clerk. He looked along the walls, his fingers tapping against his thighs in excitement at the arsenal of weaponry. He walked up to the counter and was asked the typical questions: Was he participating in tonight’s Purge? He just gave a nod before he pointed at the semi automatic on the top shelf. Who was he targeting? He looked at the man stoically not caring for these questions. They were intrusive and it was his business as to who or how he decided to purge. The man in front of him shrugged and brought down the gun from the shelf that he had requested. The man drawled on about how she was a beauty and all that shit. Chester just wanted him to stop talking. He then requested a belt of ammo and the man wondered if he even had enough money to pay for all this. Chester did of course, he had been saving all year for this very moment. For this very day. The day he would purge… the day he would be set free from hatred. 

All his life his hate festered for the very people who made him what he was. When he heard about the first Purge he couldn’t believe it. A day where all crime would be legal. A day where his vengeance wouldn’t have consequences. That was why he was here now, buying this gun and going over the plan that he had for his purge. He took out his credit card and paid everything in full. The man behind the counter waved to him and told him to have a nice Purge. Chester intended to. It would be the best night of his life. 

It was now early evening, the sun began to set in the horizon. He turned on the television and started to get ready. He could hear a familiar shrill alarm that blared from the tv as it declared its announcement: 

This is not a test. 

This is your emergency broadcast system announcing 

the commencement of the Annual Purge

sanctioned by the U.S. Government.

Weapons of class 4 or lower have been authorized for

Use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted.

Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted

immunity from the Purge and will not be harmed.

Commencing at the siren, all crime including 

murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours.

Chester had tuned out most of the announcement. He already knew the drill and started to slip the belt of ammunition over his shoulder. He then grabbed his foam face mask and adjusted it so it was up on his forehead. He put his hoodie over it and had returned back to the living room and turned off the television just as the announcement said the last and chilling statement:

May God be with you all.

Right as Chester walked out the door of his apartment the alarm sounded through the empty streets, a few stragglers ran to make it home. Safe home, secure home, but to him home was never a safe place. It was a place where horrors awaited him every day during his childhood. He got in the car he had rented a few days ago. You always had to have a good car if you were going to purge. Not everyone had a distinct target and was more likely to go after just about anyone they came across. On foot was never the best way to get around the big city when Purge Night falls on New York, but at least Chester didn’t have to worry about the traffic. He drove along the road and finally made it to the residence of Marko Clements, his sophomore year of high school’s English teacher. He still lived in Brownsville and he had been following his movements for  two years now. Was his house secure? No. Most houses in Brownsville Brooklyn, New York were never secure. This was the neighborhood of the poor and what used to be known as the “Murder Capital of New York.” 

Chester immediately got out of his car and slid his mask down to conceal his face. He then ran at the door of the sexual offender’s house and kicked it open. Marko immediately jumped up from the couch and raised his hands as he noticed the shotgun trained on him. He took a deep breath and said to Chester calmly. 

“Who are you? You want money? I got money--” he was suddenly interrupted as the gun was suddenly aimed down toward his leg. Chester had fired it once and that was all it took for the man’s leg to snap back and pull him to the ground. He waited and screamed holding his leg and Chester simply walked over to him before slamming the butt of his weapon down on the man’s head. It was then Chester pulled out a list from his pocket and crossed off Marko Clement’s name from it. It was then Chester undid his belt and bent down. He fastened the belt just above the man’s injury and tightened it as tight as he could. He didn’t want the pig bleeding on him before the real party could begin. 

Chester then grabbed him and roughly bound Marko’s arms behind his back with duck tape. He then carried the man’s body to the trunk of his car and stashed him there. He then checked his list again and circled the last two names on it twice:

Gary Wolf

Jennifer Hayes

When Chester got to his final destination he paused in front of it. Home sweet home… yet this house made his mind scream. He took a deep breath to try to calm himself down. It was just a house… they were just people. They could be killed and he sure hell was going to make them wish they were dead first. He walked over to the house and shot the door before he pushed it open with his hand. It creaked and revealed his mother high as a kite as she staggered into the living room. She looked at him with confusion and she looked worse than he remembered her. Her face sunken in and teeth rotted from use of meth. She looked a little pudgier though than he remembered her. He pulled up his mask and glared at her.

