#i had just been saying this too but i find them really comforting??? like as someone who comes from an extremely dysfunctional and fucked up

[koimethehorizon]

Amazing Digital Circus Theory: Gangle is an NPC

Sooo, I wasn’t expecting to talk about this show. I was perfectly content to just enjoy Digital Circus as is.

It’s a show that invites theories as to what exactly’s going on with the setting and characters, but I didn’t have much room to think too hard about it. Who’s Abel? Is Pomni really a human? Why is this VR game emulating an N64 game at the start? I like the show plenty, but it just wasn’t as interesting to go hard on any of those questions at the time.

But with this recent episode… a single, perhaps throwaway line got the brain nagging. And it’s kind of a bizarre one to waste hours analyzing.

Okay, so yeah, it’s a joke on submissive and breedable. (Don’t give them ideas) But try taking it at face value.

What does he mean by this? Sure, Jax is an asshole, and being a bullied kid is Gangle’s whole archetype… but what if it means a little more than that?

Gangle’s trapped for all eternity this asshole and she’s just letting him boss her around. Zooble can choose not to participate, so no one has to. Why does Gangle listen to Jax at all?

Let's entertain a thought: Is Gangle an NPC?

With Episode 2 bringing so much attention to the autonomy of NPCs, it seemed natural to start pointing fingers at characters being this or that. But this isn't just a random crackshot, I feel that there is a story to tell here.

Look back at Pomni’s “orientation” with the other humans. Ragatha, Zooble, and Jax ease her by saying that they’ve been trapped in this world for years and then bring attention to Kinger being the oldest.

But Gangle… she’s isolated from the peanut gallery, busy moping about the broken comedy mask instead.

Every character has been given some hints as to how they’ve been coping with the situation. Jax no longer empathizes with anything, Ragatha once had trouble adjusting but now tries to stay happy, Zooble picks and chooses her involvement, Kinger is the eldest and just exists for the hell of it, and Pomni is new to everything.

With Gangle, it’s a blank. No opinion, no hints of her human side, how long she’s been here, no thoughts on the games, nothing. She’s just Jax’s punching bag.

Even Kinger gets a potshot on Gangle in a rock-paper-scissors game…. and he likely forgot that she doesn’t have hands!

And that brings me to another detail. Doesn't Gangle look different from the others?

Unlike everyone else, Gangle's just a mask and a ribbon. No hands or legs, or just any limbs in general. She stands out as looking a bit simpler than the others.

Gangle's most interesting design trait is that she's based on comedy and tragedy masks. The ones used old Greek theater to dictate the emotions of their characters.

The first episode seems to imply that with a broken comedy mask, Gangle literally can’t stay happy. Hence why we see her sad most of the time. That's a strange limitation if Gangle's human mind is supposed to be completely intact, especially with how expressive the other characters can be.

It's not delved into too much but does Gangle actually rely on these masks to "feel" emotions?

The obvious hole is that Caine would’ve just killed her a while ago if she was an NPC, but he's not exactly omniscient.

He even admits that he has to kill them off because it’s possible for him to lose track.

Now normally I could just stop here, but I’m all about the grand statements. You know, the retroactive readings of an episode once you get a theory going. Why does Gangle being an NPC matter at all? How does Ep 2 change?

While deep diving, I realized that the thematic core of Episode 2 is Pomni and Jax’s approaches to surviving the Digital Circus.

In Pomni’s A plot, we see her connecting with Gummigoo, the NPC that Caine pitted their group against. After discovering him lamenting his new reality, she finds a strange comfort in being existentially lost together. Because in the end the NPCs and the humans are just as displaced and frightened in this meaningless world.

In Jax’s B plot, he forces Gangle to follow some insane orders. Sabotage the game to let the big chocolate turd monster destroy the Candy Kingdom. To Jax, he is the main character. Helping or displeasing this giant population of fake people doesn’t have any consequence for him, so why humor anyone but yourself?

A bit of a stretch, but what if Jax already knows Gangle is an NPC and is keeping it quiet as long as Gangle follows orders, hence the “submissive” comment? He’d be a way more unpleasant character with this reading, but it doesn’t seem off the cards with how he treats everyone anyway.

This dichotomy already plays out well within the episode, but when reframing it as Pomni and Gummigoo vs Jax and Gangle, the parallel is a lot more interesting.

Make an NPC an equal, they die. But keep an NPC under wraps as long as they continue to obey you… they live.

The episode ends with a grim conundrum that NPCs can’t be together with the humans, not because of their differences but because they're just... not allowed to be. But what if one already in the group, proving that they’re just as capable as the humans to play the games and grieve loved ones together?

PS. Despite knowing everyone else's name, I actually forgot Gangle's until I started finding evidence for this intrusive thought. Sorry Gangle.

PSS. I couldn't fit this anywhere, but Gangle's door frame doesn't work as evidence against the NPC theory, because even the mannequins have their own rooms in that hallway.

#animation #the amazing digital circus #character analysis #discussion #theories #tadc gangle #tadc jax #pomni #tadc ragatha #tadc kinger #tadc caine #tadc zooble #gummigoo #tadc spoilers

[atzual]

what your ateez bias says about you

if you take this seriously, that's on you. i'm just doing this for fun.

tw: heavy topics, language, roasting

*****

hongjoong: right. how's the desire to impress people and overworking yourself doing? i feel like what draws you in is his resilience, and that he is very dependable. you probably had a lot of moments where you were left to your own devices to work on something major, and are no stranger to burnout. you might be the kind of person to talk about your achievements and your work and everything you do a lot, maybe to seek validation (and maybe to cement that you have something others don't). on a softer note, you probably have a wide range of skills in a field you are interested in, and experiment a lot. generally are not afraid to go outside of norms to figure something out. so to see the qualities of a leader and innovator in joong is both comforting and inspiring to you. (bonus: you probably have a thing for clips of joong in the studio, don't you?)

seonghwa: you feel like you don't have anyone who you can actually trust with your thoughts and feelings, huh? people talk at you, not to you. you are a natural care-giver, are quick to give advice (also to bottle up someone else's negativity), often ignoring yourself. you might have lost the feeling of 'home' or of 'small but certain happiness', and might have some unhealthy coping mechanisms. on a brighter note, you are someone who can process emotions a lot more deeply than others and if there is anyone who can actually put themselves in another's shoes, it's you. i think hwa is a safe space to you, precisely because it is not all sunshine and rainbows. you connect with his battles, growth, and how he is accepting change and trying to find balance. (bonus: him getting excited about something is legit your therapy isn't it)

yunho: many acquaintances, few friends? i think you legitimately stopped believing in love. at least the mushy 'at first sight' and 'meet cute' and 'soulmates' kind of love. might be because of family-related things, or because of romantic relationships, but trust is a problem for you. you probably think negatively about yourself quite a bit and/or have/had a more pessimistic mindset. on the positive, i think you're really loyal when you find your people, and want to see them happy. you connect with people beyond love, you make connections that are made on living life together and going through things together. i think this is also what drew you to yunho - his perseverance, resilience, ability to smile in the face of hardship, but also his ability to navigate a lot of emotions as they come and deal with them in a healthy way. (bonus: his small expressions of affection/acts of kindness make you melt, right?)

yeosang: you've been through quite a lot, haven't you? i think you try to laugh a lot of it off or treat it lightly, but the demons eat away at you sometimes. you might be someone who burned out in/after high school, and generally does not have a good experience with school. might feel lonely even when you are not alone, sometimes just choosing to float in your imagination for comfort. often act tough or not quite like yourself to appear more like the you you have in your head. i think in part you kind of want to learn how to love the world like yeosang, and are really touched by his sweetness and his humor. you are a fighter and despite it all, do stay true to yourself and your values, and this is something that you find and adore in yeosang. you are drawn in by his ability to follow his dream, and his heart of gold. maybe your scars will turn golden too. (bonus: you probably have a mild obsession with his one-liners)

san: how are your boundaries, broken like the wall? you probably have some trouble with setting and/or maintaining boundaries, and so sometimes have people treading over you. you might feel like a side character in your own life, and so turn bitter and internalize a lot of negative energy. honestly on a brighter note i think you really do try hard for others, and go out of your way to try and make dreams happen for others, because it makes them and you happy. you cheer, you support and you truly show that you are on a loved one's team. I feel that what draws you to san is how he transformed himself in a healthy manner, and how he maintains a very clear circle of those he trusts, and is no stranger to kindly setting rules in place while still remaining sweet and respectful. he is a safe space for you both because he makes you smile with his stories and jokes, but also because he is adamant on keeping things in order. (bonus: his reaction to the merch donation story lives rent free in your mind)

mingi: got some problems with regulating emotions, maybe? be it hiding them until you burst or not knowing how to express them, i think this might be a challenge for you. you might have been exposed to something that made you believe that it is a sign of weakness or a risk. at the same time, you are logical, damn good at what you do, and when you face hard times you bounce back, even if it takes some time. i think you and mingi share the introspectiveness, and you like how thoughtful he is. you probably find comfort in how he shares happiness with others, and how he seeks closeness with loved ones. at the same time, there is something about how he transforms on stages that resonates with you - the power and confidence is something you want to work on and find more of in yourself. (bonus: your will never stop thinking about mingi's creative process monologues + freestyle mingi)

wooyoung: do people tell you you have a big personality, or that you are 'a lot' sometimes? i feel like you have your way of working, your way of thinking, but might have a hard time actually communicating that or adapting to different social environments. it might be because you're headstrong, or because you are in constant fight or flight mode and so are more rigid. at the same time i think you are diligent and very detailed with what you do, and are in fact attentive to others and might notice things others don't. i feel like what you admire in wooyoung is his ability to connect with others, while not losing himself or his values. you feel for his hardships, and he helps you learn how to be more loving and more open with expressing and accepting love. he is very much your candle. (bonus: you cried because of his interview + dance in that one show, didn't you?)

jongho: how many thoughts are spinning in your head? you might be an overthinker, slightly misanthropic, and on bad days might sink to having a victim mindset and ask the universe 'why me?'. you might have had to grow up too fast, or were controlled a lot as a kid - either way, your understanding and experience of freedom and maturity might be warped. at the same time you are reliable and are able to call things out for what they are. you might have also put a positive spin on the negatives and either used them as inspiration, grew from them, or taken a skill from them that you then generalized. i think jongho's humor and innate warmth is your haven, and his continuous self-development grounds you and motivates you to also try your best and think of ways to find the good in situations. i feel you might also resonate with his occasional shyness. (bonus: you often think about his emotional strength even when he talks about his concerns, don't you?)