“Remember me?” suddenly, Chester noticed movement from his peripheral vision and he ducked down on instinct. It was just in the nick of time as a blast went off from his stepfather gun. He glared up at Gary and quickly raised his gun up shooting him back in the face and gut. His mom Jennifer screamed shrilly and Chester ran at her and grabbed her by her throat and slammed her against the wall.

“I said… do you remember me! Do not make me ask again!” Jennifer’s hands shook as she kept them raised. There were tears rolling down her cheeks as she said quietly almost trying to persuade him.

“Chester, baby… you don’t have to do this. I’ll get better… I promise… I’ll do better.” he gritted his teeth as he felt disgust rise up from deep inside him. It was the words she constantly said during his childhood. Lies. LIES.

“LIAR!” He grabbed her head and slammed it hard against the wall. She then slid to the ground and Chester caught her in his arms. Chester then walked over to his car and hauled Marko’s body out of it. He was pale. Good. The bastard was going to suffer way more than this. He then took both Jennifer and Marko down to the basement and shortly went upstairs to retrieve a chair. He then planted the chair in the middle of the room and pulled out a long noose. He then put it around Marko’s neck and threw the other half of the rope over one of the ceiling rafters. Chester then climbed onto the chair and hauled the pedophile up into the air and tied it tightly around the rafter to secure the rope. Chester smirked as he watched the man writhe gasped as he flailed around in suspension. Chester then got off the chair and pulled it over to Marko and hoisted the man by his legs so the balls of his feet were supported, but just barely by the chair. 

Jennifer groaned as she started to wake and was greeted face to face by her grinning son. She struggled against the duck tape he had used to bind her as she laid on her side. She then choked out.

“Chester… baby please. I’m sorry--” Chester then interrupted her by flipping open his pocket knife. He stared at her coldly in her eyes and said. 

“I’m gonna kill you slow, but first him.” he gestured his head toward Marko and stood up as he walked over to the man struggling to maintain balance on the chair. He then cocked his head at him as he saw the pervert’s eyes widen in recognition. He then grinned at Chester, a rather sick grin. 

“Oh, hey kiddo. Look at you, all grown up. I can’t call ya ankle biter anymore right?” Chester’s eyes dropped into a deadpan gaze. He then walked off to the back of the basement where Marko couldn’t see. Marko tried to crane his neck to look and winced from the tight noose around his neck. He then flinched nearly falling off the chair as Chester snapped a pair of shears in front of his face. Chester laughed as he watched the man struggle to keep his footing on the wobbling chair. 

“Don’t fall. I don’t want ya dying on me yet.” 

Chester suddenly started to undo the belt of Marko’s pants. Marko looked unsure of what his intentions were. Chester looked up at him with a mock seductively glance as he continued to take off his pants until his penis was exposed to him. Marko cocked a brow at him and joked. 

“You’re a little too old for me, kiddo.” Chester roughly grabbed his cock and pulled hard as the man screamed. Chester then replied sadistically back. 

“Oh? I guess I could’ve said the same thing about you… when you raped me all those years. You… and her. You took my childhood away from me. So guess what? I’m gonna take the one thing you think makes you a man!” 

He suddenly cut off Marko’s penis with the shears and stood back as he watched his abuser let out a series of shrill cries. His body flailed around as blood gushed from his severed muscle. His eyes wide and his body twisted until he kicked the chair right from underneath him. He could hear his mother’s screams as the evil man from his childhood was silenced. He then turned to her and grinned before he walked over to her. He lifted her face and soothed her hair back before he wiped the tears from her face with his thumbs. 

“Don’t cry mommy,” he then leaned in close to her ear as he whispered one of the things she had coldly said  to him when he was that scared little boy, “Cryings for pussies!” He then back handed her hard across the face and she sobbed shrilly as she suddenly blurted out. 

“Please! I’m pregnant!” 

Chester froze and looked down at her with complete disbelief. He then leaned down and ripped open her jacket and took a step back as he saw the exposed baby bump. He couldn’t tell how far along she was because years of drug use had made her so frail. He then muttered as he looked at her.

“How far along?”

“Nine months… Chester please… You wouldn’t kill your little sister would you?” Chester growled as he walked over to the chair and grabbed it and threw it across the room. That selfish bitch! She was going to ruin another kid's life just to get her fix. She was going to subject that unborn child to everything he went through. Chester knew she was. He knew it. He… he couldn’t let it happen. Not to him, not to anyone. He then stormed over to her and hauled her into a sitting position. He lifted up her shirt and pressed his knife just below her abdomen. She then asked him in fear. “What? What are you doing?” Chester looked at her right in the eyes before he said coldly.

“You will never be a mother ever again. She will never know you.” Chester  hesitated a moment. He didn’t have any medical training and this could certainly kill the baby if he wasn’t careful. How deep was he supposed to go? His blade shook a little in his hand. Finally, he decided to make the incision. Jennifer screamed and writhed on the floor. She begged him to stop, but he kept going. He managed to make a big enough opening to slide his hand inside. She wailed as the blood gushed from her. Her eyes fluttered and she coughed up blood while Chester cut the baby out of her. He managed to take the child and cut off the umbilical cord. His mom lay dying from blood loss, but he didn’t care. He was more concerned about his sister. She wasn’t crying. His steps paced to and fro as he tried to think. Maybe there was fluid in her lungs? He then patted her back and gently cooed. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Breathe. Please breathe.” It was then heard a small whine before it bellowed into a full healthy cry. He cradled the baby close to his chest as he looked down at her. He smiled softly as he looked at the tiny newborn and spoke gently and reassuringly. “Hey-- Shhh… it’s okay. It’s okay… I’m here. Your brother’s here. I promise. I will never let anyone hurt you,” he looked at the carnage around him and frowned before he added. “I’ll protect you even from me.” 

**

The next morning, Chester arrived at the hospital with the baby girl in his arms. He then explained to the nurse that he had found this baby in a box in the alley left for dead. He told the nurse that he assumed that maybe the mother was going to purge her and couldn't bring herself to do it. He then left the child in the hospital’s care and left before they could ask him any more questions. She’ll be safe, he thought. He then felt a strong sense of relief inside. Something good had come from his Purge after all… he was purged from all hatred. 

#dissociativehatred #ooc #//mun dabbles with drabbles// #request #tw: gore #tw: guns #tw: rape mention #tw: pregnancy #tw: C-section #tw: violence #tw: castration

[ladyboltontoyou]

Arthur Morgan x Reader: With Love, Karen.

Ask: Aw, I love this. I'm a sucker for Arthur and a sucker for angst with happy endings. I have a request. I'm a sucker for cute stuff too, so I'd love to read one where the reader is the typical badass, heavy drinking, gun-slinging, trouser wearing, sarcastic archetype we all know and love. But when it comes to Arthur she's a stuttering, blushing, clumsy mess and everyone notices except Arthur. Naturally, someone has to step in and gets them some alone time, which initially starts out with her as the typical mess but when he asks whats wrong she trips and falls on her ass, which leads up to a cute moment. Thanks xx

Warning: Cursing.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

A/N: So sorry this took me a month! Since this was requested on Ao3 I forgot about it.

There were very few things in life you had a problem doing. You could kill a man with your bare hands without blinking. You could rob someone blind and not feel the slightest bit of guilt. You could drink everyone in the Van Der Linde gang under the table, no problem, and wake up without a hangover. You could shoot and handle a gun better than most gunslingers could.

But man, you could never keep your cool around Arthur Morgan. It was like your legs turned into jelly and you forgot how to do simple things.

There was one night the whole gang had been celebrating something and you had made a complete fool out of yourself. Somehow you had been seated next to Arthur around the campfire and that was a recipe for disaster. First, you had broken a beer bottle when you tried to open it against the edge of a table. Then you cut yourself cleaning up the glass. To top it off, when you went to clean your wound you tripped over your own two feet and knocked over a barrel of apples.