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez au #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez ot8 #ateez fic #atz #atiny #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho #ateez fanfic

[callsign-rogueone]

one for the books - g.t.

Garrick Tavis x Scribe!Reader part of my Valentine’s Day Celly (better late than never?) words: 1.7k (got a little carried away here, oops) 🏷: IRON FLAME SPOILERS. scribe reader who is referred to as a woman one time, and has painted nails, but no pronouns used. just some meet-cute fluff with reader and Gare. love at first sight. it's weird writing him with anyone other than Angel, but I hope y'all will still like it anyway 🥺

Garrick wanders through the rows of bookshelves in search of someone who actually knows what they’re doing, so he won’t have to spend the entire day looking at the titles of every book in this massive library.

It doesn’t take long for him to find the only scribe who’d come with them to Aretia: Violet’s friend, Jesinia, who had helped them sneak into the Archives to get the journals. Who happens to be Deaf. He hadn’t thought about that part. 

He waves a hello, racking his brain for the letters of the alphabet and spelling out his request at a snail’s pace, hoping he’s moving his hands correctly. I… n-e-e-d…

Jesinia takes pity on him, holding up a hand to stop him and darting back into the maze of shelves, leaving him standing there thoroughly embarrassed -- he really needs to add “study sign” to his list of things to do after this whole wyvern thing is resolved and Tyrrendor is freed again. Whenever that will be.

He’s expecting her to come back with a pen and paper, so he can write it down, but she emerges thirty seconds later with another scribe in tow, one he’s never met before -- the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. 

Jesinia gestures to you with a soft smile, and leaves.

He blinks once, twice, taking you in.

You’ve taken some creative liberties with the uniform, wearing the beige scribes’ robes open with a plain shirt and pants underneath, the hood down to expose your face and hair, a pair of glasses perched atop your head and a clipboard in hand, your nails long and painted a pale pink -- a few of them have started to chip, but it’s endearing; comforting to find a tiny flaw in an otherwise perfect presence.

You’re equally entranced. The fortress is crawling with riders -- you’re one of maybe five students here who are anything else --  but this one in particular makes your heart race. 

It’s as if the gods pulled a knight from the pages of one of your fantasy novels and dropped him in front of you in this library; broad and tall, muscled and tattooed, two longswords strapped across his back… he’d be intimidating without the nervous smile on his face and the blush dusting his cheeks, the afternoon light coming through the windows and making him glow.

“How can I help you, Lieutenant?” you ask after a moment, hoping you don’t sound as flustered as you feel.

The scar running down the side of his face moves as he speaks -- more quietly than you’d been expecting. “Riorson sent me; he wants everything you have about wards.”

You blow out a nervous breath. “Okay, uh… I’m still not totally sure how this library is organized, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“We can look together, then,” he offers, giving you a knee-weakening smile.

You don’t know if you can spend the rest of your afternoon with this man and not make a complete fool of yourself, but you’ll just have to try your best. “Sounds like a plan.”

You realize you don’t know each other’s names, having been too busy staring at each other to make proper introductions.

“Garrick,” he offers, extending a hand to shake.

You’re really supposed to refer to him as Lieutenant, since he’s graduated and you haven’t, but you still repeat the word softly, trying it out. “Nice to meet you, Garrick.”

He already owes Xaden Riorson his life, but hearing you say his name, feeling the softness of your hand against his… he decides he’ll be in the boy’s debt well into the afterlife, too.

“I’ll start on one end, you on the other, and meet in the middle?” you ask. “Anything with wards, magic, or protection in the title would be a good start.”

He hums in acknowledgement, heading down to the end of the row.

“I haven’t been in here in ages,” he admits, scanning the rows of shelves for anything that could be useful. “I lived most of my life here before the revolution,” he adds quickly, explaining.

Small talk is good. You can do small talk.

“It must have been interesting growing up in a fortress like this,” you respond, too shy to ask him for his likely incredibly-tragic life story outright, and you’re technically on the job right now, so you should be focusing on the task at hand.

He picks another volume off the top shelf, keeping his feet flat on the ground and barely having to stretch for it. “It was. There were a few dozen of us kids around, always underfoot and meddling. We used to play hide and seek in here, and see how long we could stay before the scribes found us and kicked us out.”

You laugh, a sound he doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of hearing. You may be a librarian, but you’re the polar opposite of the typical strict and stiff scribes he’s used to -- young and lovely and not afraid to laugh and talk among the books, to let them hear your voice and know that they’re appreciated. They’re lucky to have someone like you watching over them.

Since you’re grasping at straws here, you decide to cast a broad net and pull down anything that could be even a little bit helpful -- and you’re finding more than you’d thought, likely because the Tyrrish basically invented wards. 

You really should have brought a cart, but it’s no issue for him -- he’s holding at least ten thick volumes at once with complete ease.

“I got it,” he offers, shifting the tall stack he’s amassed into one arm and taking yours with the other. Seeing a man like him with an armful of books is hotter than it should be. Everything about him is hotter than it should be.

He sets the stack on the nearest table, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair before he sits down.

Your eyes linger on the relic winding around his arm like a plume of black smoke, contrasting against the pale muscle. You know it was intended as way to mark them as the descendants of those who had committed treason, to set them apart from their peers and to force them to enroll in the rider’s quadrant, but he looks like he didn’t have too much trouble in his days at Basgiath, if the two dozen patches on his flight jacket are any metric.

It suits him. He’d look incomplete without the relic and the thick scar on the side of his face. It would be rude to ask how he got it, but the curiosity still tugs at you. You want to know everything about him.

You realize you’re staring, and pull your eyes away as quickly as you can manage, worried that he’ll think you’re judging him -- though you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t on his side.

You each take a book off the top and crack it open, scanning for anything that could help. “Did he say anything more specific? Or why he needs this?”

“Nope. But he’s always been vague and mysterious, even when we were kids, before he had all those shadows following him around.”

“I’ve only seen him twice, but that sounds accurate.”

It’s his turn to laugh. “He may be all cold and broody all the time, but he’s a good guy. I’ve always considered him my best friend.”

You’re thinking of the best way to keep him talking when Jesinia knocks on the side of a nearby shelf to get your attention. Done with my transcribing. What’s next?

Thank you. You can leave for the day. 

Jesinia gives you a sly smile. You don’t want help? Or do you just want to be alone with him because you think he’s handsome?

She’d told you that Garrick’s sign was rusty, that he could only fingerspell, but you still turn away from him as you respond, praying he didn’t understand what she just said. 

Two can play at this game. I’ve been meaning to ask, how is that redhead boy who keeps coming by to talk to you? I’m sure he’d like to see you for another sign lesson tonight.

She reddens, realizing you know about her crush on the rider, and bails out of the conversation while she still can. Goodnight!

There’s that lovely laugh again as you turn back to him, seeing him watching you -- now you really hope he didn’t understand. He quickly returns his gaze to the book in front of him, which definitely isn’t modern Navarrian or any of the other languages you know. It must be Tyrrish.

“You can read this?” you ask with rapt curiosity, leaning forward to take a better look at it.

“About every fifth word or so,” he answers. “There aren’t many fluent speakers left, since it was outlawed decades ago and kids aren’t taught it in school. I don’t see the symbol for “wards” anywhere, but that might be too obvious.”

“No language should ever be outlawed,” you respond, perhaps a little too hotly. “There must be so much valuable information that was lost in translation or destroyed entirely after the wars. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to become a scribe, to try to save as much as I could. But so many of the texts in the Archives have been translated over and over, and I can’t help but wonder if some things were left out on purpose.”

Another smile. “Well-said. Into the “maybe” pile, then?”

Your cheeks warm with embarrassment as you realize how long you’d been talking. “That’s the only pile we have,” you sigh, stretching. 

He’d shown up around four, and it’s nearing seven now, your body automatically responding to the hour and telling you to pack things up, but that’s one of the nicest things about the library here -- unlike the Archives at Basgiath, you can work here through the night, and not be booted out at seven on the dot.

You’d asked the Lieutenant Colonel about it when he’d come by one day, and he’d told you there wasn’t any sort of magical time-sealing-lock on the library, just a normal wooden door charmed to be fireproof -- so you’d stayed in one of the armchairs until midnight reading, just because you could.

“Well,” he offers, “I know it’s a grave sin to eat in the library, so how about we take a break, get ourselves some dinner, and pick this back up after?”

Smooth. Very smooth.

“I’d like that,” you answer, your heart fluttering. “I’d like that a lot.”

#garrick tavis #garrick tavis x reader #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #reader insert #imagine #mine #valentine's day celly

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for breaking up with my partners over such a small thing?

🩼🩼🩼 so I can spot this

I often break things off with my partners. They often don’t want to talk to me after, and I understand that, but I still want to be friends with them.

If they don’t want that, I understand that too. They want space - I give them space. I view it as we tried something and it didn’t work.

Would that make me an asshole still wanting to be friends? No idea.

Even so - there is more to why I break things off with my partners that I tend not to bring up at the final moment because I know it will upset them and perhaps ruin that friendship.

Some back story - I have a chronic illness which causes chronic pain. I can have seizures that can go on for 20 mins or longer, I periodically loose my ability to walk, and the big one is I can’t be touched without asking. (This includes my cane please never touch my cane without asking thank you)

Essentially- all of the nerves in my body are hypersensitive. Without going into too much detail, essentially my brain got stuck in fight or flight mode so the proverbial ‘alarm bells’ are ringing all the time, when in reality I’m safe and well. This means my body tries to defend me by ‘playing dead’ (seizures, fainting, drops) or thinks I’ve been badly injured (chronic pain).

When I first developed this illness, I could barely ware clothes, let alone be touched. I worked up to hugging my family again over a 2 year period with a lot of help from my mum - bless her heart. It was really hard for my family - but they worked through it with me. And what helped was they’re not physical people anyway. We don’t hug that much.

Now, I can be touched unless I am told before hand. Hooray! Surprise touch is agonising.

Though - both of the partners I’ve had in the past don’t seem to get this, and get upset when I ask them to ask before hand. They argue that I’m their partner and they can hug me when they want too, and want me to be more physical with them.

And yeah I suppose they can but at the same time surprise touch I can feel on my skin for hours at a time. It really hurts.

Also, if I have a seizure and ask for them to come find me or for comfort, they don’t know what to say, can’t come because they’re busy or don’t want to say the Same things over and over too me. When in reality, I’ve just had my brain fried and just need someone to tell me I’m safe because my brain is still convinced I’m in mortal danger.

I understand that being in a relationship with someone who has disabilities like mine can be hard. I often emphasise to them that my mental health is not their responsibility, and I have a counsellor that I regularly see to help me through the complexities of my illness and the toll it has on my mental health. I often encourage them if they’re really struggling with my illness to talk to helplines about and for my illness if I’m too sick to help them in that moment. They deserve support even if I’m not there or if it’s unrelated to my illnesses.

Quite often when I break things off - it’s because I can’t give them what they need because of my illness. If they like physical affection - which they often do - I can’t give it to them outside of the home or without asking before hand.

At the end of the day - I still want to be friends with them and I think they’re wonderful people. It’s just I can’t give them what they need, and they also can’t be there for me during my bad moments because the type of comfort I need is emotional, rather than physical.

At worse, touch me and I will scream it hurts that bad. People don’t seem to understand this.

Anyway. AITA? What can I do to communicate my needs better in the future? I view all my relationships as learning opportunities to be a better partner in future - and if you guys have any ideas on how to approach disabled / inter-abled relationships, I’d love to hear them.

All the best :)

#aita #am i the asshole

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Avocado & The Turnip (The Surprise, Part 8)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: established relationship, pregnancy times, fluffy fluff, kind of hurt/comfort (?), mentions of some pretty horrific crimes (duh), gunshot wound, some explicit language Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: A series of hard cases puts a strain on your relationship with Emily. Anxieties run high on both sides, and the reality of Emily's job–and the risks the come with it–feel even more real than usual now that there's going to be a child in the picture.

Week 16: The Avocado

“I just don’t know what to say to him,” Emily exclaimed, resting her chin on your stomach, a worried look on her face.

Your plans for an adorable evening of talking to the baby had backfired. For unknown reasons, Emily had come home in a bad mood, anxious and on edge. Somehow, the news that the baby could likely hear you now had only made her more anxious.

“You can say anything, Em. She’s the size of an avocado. She’s not gonna remember what we say; she’s gonna remember our voices.”

You ran your fingers through Emily’s hair, trying your best to alleviate some of her stress. You’d meant for this to be good news, to be a fun, cute little moment she could have with you and the baby after a brutal day at work.

“Tell her about your day,” you suggested.

Emily glared at you, and you felt yourself shrink. “I can’t tell him about my day!” she yelled, her voice angry. “What am I supposed to say? Hey, little man! I have to leave you tomorrow to go find a guy who’s murdering teenage boys by ripping their throats out with his teeth and then eating them. But don’t worry, I’ve only had to deal with, oh, ten or so cannibals over the years. The chances of you being cannibalized are slim. Never zero though!”

In your head, you knew that Emily’s outburst had nothing to do with you, nothing to do with the baby, and everything to do with the horrendous things she saw at work. She tried very hard not to bring work home with her, not to carry the weight of the horrors she saw every day into your house. But sometimes they stuck to her. Sometimes they dragged her down, and she couldn’t quite shake them. But it wasn’t often that she was mean. She hardly ever raised her voice at you. She knew it scared you.

You sat up and placed a hand protectively over your stomach, trying to keep your face set, impassive, but flinching a little as Emily moved toward you.

She was instantly full of regret. Her face fell as she noticed that your posture had changed from open to defensive, noticed the way your eyes had glazed over–a remnant of trauma.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” she breathed, cupping your cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

You softened when you saw that she was close to crying–a rarity for Emily–and pulled her head to your chest, pressing kisses to the top of her head.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she mumbled against you. “It was just a hard day.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What?” she asked, lifting her head a bit.

“Tell me,” you insisted. “I can handle it. You’re my wife. You had a bad day. I want to hear about it.”

Emily shook her head, her voice so quiet you almost couldn’t hear. “No, you don’t.”

“Hey,” you said, tilting her chin so she was looking in your eyes. “I can decide what’s too much for me, okay?” You rubbed your thumb back and forth along her cheek. “If I say I can handle it, I need you to believe me.”

Emily sighed, exhaling shakily. “You remember after we started dating?” she explained, her voice low. “And I had a really hard time at work because every victim who was a woman made me think of you?”

“I remember,” you answered. And you did. If there had ever been a time in your relationship when you would’ve broken up with Emily, that would have been it. She’d been angry, on edge, paranoid, and even more obsessive about work than usual. It had eventually gotten so bad that you’d given her an ultimatum–start going to therapy or this isn’t going to work. Nearly six years later, Emily still had a biweekly standing appointment with her therapist–unless, of course, she was in the field.

She played with your fingers, quiet for a moment. “It feels like that all over again, but with kids. Child victims are hard anyway, but… every tiny body I see, I just think of him and–” Her voice broke, and you held her a little tighter. “It scares the shit out of me.”

“Of course it does,” you assured her. “That just means you love her, baby. It means you’re gonna be a great mom. It makes sense that those cases hit closer to home right now.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to take it out on you. Or him.”

You exhaled slowly, kissing the top of her head again. “When was your last appointment with Angie?”

Emily sat up, stretching, and shrugged, looking guilty. “Last month, maybe? I just–I’ve been out on cases and…”

“I know, baby,” you said, taking her hands in yours before she could start biting her nails. “It’s okay. But, maybe you should call her and see if she can get you in. Even tonight, you know? Before you leave tomorrow. She does telehealth, doesn’t she?”

Emily nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

She still looked guilty and nervous. It broke your heart.

“Come here,” you said, tugging her onto your lap. She wrapped her arms and legs around you and hugged you like you were the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. And for your part–you held on like you’d never, ever let her go–and you never, ever would.

Week 17: The Turnip

“She what!?” you yelled into the phone, launching yourself off the couch and scrounging around in the junk drawer for your keys.

“Calm down, mama,” Derek soothed through the phone. “It’s just a surface wound. The bullet grazed her shoulder, that’s all.”

“That’s all!? My wife gets shot, and you’re telling me that’s all!?”

You heard a scuffle on the other end of the phone, a distant, sharp Give me the phone! and then there was Emily’s voice, flooding you with relief.

“Honey, I’m fine, I promise,” she said, and she certainly didn’t sound like she was dying.

“You got shot!”

“Just a little bit…” Her voice was sheepish.

You threw up your hands in frustration. “Emily Elizabeth Prentiss! You have a child coming. You can’t be getting shot!”

“I know, I know.”

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “What hospital are you at?”

“No, baby, you don’t need to come,” she protested.

“Don’t need to come, my ass,” you grumbled. “Where are you?”

Another scuffle and Derek had the phone back. “Y/N. Hey. We’re just in Baltimore, alright? She’ll probably be discharged here in a few minutes, and I’ll bring her home.”

You were still a little suspicious. “Straight home?”

“You have my word.”

It was the longest hour and a half of your life, sitting on the couch, watching the Find My dot of Emily inch its way home. You frowned when you saw her stop at El Rinconcito. That little shit. She was trying to buy you off with pupusas. Well, it wasn’t going to work. Your stomach rumbled. Well, it might work a little bit.

A half hour later, you heard the door unlock. Derek held it open for a very guilty looking Emily, who walked through the threshold with her arm bandaged and wrapped in a sling.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, your hands fluttering all over her, gingerly touching the bandage and turning her face this way and that to check for more damage.

“I’m fine, honey,” she said, pressing her good hand to your face and kissing you.

“Mmhm,” you mumbled, unconvinced. “Tell that to your unborn child.”

Emily crouched down and pressed a kiss to your stomach. “Mommy’s just fine, little guy, don’t you worry.”

It was so cute, you couldn’t even be that mad.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Derek said, gesturing to the couch. “Get comfortable and let Uncle Derek take care of you.”

You grimaced, thinking of straight people things. “Eew.”

He rolled his eyes at you. “Not like that. Sit down and eat your pupusas, woman.”

You and Emily giggled, plopping yourselves on the couch, one on either side.

Derek threw blankets at you, and you got yourselves situated, your legs tangled in the middle. Derek plated the takeout and brought it to you.

“I could get used to this,” Emily said, taking a bite and running her foot up and down your leg.

“You better fucking not,” you mumbled through a bite of pupusa. “I don’t want you getting shot every time you want a lazy day.”

Derek brought you both glasses of water and set a bottle of pain meds on the side table next to Emily.

“Anything else I can do for you, ladies?” he asked. “Foot rub? Serenade? Grocery run?”

You smiled at him. He was so good to you. Both of you. “You’re gonna make some straight woman very happy.”

He bent down to ruffle your hair and to squeeze Emily’s good hand. “I’ll settle for my favorite lesbians for now. You need anything else before I go?”

Emily shook her head. “No, I think we’ll be okay. Thanks, Morgan.”