Another time you, Arthur and Sean were out hunting deer. Normally you could shoot a penny from far away without even trying. But around Arthur ,you were so nervous that landing a hheadshotwould be impossible. You had missed the deer five times and when you finally did get it, you had blasted it right in the spot where the best meat was.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sean asked as Arthur went to skin the mess of a deer you made.

“What?” You pretended not to notice that you had been doing an awful job.

Sean snorted and threw his hand out to Arthur and the deer. “Your aim is shit today, (Y/N). You’re one of the best shots I know. You sick?”

“No. Jeez. I’m fine.” You sighed and leaned against your rifle. “I’m just…” You couldn’t help but stare as Arthur walked back to the wagon with the freshly skinned deer over his shoulder.

Sean followed your gaze and you almost heard it click in his head. “Oh!” He let out a loud laugh and slapped his knee. “How did I not know! It’s because of him, isn’t it? Yeah, course it is! Everytime you’re in a mile proximity-”

You hit him in the stomach with the butt of your gun and climbed back on the wagon. It was already full with deer, all killed by Arthur and Sean of course. You were embarrassed that your only contribution was a shitty carcass.

“You two ready to head back?” Arthur asked after he slung the carcass into the back of the wagon.

“Yeah!” You said a little too loud and with much more enthusiasm than needed. God, why did you have to be so awkward around him?

Later that day while everyone was having dinner Karen told you there was something up in the local saloon you needed to check out. She said someone who owed a debt was staying in one of the upstairs rooms and it was specifically asked that you were the one to get it.

Well, no problem. You had been wanting to get out anyways. The humiliation from the earlier day was much too distracting for you to rest comfortably.

You loaded up your guns and headed out to town. The sun had set and everyone was already either at home in bed or getting drunk at the saloon. It was perfect, almost too perfect.

“Derick Cook. Derick Cook.” You repeated under your breath as you walked into the almost empty saloon. A few people were drinking at the bar but other than that there wasn’t much of a crowd.

“You need to rent a room?” The bartender asked as you made your way towards the stairs.

You shook your head and walked up the long staircase. The adrenaline had set in and you were ready to get shit done without making a fool of yourself.

Since there were only four rooms you checked them quick. A woman was alone in the first room, she definitely didn’t look like a Derick Cook. The next two were locked and empty. When you got to the last you cocked your sawed off shotgun and gave a few rapid knocks to the door. “Open up, Derick! We got a few things to talk about!” You teased in a sickeningly sweet voice.

Shuffling was heard inside the room before the door opened to reveal a confused Arthur Morgan.

You lowered your gun and furrowed your brows. “Wh…. What are you doing here? Karen told me they wanted me to-”

“Karen told you that too?”

Around his form you could see the room was already turned upside down. “No sign of him?”

He shook his head and backed up so you could walk in. You almost tripped over a pillow on the floor and in an attempt to steady yourself you grabbed awkwardly onto the bed frame. “Guess,” You stopped to laugh nervously. “I guess he pulled a fast one on us.”

Arthur didn’t seem to notice how cringe you were being. Instead, he walked over to the other side of the bed and started searching the last dresser. There was nothing in there besides a few extra blankets and pillows.

“We should question the bartender.” You suggested and stood back up on your own. “I mean, it’s the only thing we can do now-”

“Hold up.” He shushed you as he pulled out a folded sheet of paper. At that same moment you noticed how many damn candles were everywhere. There had been at least a dozen in the room, some on the bedside tables and the rest placed on the dresser across the room.

“What in the hell…?” Arthur muttered and you looked back to the man standing on the other side of the bed.

“What does it say?” You asked, carefully walking over to him.

He shook his head and flipped the paper over to see if anything was written on the back. When he saw it was blank he handed it to you before scratching his chin nervously. “I uh, I’m not… I don’t really understand what she means…”

You took the paper and flipped it right-side up.

‘Dear Arthur and (Y/N),

Use this time and talk, goddamnit! It seems everyone in camp beside Arthur notices how much of a clumsy fool he turns her into! Kiss her, you idiot!

With love, Karen.

P.s, the room is rented for all night. You’re welcome.’

Oh, god. Of course, she did. That sneaky woman. Of course, she did! You turned to hide the blush on your face and crumpled the paper into a ball. What did Arthur mean, he didn’t know what it meant? It was pretty obvious, Karen didn’t bother sugarcoating it at all.

“It must be a joke, I have no idea what she’s talking about!” You laughed and threw the paper in the trash. “She doesn’t have any idea what she’s talking about.” The last sentence was full of enough attitude for Arthur to know that Karen had struck a nerve with you, leading him to believe that she wasn’t completely lying.

“You can be honest, you know,” Arthur said as he stepped over the crumpled comforter on the floor in front of him. “I mean, now that I think about it,”

“Don’t you go embarrassing me too, Arthur.” You warned him as he stepped closer to you. “She’s just making it up. You know how silly girls are.”

He didn’t believe it. But the way you were getting so defensive made him smile. “You’re cute when you get like that.”

Your head snapped to him and your eyes widened. “What? Cute? When I, what? Arthur, shut up.” If you weren’t a stuttering mess before you sure were then.

Arthur chuckled and took another step towards you. You were pressed against the foot of the bed and had nowhere to go even if you wanted to. Being so close to him was intoxicating. “(Y/N), it’s alright. If anyone should be embarrassed it’s me, I mean, how did I not notice before? Everyone tells me about how dangerous and skilled you are. Why didn’t I wonder about how the only side I saw of you was the clumsy blushing mess you are now?”

“Wow, Arthur. Dig my grave while you’re at it.” You muttered sheepishly, looking anywhere but at him.

He took your chin in his fingers and tilted your head up so he could look at you. When he saw the deep red splotches on your face he had to smile. “Listen, (Y/N). I’m sorry you couldn’t have told me yourself, but, I’m glad I know. Makes me feel less weird about my own feelings.”

A wave of relief and shock crashed over you. You were relieved that he took the news well, but you were shocked to hear he thought of you the same way. Before, you thought he barely even knew you existed. Now, well, now you didn’t know what to think.

“Your feelings?” You swallowed and continued avoiding direct eye contact.

He chuckled again and let go of your chin. “I don’t know why anyone would be so flustered about me. Why don’t we go get a drink and talk about it?”

You nodded and let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. “Alright. Yeah. Yeah. That sounds fucking great.”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan imagines #arthur morgan imagine #Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption imagine #rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 imagines #read dead redemption imagine #request #myfanfic

[mariequitecontrarie]

Meet Me in the Courtyard

Summary:  Belle hosts a monthly movie night in Storybrooke, always leaving the seat next to her empty. Gold loathes movies, yet movie night at the library is the one community event even he can't seem to resist. Rating: T WC: 2500 A/N: Written for @a-monthly-rumbelling Movie Night prompt. It’s Rumbelle movie night fluff!

{ON AO3}

Gold glared out the window of his shop, catching Gretel Snyder’s eye before she covered his new window display with one of those stupid movie night posters. Belle French was paying neighborhood children to hang those blasted flyers—again. Young Gretel’s green eyes were as large as dinner plates as he scowled at her in a fierce yet silent showdown. She blinked, and he smirked in satisfaction. Then, with a triumphant grin, she slapped the paper against the glass and fled.

He hobbled to the door and snatched the paper, grinding it beneath his heel with a satisfactory crunch. “Meet Me in the Courtyard indeed,” he muttered aloud to the empty shop. He picked at a stray bit of tape with his fingertips. Gold loathed movies, and he wouldn’t take part in advertising this foolish community event, no matter how gorgeous and engaging its organizer was.

Movies reminded him of his ex-wife, Milah.  Milah, who went to the theatre around the corner twice a week from their Boston apartment, a harmless habit which later evolved into bopping the concessions manager, who also happened to be a wannabe actor. Killian Jones, it seemed, had larger Jujubes than he did.