“Anytime, Prentiss,” he replied, giving her a small salute as he walked out the door. "Call me if you need anything."

The moment he left, you shot a glare at Emily. 

“What?” she said, trying and failing to shrug, thanks to her injured shoulder.

You couldn’t help the worried expression that took over your face.

“Please tell me you’re careful,” you pleaded, brushing a few unexpected tears from under your eyes.

“Y/N.” She sat up, alarmed, and reached for your hand. “I’m careful. I swear.”

“I just… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“And you’ll never have to find out,” she reassured, rubbing her thumb across the back of your hand.

“We need you, Em,” you whispered, placing your other hand over your baby bump.

She winced a little as she moved forward, pulling your face toward her so she could stroke your cheek. “I’m never reckless, honey. I do everything I can to stay safe. I promise. I will always come home to you.”

You were quiet as she pressed her forehead to yours, breathing in the smell of her, the warmth. You both knew it was a promise she couldn't make, not with her job. But you needed Emily to understand that it wasn't just her she was staying safe for anymore. It was you and the little one, who deserved to grow up with both of her moms.

“Sometimes it scares me how much I love you,” you said, so quiet she almost didn’t hear.

Emily kissed your forehead, then pressed her lips to yours, soft and gentle. “Me too.”

She pecked you on the lips again, then brushed her thumb over your bottom lip. “But you don’t need to be scared today, okay?”

She smiled a little, and you nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Now, eat your pupusas,” she grinned, pinching your cheek.

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

[estapa-edwards]

MAKE A MOVE - A. FANTILLI

paring: Adam Fantilli x reader

word count: 2.4k

requested? yes - adam meeting the physical therapist at the blue jackets and totally being in love right away, happens they are also neighbors so they become really good friends. eventually they start dating but keep it pretty private she’s the one who helps him back with his injury… gavin had his debut the other day and maybe the whole group notice adam looking in love and like tease him telling him to make a move but he alreadlt has

warnings: use of y/n.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

It all begins with a seemingly innocuous event – a small injury during a routine practice session. As Adam skates off the ice, wincing slightly, he's directed towards the team's physical therapist for assessment and treatment. Little does he know that this encounter will change the course of his life.

As Adam enters the treatment room, Y/N's smile widens, though she tries to maintain her professional demeanor. "Hey there, Adam," she greets him warmly, gesturing for him to take a seat on the treatment table. "What seems to be the issue today?"

Adam winces slightly as he eases himself onto the table, his eyes scanning the room curiously. "Just a little tweak in my shoulder," he replies, trying to downplay the discomfort he's feeling. "Nothing too serious, I hope."

Y/N nods, her gaze focused as she begins to assess his injury. As she palpates his shoulder, her brow furrows in concentration, and then suddenly, her eyes widen in recognition. "Wait a minute," she says, her voice tinged with surprise. "You're Adam Fantilli, aren't you?"

Adam chuckles sheepishly, nodding in confirmation. "Guilty as charged," he admits, offering her a rueful smile. "I guess my cover's blown, huh?"

Y/N laughs softly, shaking her head in disbelief. "I can't believe it," she exclaims, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "You're my neighbor! I've seen you around the building before."

Adam's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "No way," he replies, a grin spreading across his face. "Small world, huh?"

Their conversation flows easily from there, as they trade stories about their experiences living in the same building. Adam finds himself captivated by Y/N's easygoing nature and genuine warmth, while Y/N is struck by Adam's humility and down-to-earth charm.

--

As Adam continues his therapy sessions with Y/N, their interactions extend beyond the confines of his injury. One afternoon, after a particularly grueling session, Adam finds himself lingering in the therapy room, reluctant to leave the comfort of Y/N's presence.

Y/N notices his hesitation and offers him a sympathetic smile. "You did great today, Adam," she says, her voice gentle and encouraging. "Your progress has been impressive."

Adam nods, grateful for her words of encouragement. "Thanks, Y/N," he replies, his expression softening. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Their eyes meet, and in that moment, an unspoken understanding passes between them. Without a word, Y/N gestures for Adam to take a seat on the nearby couch, and he gratefully accepts.

What begins as a casual conversation soon evolves into a heart-to-heart discussion, as Adam opens up to Y/N about the pressures of life in the NHL and the constant scrutiny he faces as a professional athlete. Y/N listens attentively, offering him words of comfort and support.

As they talk, Adam can't help but marvel at the depth of their connection. Despite the differences in their backgrounds and experiences, he feels a sense of kinship with Y/N that he's never felt with anyone else before.

Before he knows it, the therapy session has turned into an impromptu therapy of a different kind – a safe space where Adam can be vulnerable and honest without fear of judgment. And as they sit together in the quiet intimacy of the therapy room, Adam realizes that he's beginning to fall for Y/N in a way he never thought possible.

-- 

One evening, after a long day of practice and training, Adam finds himself craving the comfort of home. As he steps into the elevator of his apartment building, he's surprised to find Y/N waiting inside, a basket of groceries in her arms.

"Hey, Adam," she greets him with a warm smile. "Heading home?"

Adam nods, returning her smile. "Yeah, just finished up at the rink," he replies, shifting his gym bag on his shoulder. "What about you? Stocking up on essentials?"

Y/N chuckles, nodding in affirmation. "Something like that," she says cryptically, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Curiosity piqued, Adam follows Y/N as she steps out of the elevator and heads towards her apartment. To his surprise, she invites him inside, gesturing for him to make himself at home while she puts away the groceries. 

As Adam steps into Y/N's apartment, he's enveloped by a sense of warmth and coziness. The soft glow of lamps illuminates the space, casting a gentle ambiance that immediately puts him at ease. He watches as Y/N bustles around the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she unpacks the groceries.

"Would you like to stay for dinner, Adam?" Y/N asks, her voice filled with genuine warmth. "I was planning on making a simple pasta dish."

Adam's stomach rumbles at the mention of food, and he can't help but smile at Y/N's offer. "That sounds amazing, Y/N," he replies, his voice tinged with gratitude. "I'd love to stay."

As Y/N sets to work preparing their meal, Adam takes a seat at the kitchen island, content to watch her work. He's struck by the ease with which she moves around the kitchen, the way she effortlessly balances multiple tasks at once.

"So, Adam," Y/N says, breaking the comfortable silence that has settled between them. "How's the season been treating you so far?"

Adam sighs, his expression momentarily clouding over with fatigue. "It's been intense, to say the least," he admits, running a hand through his hair. "But I wouldn't trade it for anything. This is what I've been working towards my whole life."

Y/N nods in understanding, her eyes filled with empathy. "I can imagine it must be tough, balancing the demands of the game with everything else," she says softly. "But just know that I'm here for you, whenever you need someone to talk to."

Adam's heart swells with gratitude at Y/N's words, and he finds himself opening up to her in a way he rarely does with others. 

--

As the weeks pass, Adam finds himself increasingly drawn to Y/N, his feelings for her growing stronger with each passing day. He can't shake the image of her warm smile and kind eyes, nor the way she makes him feel at ease with just a simple glance.

One evening, after another grueling practice session, Adam finds himself standing outside Y/N's apartment door, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows that he wants to take their relationship to the next level, but he's unsure of how to broach the subject.

Summoning up his courage, Adam knocks on the door, his hand trembling slightly with nerves. When Y/N answers, a bright smile lights up her face, and Adam feels his resolve strengthen.

"Hey, Adam," Y/N greets him warmly, stepping aside to let him in. "What brings you by?"

Adam takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to say. "I was wondering if you'd like to go out to dinner with me," he says, his voice steady despite the butterflies in his stomach. "Just the two of us."

Y/N's eyes widen in surprise, a soft blush coloring her cheeks. "I'd love to, Adam," she replies, her smile widening into a grin. "I've been hoping you'd ask."

Relief floods through Adam as he realizes that Y/N feels the same way he does. With a sense of excitement coursing through his veins, he suggests a nearby restaurant that he's been wanting to try, and Y/N eagerly agrees.

As they make plans for their dinner date, Adam can't help but feel a surge of anticipation. He knows that this could be the beginning of something truly special between them, and he can't wait to see where their newfound romance will take them.

And as he bids Y/N goodnight and heads back to his own apartment, a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

-- 

After their first dinner date, Adam and Y/N find themselves falling into a comfortable rhythm of spending time together. They go on more dates, exploring new restaurants, taking walks in the park, and even enjoying quiet evenings at home cooking dinner together.

Despite the growing intensity of their feelings for each other, Adam and Y/N decide to keep their budding relationship private for the time being. With Adam's high-profile career in the NHL and Y/N's own professional responsibilities, they both understand the importance of maintaining a sense of privacy and discretion.

They enjoy the simplicity and intimacy of their relationship, relishing in the moments they share away from the prying eyes of the public. Whether it's stealing kisses in the elevator of their apartment building or cuddling up on the couch to watch a movie, Adam and Y/N cherish every moment they spend together.

As they navigate the ups and downs of life in the fast-paced world of professional sports, Adam and Y/N find solace in each other's arms. Their relationship becomes a sanctuary from the pressures and expectations of the outside world, a place where they can be themselves without fear of judgment or scrutiny.

-- 

As the second period of the intense matchup between the Columbus Blue Jackets and the Seattle Kraken unfolded, the tension on the ice was palpable. Adam Fantilli, known for his speed and agility, was weaving through the opposing team's defense with finesse, determined to lead his team to victory.

But fate had other plans.

In a split second, the course of the game – and Adam's life – changed dramatically. As he battled for possession of the puck along the boards, he found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Jared McCann, a forward for the Seattle Kraken, swung his skate blade in an attempt to dislodge the puck, but instead, it made contact with Adam's left leg.

The arena fell silent as Adam crumpled to the ice in agony, clutching his injured leg. The sight of blood staining the pristine white ice sent a shiver down the spines of everyone in attendance.