Not like it mattered. With his bum leg and too-sharp nose, he was hardly movie star material. He’d grown frustrated trying to fulfill Milah’s ideal of a fantasy hero and when she wanted out of their loveless marriage, it had been a relief to let her go.

Besides, movies were silly, contrived stories with cardboard characters and unrealistic happy endings. Nothing of substance or real life in them. Watching only led to disappointment when reality didn’t measure up to the ideal.

Movies. Gold shuddered. Even the smell of popcorn made him nauseated.

But the truth was, he was a hypocrite. He couldn’t resist strolling by the library when Storybrooke hosted its monthly movie night. “Meet Me in the Courtyard” was Miss French’s answer to the town’s lack of a theatre. On the first Saturday of each month, citizens of all walks and ages gathered to watch a film and scarf gallons of “free” popcorn and oversized boxes of Raisinettes. Gold snorted. Nothing was free. Hard-earned tax dollars payed for those movie nights, but the unwitting victims seemed not to care. They were all-too-willing to trade precious time and money for ninety minutes of mindless pleasure.

Idiots.

Gold never attended these ridiculous affairs—at least, not technically. Instead he would lean on his cane behind a well-placed poplar tree, dividing his time between gawking at Miss French and contemplating the always-empty front aisle seat beside her. In all the months he’d been spying on her from the shadows, no one ever sat there. Person after person gave her a fond smile, patted her shoulder, and sidled by in search of another chair.

Puzzled, he shook his head. Belle was a pleasant, intelligent young woman with a bright, sweet voice, who always paid the rent on time. Between her visits to his shop and his trips to the library, he’d been in her presence often enough to know she didn’t suffer from disgusting breath or bad body odor. No, she smelled of crushed rose petals and spring rain. Certainly she should have company at her own gathering. What was the matter with these so-called friends of hers?  

An hour later, as dusk settled over Storybrooke, he found himself lurking behind a hedge as the petite town librarian struggled to push the snack cart through the damp grass in five-inch heels.

As usual, Belle was doing all the work alone. Why wasn’t anyone helping her set up?

He may be a right bastard, but he was also a gentleman, and he couldn’t in good conscious stand by and watch her muscle equipment into place. Gold flexed his fingers and stepped forward. He rested his cane against the south wall of the library, which served as the movie screen, and finished lining up the chairs in neat rows.

“Thank you, Mr. Gold. You’re always so kind.”  Belle squeezed his forearm and the sunny smile she offered made his stomach flip-flop.

He brushed clammy hands on his suit pants and managed a stiff nod in reply. She continued to stand before him, her eyebrows raised in expectation. Mystified, Gold stared at her, then took a look around the courtyard in silent inventory; the snacks were out, the projector in place, and he’d done the chairs. What else could she want? He racked his brain for safe conversation topics, but he had nothing of value to say to this stunning creature.

“So, you, ah, like movies Miss French?” he asked around a cotton-filled mouth. Scintillating, Gold.

She nodded, her auburn curls bouncing with enthusiasm, then chirped, “the only thing better than a good movie is a good book.”

“Ah,” he said, trying not to roll his eyes. She was almost hopping up and down in excitement. In his mind, books were a great deal more superior than movies, but best not to rip off her rose-colored glasses.

“Will you be at the movie tonight?” she asked. “We’re showing The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Such an underrated classic…”

He winced. Was she kidding? Why would he want to bear witness to the misery of a hunched over, lonesome orphan who cloaked himself in darkness, staying hidden from polite society? Poor Quasimodo was even in love with an unreachable woman.

The theme was far too familiar, and further proof he and Belle French may both reside in the same small town, but their lives were worlds apart.

“Not bloody likely,” he bit out, then picked up his cane and beat a hasty retreat back to his shop.

xoxo

“Leaving the aisle seat empty again, Belles?” Ruby shook her head, then slid into her chair next to her boyfriend, Archie, right as the movie began. “He won’t come. He never comes. What makes you think tonight will be any different?”