Y/N, ever vigilant on the sidelines, sprang into action. With a sense of urgency, she rushed onto the ice, her heart pounding in her chest as she assessed the extent of Adam's injury. The gravity of the situation was clear – Adam needed immediate medical attention.

With the help of the team's medical staff, Y/N carefully helped Adam to his feet, supporting him as he hobbled off the ice and down the tunnel. Every step was excruciating, but Adam gritted his teeth and soldiered on, determined not to show any sign of weakness in front of his teammates and fans.

As they reached the relative safety of the locker room, Y/N's heart ached at the sight of Adam's pain. She did her best to provide comfort and reassurance, but she knew that his road to recovery would be long and challenging.

In the aftermath of the game, as the news of Adam's injury spread like wildfire, the hockey world held its breath, praying for his swift recovery.

--

In the days following Adam's injury, Y/N's dual roles as both his physical therapist and his girlfriend became more intertwined than ever before. As Adam began his rehabilitation journey, Y/N was there every step of the way, providing not only expert medical care but also unwavering emotional support.

Their apartment became a makeshift clinic, with Y/N transforming their living room into a makeshift therapy space equipped with exercise bands, foam rollers, and other rehabilitation tools. Under Y/N's watchful eye, Adam diligently followed his prescribed exercises, determined to regain strength and mobility in his injured leg.

Despite the pain and frustration of his injury, Adam found solace in Y/N's presence. Her gentle encouragement and reassuring words helped to ease his anxieties and lift his spirits during the darkest moments of his recovery.

As the weeks passed, Adam's progress was slow but steady. With Y/N's guidance, he slowly began to regain strength and mobility in his injured leg, surpassing even the most optimistic expectations of his medical team.

But it wasn't just Adam who benefited from Y/N's care and attention. As they worked together day in and day out, their bond deepened, evolving into something even more profound and meaningful than before.

In the quiet moments between therapy sessions, Adam and Y/N found themselves falling more deeply in love with each other. Whether it was sharing a meal together, cuddling on the couch, or simply holding hands as they watched the sunset from their balcony, every moment spent together was a precious gift.

-- 

As the NHL season continued without Adam, his absence was keenly felt by both his teammates and fans alike. But amidst the disappointment of his injury, there was a glimmer of excitement in the air as another familiar face stepped onto the ice for his NHL debut – Gavin Brindley, Adam's former college teammate.

The Blue Jackets' arena buzzed with anticipation as Gavin took to the ice, his teammates cheering him on from the sidelines. Among them, a group of Adam's college teammates – Seamus Casey, Luca Fantilli, Rutger Mcgroarty, Nick Moldenhauer, Ethan Edwards, and of course, Adam himself – watched with pride and excitement, their cheers ringing out in unison.

But as the game progressed, it became clear to Adam's friends that there was something different about him. Gone was the usual intensity and focus that defined him on the ice – instead, there was a softness to his gaze, a warmth in his smile that hadn't been there before.

"Hey, Adam," Seamus whispered, nudging him playfully with his elbow. "You've been awfully distracted tonight. Got something on your mind?"

Adam's cheeks flushed pink as he glanced over at Y/N, who was sitting a few rows away, her eyes glued to the action on the ice. "Um, yeah," he admitted sheepishly. "I guess you could say that."

His friends exchanged knowing looks, grins spreading across their faces. "Ah, I see how it is," Luca teased, winking at Adam. "Looks like someone's got a crush."

Adam rolled his eyes, but couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. "Okay, okay, you caught me," he conceded, his voice tinged with amusement. "But trust me, I've already made my move."

His friends erupted into cheers and applause, their laughter filling the air as they congratulated Adam on finally taking the plunge. And as they watched Gavin Brindley's NHL debut unfold before their eyes, Adam couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude and contentment wash over him.

For in that moment, surrounded by his closest friends and the woman he loved, Adam Fantilli knew that he was exactly where he was meant to be – both on and off the ice.

#hockey #nhl x reader #adam fantilli x reader #adam fantilli #umich hockey #umich boys

[sciderman]

Your post about balls and their inherent attractiveness made me wonder who you are attracted to? If you don’t mind me asking of course! I don’t mean to pry.

I’m just curious because you’re such a multifaceted person and gender and sexuality are so multifaceted. You mentioned that like, you don’t think you’re this icon of gender that everyone thinks you are but I don’t think you’re as far off as you think you are. You’ve never (at least that I have seen) claimed to have it all figured out. You sort of just walk into the room and go, “This is what I’m doing right now! Is it what I’ll be doing tomorrow? I don’t know!” It’s very David Bowie. So I thought maybe in terms of your sexuality you’ll likely be in a similar state of, “I know what I don’t like, but I’m still discovering what I do like because every day is a new adventure!”

hmm!! hmm... i think it's tough to pinpoint, because i've not had a lot of crushes in my time with people i know on a personal level - and, i haven't really been in a lot of relationships, and when i have it's usually been people pursuing me and me just, giving up the fight (sighs) - but when i do have a crush it's usually an emotional bond that makes them so attractive to me. it's not that they're not physically attractive too, of course they are, but it's kind of the emotional side that makes every little bit of them homina homina, you know. not to be gay about it.

i think even celebrity crushes i have are more about their inexplicable vibes more than their physical features. vibes have to be immaculate. i need to think "yeah. i wanna hang out with them. i think they could make me laugh."

though of course there's people out there who are objectively gorgeous, and i'm not immune to that. i know when someone's gorgeous. i - well, i don't know. i'm just (waves hands around) bisexual. i'm very bisexual. i find a lot of people attractive. from all parts of the gender and aesthetic spectrum. i don't think i could point at one thing and say "oh so that's what does it for me" - i think maybe just... enthusiasm and good vibes. friendly and approachable. not intimidating. kissable (whatever that means).

i'm easily scared away by people who seem intense. because i'm very skittish. so... people that are approachable and make me feel comfortable and safe, yeah. god. feeling safe with someone. yeah. that gets me hot under the collar. when i'm with someone i can feel free and comfortable with, and they kind of get it - and they know how to not scare me away, that's great. i've had a lot of interest in me from a lot of people that just kind of didn't get me, or think i'm something else, and all i want to do is get out of that situation. i can't do it, i can't do it. it - it kind of makes relationships difficult for me. because it's almost a given that if someone is thinking of me in a sexual context they're misinterpreting me. it - it kind of stinks. like, i should be responsive, maybe, but it never feels comfortable, for me. i wish it felt right. it very rarely does. so - so i've turned down so, so many people. and i beat myself up about being "scared" or whatever, but - i don't think it's true. if it feels right it feels right. if it doesn't feel right - you can't - you can't force yourself to think that it is. and every time i've bitten the bullet, it - it doesn't work. because it wasn't right. sometimes i think there's something wrong with me. but - i... i don't know. i've had this realisation that nearly all of the intimate relationships i've ever had, i've been a bit of a cornered animal. and i hate that realisation. it kind of stinks to realise that. kicks the dirt. god, i need more positive experiences.

i definitely feel more comfortable with afab people - i've - well, i've never had a positive encounter with anyone amab. not a one. i know that i shouldn't hold it against them, but it does something about my degree of comfort, yep. and i just think afab parts are prettier. (i'm right. they are.)

but i think, you know, while everybody has their clothes on, i don't really have preferences when it comes to femme vs masc, really. like when it comes to actors and things it's a 50/50 split on what actors or actresses i find attractive. in my day-to-day i'm probably more attracted to femme-presenting people, but that's generally because they put a little bit more effort into it, and their clothes and make-up are so, so pretty. i love when people display their emotions or their energy through their wardrobe. when people express themselves with all their colours or whatever. when you get a sense of who they are, and what they're about, just by looking at them. people who light up a room. i love those people. you generally find that more with femme-presenting people, and i love those girls. stay loud and proud, my girlies...

in my mind, in my subconscious, whenever i have dreams (that aren't a sordid threeway - i have a lot of those - usually with one gorgeous girl and a large, ominous faceless man) - dreams about who i'm going to wind up with, they're almost always femme-presenting. usually my age. sometimes older. shrugs. don't know what it means. just that's where my brain is at. i don't think it has to be true, but - guess it's where my brain is at.

my dad still insists that i'll end up with a man. i almost want to not, just to spite him. whenever i mention i'm attracted to a male actor he says "oh. so you are straight." he thinks i'm just confused. he says to me, "you're confused and that's okay." so i think that might be just about the full extent of acceptance i'll get from him. shrugs. i'm confused, i guess. i don't know. i think this particular thing i don't think i should or will have an answer. i don't think i'm confused. i don't feel like i need to sort it out. my options are open. i'm not scared about whatever will come. whatever is meant to happen will happen. that's - just, i guess, that's how i see it. whatever is meant to happen will happen. and it's not a problem that it hasn't happened yet. because i guess it wasn't meant to.

i think my gender stuff was always a priority - it always came first. i had my gender awakening LOOOONG before my sexual awakening (my sexual awakening like. only happened like. two years ago. honest to god.) i remember it being a bit of a problem - when i was forging my gender path back in high school, and a lot of people thought it meant something. meant that i was a cute boy who was up for dating girls. when actually i was the kind of boy who was not into girls yet. i was too busy being into comic books. i think even now, sex just - isn't my priority. it's just - it's more important for me to find people that see me for me. see me for what i am, and the sex can come later.

it's just - it's stupid, really. i find a million of you guys online who kind of get it. you're freaky weird gender like me but - in real life - i have no idea how to explain myself. i have no idea how to market myself. i can't use dating websites because i think people on both sides are going to be disappointed. and absolutely everyone who's romantically interested in me in person doesn't know how to approach me as what i am. they approach me wrong, and it scares me away on impact because - because whatever they think i am, i'm not. i'm not a butch lesbian, i'm not a transguy, i'm not a girl, i'm not a boy, i'm not... i don't know, i'm not easily marketable. i can't find my demographic. i've only found my demographic here, in my weird little spider-man corner of the internet. with likeminded freaky gendered spider-man nerds, i guess. i think maybe my dating life would be easier if i could just be one thing. but... (waves hands around) i can't do it. i can't force myself into a box for the sake of being more easily marketable. i just can't do it.