“He might,” Belle insisted, lifting her chin. “There’s always hope.”

“Whatever.” Ruby rolled her eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh.

The music swelled and the opening credits began, and Ruby turned her face toward the screen. Belle worried her lower lip as she looked down the row of chairs, hugging her popcorn for one to her chest.

Five minutes into the movie, Belle glanced at her patrons’ faces, reflecting the glow of the screen. She was pleased to see so many townspeople enjoying the movie, but their joy left a bittersweet taste in her mouth. Mary Margaret’s head was nestled against her fiancé, David’s, shoulder; Ariel and Jefferson were holding hands; Mulan was feeding gummy bears to Merida; and Ruby had slung one long leg across Archie’s lap.

It wasn’t the movie making them happy; it was having someone to share it with.

All her friends were paired off; each of them had someone special to share movie night with—everyone except her. Afterward they would all go to Granny’s for coffee and pie and chat about the movie, and once more she would be the third wheel, (or in this case, the ninth), squeezing into the corner of the booth, surrounded on all sides by loving couples. She was better off going home to a box of half-stale brown sugar Pop Tarts and re-reading Pride and Prejudice.

Belle sent a longing look toward the street, hoping Mr. Gold would reappear. She’d been delighted earlier this afternoon when he offered to help prepare the courtyard for the movie. The salty sea breeze had carried his spicy, masculine scent toward her, making her nostrils flare with pleasure. He smelled better than buttered popcorn.

It figured the one man she was interested in eschewed community gatherings. Belle’s stomach dropped. Maybe she was the problem; when she dared to suggest he might break with tradition and attend tonight’s festivities, he’d all but sprinted down the street to get away. Perhaps it was her choice of movie. Was he not a fan of Disney films?

She snapped her eyes back to the screen and tried to focus, but her thoughts returned again and again to Mr. Gold. Moments later she was scanning the streets once more, praying for a glimpse of him.

“Belle.” Ruby nudged her with a sharp elbow. “What’s with you? You’ve missed the entire first hour of the movie.”

“Nothing,” Belle whispered, massaging her sore neck between thumb and forefinger. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, right.” Ruby snorted, sending several kernels of popcorn flying. “You’re going to need a neck brace if you keep whipping your head around looking for Mr. Wonderful. Unless you want an excuse to visit Whale? I mean, he is pretty hot…”

“Ruby!” Belle shot a pointed look at Archie whose attention was thankfully on the movie.

“What? I meant for you, not me. For some reason, though, you’d rather have Gold.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to get it,” Belle hissed.

“Shhh!” Leroy Kline pummeled Belle’s shoulder with a box of Junior Mints, then leaned forward to poke his head between her and Ruby. “Take it somewhere else, sister. I’m tryin’ to watch the movie here!”

“Sorry,” Belle said, slumping in her seat before chancing another glance behind her.  

xoxo

From the shadows on the street, Gold cringed. She was doing it again…turning around to look at him. No doubt wondering what he was doing there. Hell, he wanted to know himself. He should have snagged a chair in the back row or walked on when he first caught her watching him. Now it was too late. Now Belle—and everyone else in town—knew he was a pathetic stalker.

Miss French approached, and he froze like a deer staring down the barrel of a shotgun. Feeble attempts to look busy were in vain when he was standing under a street lamp, gaping at the makeshift movie screen. His hands started to sweat, then his cane slipped out of his grip and clattered on the sidewalk.

Belle bent down to retrieve it, and handed it over with a soft smile. “Are you all right, Mr. Gold?”

“I’m on my way. Don’t bother.” He turned around with a huff and stepped back into the shadows.

“Wait! Please!”

He spun on his heel and crossed his arms. “You think I don’t notice, is that it? The way you’re looking at me?”

“What? Oh.” Belle pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks. “Am I...I didn’t realize I was so obvious.”

So he’d embarrassed her? Good.

“Quite, Miss French.” He stabbed the sidewalk with his cane for emphasis.

“Please call me Belle,” she said, a bit too sharply.