#sci speaks #sorry. this was probably a lot. #tumblr is my emotion dumping ground

[skythighs]

Calista's Dream

We all saw the amount of drool Feyd was dripping in the movie, right? So this shouldn't come as a surprise 😆. Also, don't ask why he's obsessed with sniffing things. I really just get that vibe from him lol anyways here's our first taste if you will of the adult content, so please 18+ only.

Warnings: Rough handling, possessive behavior, and female orgasm.

Word count: 3.1k

Chapter 3

The wedding ceremony was now a short seven days away. Knowing that there was so little time before she left her old life behind to become Na Baroness Harkonnen, meant she spent her days with loved ones. Her father had even taken to visiting her in her chambers before retiring for the evening. He would of course excuse his visit by saying he needed her counsel for some menial matter. He would sit beside her on her lounge chair and hold her hand. She knew he would miss her, when she was gone, but it would not be forever. With any luck House Atreides and Harkonnen could use this marriage to really put the past behind them. A new beginning for an alliance between them.

Today marked the first day of the wedding celebrations. An array of fun games and other attractions were set up outside of castle Caladan and even a feast was being held this night for any Caladan native to come to wish the bride and groom well in their union, they would present little trinkets and tokens of their affection for the most beloved Atreides heir. Which of course meant Feyd and I would be expected to be in close proximity for the duration of the feast, and together playing said games and seeing the attractions.

It was nearly noon now so I should grace the Na Baron by showing my face for the first time today. I had taken my morning meal alone in the comfort of my chamber. A rarity these days since I’ve been busy ‘courting’. The Na Barons cold demeanor towards me actually soothed my mother for reasons she wouldn’t disclose. I washed and dressed for the momentous occasion, since this would be a long day with no reprieve between the carnival and feast. I had to look stunning in my first and only gown for the day.

As I rapped on Feyd Rautha’s chamber door, I was startled when it was pulled open abruptly before I finished knocking. He stood in front of me with a wild look in his usually inexpressive eyes.

“I could smell you approaching, my lady.”

He raises his left hand and strokes my cheek. The most contact we’ve had since the training incident weeks ago now.

I gulped.

“And how pretty you smell today indeed.”

He was so close to me, all I could do as of late was freeze in front of him. Like prey for the taking I would become almost immobile before his very eyes. Noticing my shocked still frame he took the opportunity to pull me into his chamber slamming the door by pushing me against it. The door slam jostles me out of my stupor and I take a deep clarifying breath looking up at him with my wide brown orbs.

“What are you doing?” I ask hesitantly, very confused at his odd behavior.

He doesn’t bother answering me as he pushes his form against me. The door knob wedges into my lower back and I adjust, unintentionally pushing against him in the process.

“I’ve been here too long, my lady without tending to my...appetite.”

As always the phrase ‘my lady’ drips with pure ownership of the title, ownership of me. 

“Your appetite for human flesh I presume?” Lifting my chin trying to hide my revulsion.

He chuckles dryly. Stroking my cheek tenderly.

“I don’t have an appetite for human flesh, but my darlings do.”

“Your darlings?”

“My concubines.”

He looks me in the eye no longer stroking me but now holding me in a vice-like grip just under my jaw. He searches my eyes for something. Whatever it is he finds it, because he smiles now.

“I wasn’t aware you had..concubines.”

It makes me feel uneasy. Of course I knew he had had many women in his bed, but his own concubines made my skin crawl. I felt envious of them, hearing him call them his darlings.

“Don’t pout my lady..your lips look far too tempting.”

His iron grip moved down to my throat and I felt his fingers twitch and flex with excitement. 

“I did no such thing. Why would I pout? I don’t care about your darlings.” 

The last word comes out in a sneer, and the excitement is promoted to glee. He’s enjoying this. And somehow so was I. He had been hiding himself away from me and now seeing him look at me that way again- my heart skips a beat and then two.

I place my left hand on his chest and I feel something there beneath his tunic, beneath his skin. Something akin to a siren's song. A dangerous temptation to feel more of him. A dark urge to be skin to skin rips through me and suddenly I’m transported back to the day he tasted my blood on his pink tongue.The hunger in his eyes was desire f-for me in much the same way I'm seeing now.

I continue up his chest until my hand cups his neck, much more gently than the way he holds mine. I feel him shudder beneath my perusal and I move my hand to the back of his neck as leverage to pull his black mouth closer to mine. He doesn’t resist until the last second, tensing his muscles preventing me from pulling him further. 

We lock eyes, both pairs searching for an unanswered question that hung between us like a deep secret never to be spoken aloud by either of us.

“Please.” I whisper, feeling my lips brush against his as I speak. I move to my tiptoes trying to close the distance but he sharply shoves me against the door before wrapping his arms around me claiming my body before claiming my mouth.

His kiss is not gentle, or kind. It is not patient or sweet. It is rough and biting. It is possessive and sloppy. There is so much wetness between us, his tongue swipes it away before diving into my mouth. My first kiss isn’t quite what I imagined it would be. I thought it would be sweet and slow, coaxing even with the promise of more. Feyd Rautha, however, kissed me like I was an enemy being conquered on the battlefield.There was not an ounce of softness between us. Even being victim to his rough handling I felt my insides quiver. A moan slips past my lips into his own. He claims it for himself, swallowing it down never to be heard by another set of ears. He pulls away then, a string of saliva connecting us now as we catch our breath. 

“Lead the way my lady.”

And with that his touch is gone from my frame nearly causing me to crash down onto the rug beneath our feet. My lack of him left me bereft and struggling to catch my breath even more than the kiss. I gather my composure relatively quickly and smooth the front of my gown before looking up at him.

He has a smile hidden behind his dark blue eyes. They aren’t the same cold detached ones I’d grown used to and that made me smile at him as I opened the door peeking out first to make sure no one would see me leaving from inside his chamber.

As we walked around the carnival I noticed many of Caladans residents looking at us in uncertainty and bewilderment. It was almost as if they knew what we had been up to minutes ago alone together. Self consciousness prickled at my nerves mercilessly. I glance at Feyd who walks beside me with a smug look of satisfaction on his face. My hands resting on his bicep unconsciously squeeze him lightly, just enjoying the raw power beneath my finger tips. My mother spotted us and she looked stricken for a brief moment before schooling her expression and approaching us.

My mother pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to me whispering in my ear.

“Wipe your mouth Calista. It seems some of the Na Barons paint didn’t have time to cure before...” She waved her hand at my lips to explain.

I quickly snatched the cloth and wiped my mouth embarrassment, seizing me. No wonder the bastard looked so smug. It was literally written on my face what we had been up to. My cheeks felt like they were on fire as I try to separate myself from him. I don’t get very far before his unyielding grip imprisons my wrist. I glance up at him, eyebrows raised before glancing down to his large hand.

“I was just going to excuse myself for a moment to get cleaned up.”

I find myself explaining my actions to him.

“There’s no need, my lady.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t try to wipe me away, besides everyone here knows who you belong to well enough.”

My mother locks her eyes on his punishing grip before clenching her jaw. Sensing the tension I attempt to placate them both. 

“I suppose that’s true. Would you spare me a moment to speak with my mother Na Baron?”

I hold my breath praying my attempt would work. His grip loosens shortly after my request and he steps away from us. Mumbling something about looking for wine. My heartbeat flutters faster than a hummingbird's wings.

Once my mother sees that he has left us alone for a moment, however brief it may be she tries to calm me down. 

“Breathe my girl. Just breathe.”

“He’s very possessive. It’s such a sudden change to how he’s been behaving.”

“You should know, your father spoke to him after the training incident. He asked him to be mindful that you are a lady of Caladan.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you are not familiar with the overindulgence of carnal desires like he is.”

“Oh god, is that why he started avoiding me?”

My mother nods her head once. 

“There was a heated exchange between him and Duncan after what happened and they had to be separated.”

I was an oblivious fool. I remembered the biting tone he used towards Duncan after he helped me up and checked on me, but I didn’t realize.

“Don’t fret about it now, everything is fine, enjoy the celebration. He’s approaching so I will take my leave.”

She walks away just as Feyd Rautha reaches my side with a goblet of wine in each hand.

“Thank you”

I sip the drink gingerly feeling awkward knowing this new information. I try to act natural, but I wasn’t sure what this new natural was. We had just been entangled in his chambers and now his possessiveness was showing itself. Which apparently isn’t new, but my father talked him down before, what could be done now? I was to be his wife in seven days. What would stop him then? Did I want him to stop? I enjoyed this side much more than his cold distant self that had been my companion these last few weeks. My only concern was what he said to Duncan Idaho, my brother in all ways but blood.

“Just spit it out Little Duchess.”

I startle from my deep thoughts. He was using my nickname coined by Gurney, and from his lips it made me throb somewhere deep within. Was I really so easy to read? I clear my throat gathering the courage to be blunt in my questioning.

“What happened with you and Duncan after I left that day?”

His face sours at the mention of Idaho's name leaving my lips. 

“Why do you ask?” He probes.

“My mother just informed me there was some sort of disagreement between you two.”

He doesn’t speak for a long time. We stand in the middle of a crowded area and yet I know that if he wanted to hurt me right here and now, no one but me could stop him. There was such a fine line between attraction and aversion between him and I. Perhaps it’s a natural give and take considering our families' long standing rivalry.

“If you insist. I simply made him a promise I intend to keep.”

He encroached on my personal space immediately seizing my small face in his large hands. Looking beyond my skin. His gaze pierced the very blood beneath its surface. 

“What was the promise?” I press further.

“Give me your ear, and I’ll tell you, my lady.”

I tentatively move my ear closer to his inky mouth, hesitant, but eager to know what transpired between him and Duncan. He’s cupping the back of my head when he softly utters his promise to me.