He raised an eyebrow. “As you wish, Belle.”

He spat out her name like it tasted bad, and Belle shook her head. He was misinterpreting every move she made.

“Need I remind you I don’t need your permission to walk this street during your preposterous movie event or at any other time?” He gave an imperious wave to hide his trembling fingers. “I own this block,” he barked. “I own this whole town.”

“I know.” Belle shivered, then hugged herself. “I keep turning around because…”

He cut her off, unwilling to listen to excuses.

“I thought you were different, Miss French. But I suppose that’s only one-on-one, eh?” Furious and hurt, he considered her visits to his shop when she quizzed him about the antiques on display and chatted about old books, or her winsome smile as she’d accepted his help earlier this evening. All a ruse to make him look like a fool. “In public—where it counts—you’re just like the rest of them.”

Belle’s teary eyes shimmered in the moonlight. “You don’t understand anything!”

She slapped him on the arm, the blow carrying surprising bite through three layers of fabric. He took a half-step back in surprise.

“And you didn’t let me finish!” Her hands were on her hips now, her eyes sparking in the dark. “So you noticed me watching you, but you never noticed I leave the seat beside me vacant? While all my friends pair off with their sweethearts to watch the movie, I turn around to look at you because…because…”

“Why?” he asked in a half whisper, and oh, God, all at once he knew the answer. He was terrified to be right, but even more terrified to be wrong. He leaned closer, needing to hear her say the words.

“Because I’m an idiot!” she snapped. “I keep hoping you’ll stop being such a pompous ass and come sit with me!”

Well. That certainly put him in his place. Several moviegoers turned around to see what the commotion was, and he waved at the wall. “Show’s over there, folks!”

Two dozen heads swiveled back toward the movie, and he returned his attention to Belle.

“Pompous ass, am I?” he asked, unable to stop the smile cracking his face.

Her eyes widened and she twisted her fingers in her skirt. “Not usually, but…yes! At the moment, you’re being a first-class jerk.”

“Forgive me, Miss French, please. I didn’t realize…” He grimaced, raising his hands then dropping them in defeat. He thought she’d been embarrassed by his presence. “You’d be right to snub me. I’m the town pariah.”

“Not to me.” She took a step closer. “You’re handsome and witty and sweet, and I wouldn’t hurt you for the world. I’ve had a terrible crush on you for ages. For months I’ve racked my brain, trying to come up with a movie even you couldn’t resist. Anything to get you to meet me in the courtyard.” She laughed weakly at her little pun.

“I’m not much for movies,” he admitted.

“You don’t say.” She smothered a giggle. “Hard to believe the same man who feeds stray dogs and cats in the alley outside frightens away children who dare to hang flyers outside his shop window.”

Gold bowed his head. For someone who valued privacy and solitude, he was an open book to this beautiful, extraordinary woman. A flush of embarrassment radiated from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“Movies don’t quite offer the same escape for me as they do for others.” He kept his voice soft, attempting to explain without saying too much. He darted his eyes toward the audience and licked his parched lips.    

Belle nodded, and linked her arm through his, pulling him closer until they stood flush against one another. “We could leave,” she suggested. “Late dinner at Granny’s?”

Hesitant, Gold lifted his gaze to the screen, watching the scene when Quasimodo rescues Esmeralda in the square unfold. He turned to Belle. “Perhaps we should stay.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He gulped. He wasn’t sure at all, but Belle had gone out of her way to reserve him a chair and make him welcome. She’d shown him kindness, not pity, and he wanted to do something to please her in return.

“Maybe we can find a way to make movies a happy experience for us both?” She held out her hand, offering more than he thought possible with the small gesture.

“I would like that,” he said, lifting her hand to his mouth to kiss her chocolate-scented fingers.

He followed her into the soft crush of grass, winding through the cluster of chairs, and took his seat.

###

#rumbelle #a monthly rumbelling #rumbelle fic #rumbelle fluff #mr. gold x belle #belle french #Rumplestiltskin #meet me in the courtyard #mqc writes