“If you ever touch her again in my presence it’ll be the last thing you ever do. Or something to that effect.” He states coyly.

He casually strokes the soft strands of my hair, watching my face again to see my reaction up close.

“You needn’t be so worried about him. He is like a brother to me, Feyd Rautha.”

He only smiles at me threateningly. Releasing his hold on my head before we continue on to the next attraction. 

Later that same night I lay awake in my bed. Sleep evades me, and I can’t help but comb through every interaction I had with Feyd today. I could still feel his bruising touch on my lips, and my wrist. My white nightgown feels heavy all of a sudden when in reality it was quite thin. There was an ache between my legs that felt even more painful than Feyd Rauthas brutal touch. I do my best to ignore it before I find myself sneaking away from my chambers somewhat compelled to find what I lack and somehow knowing only he could provide it to me. I don’t bother knocking on his door as I let myself in. Surprisingly he was asleep beneath his sheets only his bottom half was covered. He made the large four poster bed look mediocre despite its grand size. The rest of him lay bare before me to see. He was all lean muscle and cream colored skin. He nearly blended seamlessly with the crisp white linen. I subconsciously move closer to him. As if possessed, my hand reaches towards his sleeping face. He looks so peaceful I can’t help myself.

Before I can feel the touch of his alabaster skin, my wrist is snatched into a crippling hold. I whimper attempting to pull away from him. Realizing it was me he relaxes his crushing grip ever so slightly. Without speaking he pulls me onto his lap as he sits propped against the headboard. I straddle his lap a tad awkwardly.

“Now why would you be sneaking into my room at this time of night Little Duchess?”

He asks the question as if he already knows the answer. Smirking as he waits for me to verbalize why I'm here. This was purely for the sake of further embarrassing me.

“I couldn’t sleep...I don’t know why I came here.”

I move to get off of his lap, but he grips my hips, holding me in place.

“You’re no coward, Calista. Tell me why you're here.” He barks at me with a voice so rough he could have swallowed glass.

“I don’t know what to say.” I whine out, much to my mortification.

He watches me steadily, making no attempts to speak or release me. I could only blame myself for this predicament so I might as well tell him the truth.

“I- I’m aching for you. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Aching for me?” He inquired before continuing “Show me where.” He demanded sternly.

Like a wolf circling its kill he licks his lips lasciviously in preparation for what was to follow. I reach my hand beneath my gown as he watches me without blinking. He refuses to miss even a second of this show. I cup my sex slowly, unsure of myself. 

He moves my hand aside, replacing it with his own. His calloused fingers gently travel between my velvety folds. He presses into my nub and a jolt of pleasure makes me hiss. I lean my head back from the delicious feeling invading my core. His free hand grips my chin moving my eyes back to his. He presses against my bud once more before he circles it continuously watching me so intently he must be waiting for something to happen. I lean forward against him, changing the angle slightly so that my lips can reach his. Unlike earlier he doesn't resist as I kiss him gently. He let me kiss him this time not forcing such aggression upon my delicate lips like he did then. 

I take my time enjoying the softness of his lips with my eyes closed before I falteringly glide my tongue over his full lower lip. His lips make room for me to taste him deeper still and I do. I slowly and assuredly lick the inside of his inky mouth. He continues circling my nub before sliding one slow finger into me up to the knuckle. I moan into his mouth for the second time today and once again he swallows it whole. 

Of their own accord my hips begin to match the pace his finger sets inside of me. I never stop kissing him as he adds a second finger. My core holds the fingers in a vice-like grip and he groans against me.He suddenly removes his digits and flips us over so that i’m now beneath him. He pulls my gown up to my hips fully exposing my thatch of soft dark hair. Leaning down he buries his nose in my hair and breathes deeply. For a moment I'm stunned with my eyes two sizes too big.

“Ah, there it is.”

“What?” I ask, a bit alarmed by his vague statement.

“I found the source of that smell. Makes my mouth water.”

His drool lands on my sensitive folds and I gasp.

He plunges in without abandon, swirling and twirling his tongue anywhere it would fit before harshly sucking on my clit. It takes all my willpower not to cry out. Being found with his face between my legs would not be ideal. More noises bubble up from within me and I can’t contain them all causing me to bite into my fist harshly. I reach an unexpected peak so soon after he starts and I feel my empty core clenching around nothing as my vision whites out. He continues to lick and suck as I come down from my high with shuddering breaths. He bites my inner thigh before pulling away and moving up towards the head of the bed. There was a large bulge between his legs and I couldn’t take my eyes away.

“I won’t fuck you tonight my pet, or else I might break you.”

Taglist: @mamawiggers1980

#calista atreides #feyd rautha #harkonnen #feyd rautha x atreides oc #feyd rautha x oc #feyd rautha smut #feyd smut #dune part two #dune au #dune fanfiction #dune part 2 #Calista's Dream

[miller-n-morgan]

Take Me Home

PART ONE: TEXAS RED

Arthur Morgan x Gunslinger!Reader

18+, mdni

Summary: From the town of Agua Fria rode a stranger one fine day. Never spoke to folks around him, didn’t have too much to say. No one dared to ask his business, no one dared to make a slip, for the stranger there among them had a big iron on his hip. (Reader is based on Texas Red, from the song Big Iron)

Warnings: reader is female but is disguised as a young male (use of masc pronouns towards reader for this chapter), guns, violence, duelist behavior. Reader is described to have a masculine outer appearance (for show) and is mentioned to have reddish hair (for the sake of the storyline). A fake name is used but otherwise can be read completely as a reader insert.

Word Count: 6.5k

Howdy y’all ! I’m really excited about this story (arthur is my main comfort man) and this is just a story that I’ve been cooking up since I finished the game. This part (and a lot of the story’s future plot) is HEAVILY influenced by the song Big Iron by Marty Robbins and reader even goes by ‘Texas Red.’

“Men learn fast not to poke fun at me,” you told him, partially as a threat, but followed it up quickly. “I s’pose I’d better compose myself around here.” Arthur laughed, genuinely. He seemed to find you amusing, or maybe he found you to be annoying. Either way, you earned these hearty chuckles to enjoy for yourself.  “You may be quick with a gun, kid… but just know, that pistol on your hip couldn’t save you from me,” his voice was in a lower register when he said it, and you didn’t know whether you should be intimidated or completely and totally enamored. He wasn’t completely serious, unwilling to scare you away for Dutch’s sake. But he did want you to understand where you stood with him, and you did

The light from the outside window is what wakes you first, the brightness pooling over your closed eyelids before they even open. You’re still in Agua Fria, the place you've made a name for yourself. Charlie Brooks, but that's not the one that comes to mind. 

Texas Red. The unkillable. Nothing more than a duelist to many, and even less so to those who don't care for that sort of thing. But to those who dare challenge the big iron on your hip, you are not anything short of a quick handed master. Only eighteen years old, or so they say - it’s what you’ve told them, but like your name, it isn’t true. Whichever way you spell it out, your reputation is the reason people know you; You have the fastest draw on this side of anywhere. 

For someone who's known near and far as the kid who never lost a match, the nickname is a little less than favorable. Texas Red isn't for the blood on your hands, it's for the ginger of your hair. It's factual, not demeaning… but still unfavorable. You do not care much what they call you anymore, just as long as they know what comes with it. Too many men have underestimated your ability, one and nineteen more. 

Here in Agua Fria there's folks that will come from far and wide, just to test your trigger finger. Today is no different. You've spent the night in a hotel above the saloon, so by the time you reach the bottom of the stairs, you know there ought to be a man there, ready and willing to die. 

“That's him.” 

You hear from under the breath of the bartender. He served you only last night, one drink of silky whiskey before bed, nothing more. You told him your name, but not the one people know. Word gets around, you suppose. Your pistol has twenty notches on the handle, folks can tell enough from that alone. One of the outlaws that hangs around here does the same thing… except he takes pride in those marks, as opposed to you. You make those marks to remember the weight of your pistol, heavier every time a notch is made.

The man before you is tall and strong, likely a farmer that does heavy work. He has a sly look about him, but you don't feel bothered too much. You think his hands, worn by the sun and weathered by his work - whatever it may be - will not draw fast enough to even graze you. They are too stiff where they hang by his side, probably from pushing a plow, or milling a field. 

He hasn't spoken a word to you yet, but that's what you assume. He's here to challenge me, they always are. No one asks after you otherwise… except for maybe some working women, but that never ends well.

“You're the kid?” He looks you over, a furrowed brow and a smirk brush his features, but it doesn't last. Yes, you think. I'm the kid, and this is my gun.

“Yes sir,” your voice is a little lower, the early morning is stuck in the pitch of it. 

His question was so vague, but having been asked about eight times out of twenty ‘are you the kid?’ makes you a pretty damn good guesser of what your answer ought to be.

He takes another once over after a step forward, and now you can see that he stands about a head taller than you. He's not quite intimidating, but you can admit, the anxiousness of a man initiating a duel is always a thing that prickles your skin, warms your very fingertips. Maybe that's why you shoot so fast. 

“You don't look like a killer,” he looks down, but his nose is somehow still in the air. He wants to prove something, to someone or to himself you can't be sure, but only the most foolish of men dare your gun this way. 

“I'm not one.” 

And he laughs. You don't even think to look up at him, you keep my face forward. I don't have anything to prove, but of course you know you’ll have to.

“You shoot folks, got a name for it,” he settled his hands on his belt. It's a gun belt, sure, but the rounds don't even match the gun at his hip. They look bigger, as for a rifle. This farmer likely shoots ducks. Sitting or flying, that’s not the relevant point. 

He has experience, and that's what clouds his mind. He thinks you’re a sitting duck. 

“I do, but I ain't no killer,” you paused, rounding the man, stepping up to the bar and pointing for a glass of water. This early in the morning, any form of alcohol shouldn't be legal. You reckon it's the very thing that made this gentleman bold and eager enough to try what he's about to. At least you’re pretty darn sure that he's about to, otherwise he’s just an adoring spectator. “I shoot folks as need shootin’, but they always ask for it. I ain't malicious or nothin’.” 

“Maybe you's the one that needs shootin’.”

Atta boy, getting to the point. You have to smile. He looks confused by it and he very well should be… people don’t normally crack a grin when being threatened.

“S’pose you wanna be the one that does it,” You take a drink of the water you’re handed, but it does little to wash away the tickle in your throat, trying to climb its way up in the form of the chuckle. 

“If I gotta be.” 

You’ve never seen this man around town. Being here in this area almost two months, you’ve seen more of the traveling recluses than any of the farmers. Seen more of the local outlaws, too. They never stay long, they cause a little trouble here and there… but never the farmers. They come into town maybe once, twice a month. They harbor most of their own supplies on their land. No need for the town. 

“And you think you'll hit me?” 

“I've never missed.” 

And then that chuckle finally does escape you. 

“I knew twenty men who hadn't, either,” but the other's words were a bit more out of ignorance. They wanted to show off, thought they had nothing to lose. You were just a skinny kid with red hair and a heavy gun that you could barely stand to carry. 

“I like my odds.” 

So you turn to the bartender. He watched this same charade last month. A different man, not quite as tall, but just as confident. He stops wiping down an empty glass, and looks to you with a look of annoyance. What did you do to deserve it? You haven't the slightest clue. When he looks at the challenger with sincerity and condolences, you know what he thinks behind those eyes.

This is a fine young man, he may have a wife and some children. He doesn't know what he's doing, he had a strong drink. He only heard one story, it isn't fair. 

But of course, you can't back out. You’ve never backed out. Never having anything to lose, and like today, no one has ever tried to convince you otherwise. If you die now, you can go out a hero of sorts, the gunslinger of Agua Fria. If you live, then you'll someday die a legend. Texas Red, the unkillable.

You will have to step outside, and you will have to shoot this man, but for the first time, you feel you oughta know his name. You stepped to meet him and offered your hand. It's smaller compared to his. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Robert Sims.” 

He shakes your hand tightly, he wants to show how strong he is… as if that somehow makes him shoot faster.

“Glad to meet ya. I'm-” 

“The infamous Texas Red,” he finished for me, but every time you hear that nickname it somehow gets worse. Why on earth did the good Lord above curse you with something so nasty as ginger hair?

“Infamous? Don't know about that,” you lean back against the bar for another drink of water when your hands drop to your sides. “I'm just a kid. Name's Charlie Brooks.” 

He scoffs, his eyes falling to the floor. Maybe he doesn't wanna do this. He seems to be rolling it over in his head. If he wins he kills you, a scrawny kid with an ugly hat, and not a friend in the world. If he loses, well… he dies. 

But as if foolishness ruled his mind, he settles on his thoughts, and you can see it clear as day when he decides. 

“Are you ready to step outside?” 

And you smile again. He could've been your friend. He seems like a kind enough man, a little arrogant, but a man of honor in himself. He even struck you with a slanted smile of his own, but for no reason other than your reputation alone, he wants to kill you. Always a shame. 

“S'pose so.”

And he doesn't say another word… Ever. 

Thirty paces apart on the dirt road outside, the poor man never even cleared leather, but a bullet rests between his collarbones, and he himself rests on the ground. He’s got a pouch on his hip you noticed earlier, so while everyone around is frozen in place, you carefully go up to his body, stripping the valuables from him before moving on your way. To the winner go the spoils.

You holster your weapon, turn around and face the folks that stopped their journeys to watch. Some had seen the last one, they expected the outcome. Others were a bit surprised. David beat Goliath. The bigger opponent fell. 

You took a walk around the block to settle down, find a nail to notch your pistol yet again. You’ve never forgotten your earlier opponents, but something about this one makes you sadder than the rest. One and Twenty more, and whoever else is stupid enough to have the same idea.

Once you feel at rest you land back in the saloon, but it's not as empty as before, your single friend Robert Sims being the occupant. Now there are three men. There is a tall dark haired man with a mustache and a bowler hat, a darker skinned man beside him against the bar, and a young man that looked all too similar to yourself in complexion and hair color. It was nice to know that you weren’t the only one God would curse that way. 

You don't plan on letting yourself be bothered, so you sit down one stool over, beckoning a whiskey you can shoot to chase the adrenaline. You thought you had calmed down, but sitting here it feels as though you’re in the middle of a footrace, with the speed accelerating instead of decreasing. 

“Charlie Brooks?” The tall man with the mustache was the first to speak, and directly to you. 

These men have guns on their hips, and you hope they are not thinking what the last man thought. You’ve barely calmed down enough from Robert Sims, and your head would hurt having to shoot twice in one day. 

“Yes,” your confusion forced through. 

“I'd like to talk with you. This man here tells me you're quite the gunslinger,” he gestures to the bartender and you give him a glance, seemingly just doing his job minding his business when he's not running his mouth about you. 

“He told ya? Or were you outside?” 

The man had a laugh that seemed comforting almost. It was hearty and full of actual joy. He pat you on the back and you had half a mind to turn away from it for a moment, unsure of why he was so friendly or if you appreciated it yet. It’s been a while since you felt the comforting or friendly touch of someone who didn’t later try and shoot you.

“I did in fact see your show of skill, but I wasn't sure if approaching you after a fiasco like that would end up poorly for me.” 

And so you smile, because his sense of humor is alike yours, and he looks to be unphased by your violent acts of earlier. You technically didn’t break any laws. Didn’t do anything wrong, even by killing a man. He had threatened to shoot your first, if no one claims they saw the duel, you can write it off as self defense… but this man doesn’t seem too deterred. In fact, he looks all too happy having witnessed your properly provoked quick draw.

“I ain't jumpy, if that's what you're worried about.” 

But he had a different point on his mind, so the subject was changed in an instant. 

“Look, son. I'm gonna cut to the chase,” he pointed at your pistol, the newest twenty-one mark shining where it peaked out of your holster. “You have a gift for using that. I could use some talent like yours.” 

And suddenly you’re confused again. Who is this guy? What does he want? 

“I ain't a bounty hunter, sir.” 

“I can very well see that. I'm not looking for a temporary gun, kid. I need someone long term.” 

And suddenly your interest is piqued. The other men haven't said a word, and yet they seem to be a part of this offer, whatever it is. They are fully invested in your answer, on the edge of their seat - metaphorically, since they’ve been standing - while waiting. It’s strange, as if it’s all been plotted.

“Not sure I quite understand,” You slide the empty glass back after taking the second shot of whiskey, but hold your hand over the top, keeping the bartender from refilling a third. 

“If you'd be so kind as to follow me and my friends, I would be happy to explain in further detail,” he steps away from the bar, his hand outstretched to the door. This situation reads danger in every which way, but you don't stray from it. You can’t believe you’re doing it, but you follow along, an open mind. 

Nothing to lose.

-

Your horse was in the stables, an older stallion that was probably bred from war. His coat was full and black, like a starless night sky. Fury, you called him. These other men had put their horses up in the stables as well, but they were quite a bit stranger when it came to interacting with the horse hand. They paid him off so he’d forget any of you had been here. 

These men must be outlaws. Dutch, Charles, and Sean… From the time of their introductions, you were watching them with vigilance. You had started to gather that much from the way people ran inside when they passed, but the other behaviors lead you to believe that they weren’t the typical type. They weren’t just bad men looking for trouble and fun. They had reasoning, and they had qualms about who they spoke to about what. They were careful, if that word can even describe an outlaw. 

You followed them out of town, and down a road a bit. Agua Fria was a bit drier than other parts of Texas, but it had some nice trees here and there, with ponds and hills to break up the dusty roads. When you came to a clearing, a full on campsite set up, you immediately looked around, taking in who you thought would be the most imminent threats. 

“Right over here,” Dutch said, dismounting his horse and leading it to a hitching post. You followed him and the others, and the redhead, Sean, took your horse off your hands. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled. 

“This is the camp, ain’t much to look at but we’re all very tight knit, here.” 

You followed behind Dutch, he was the ringleader of all of this, as far as you could tell. He gave the orders, and the others followed. You couldn’t say you didn’t see why. He had all the capabilities of a natural born leader. His presence, his personable way with words, and even his ability to convince a random stranger to follow him. 

“S’cozy,” you said, nodding to each person you passed. He didn’t bother introducing you to them yet, and you figure it’s because he wants to see how well you fit first. No point in getting anyone attached. 

“It is indeed. I’ll have you wait here for just a moment, you can mingle, if you’d like. I’m gonna talk to a few friends of mine,” he told you before ducking into a tent, the flaps falling behind him. 

You huffed a breath, turning to the first face you saw and tipping your hat. 

“Howdy, Ma’am.”

The young woman looked up to you, a sweet smile on her face. She had lovely dark hair and beautiful blue eyes that reflected a clear sky. 

From within the tent, tensions were a bit higher. 

“First Mack and Davey, now this… kid? You can’t keep picking up people like they’re stray dogs, Dutch…” Hosea Matthews, Dutch’s right hand man was the one to speak first. He’d just heard quite a story - which to be fair, Dutch liked telling grand stories - that seemed to be impossible. 

“I know, I know… but you wouldn’t believe it even if you saw it. Hell, even I don’t.” 

“Let me get this straight,” another voice piped up from the corner, standing to make his presence more known. “This eighteen year old kid, who can barely hold up a gun… is the fastest draw you’ve ever seen?” 

“I blinked and the man was dead,” Dutch furthered his point, hearing a low whistle from the youngest man in the tent. They began to peak through the open tent flaps, not letting anyone else see them. 

“Abigail seems to like him.”

“Abigail likes everyone except John these days,” Hosea joked around, sitting himself back down when he’d taken his look at the kid. He was a spry little thing, but looked like a boy still in adolescence.

“Listen,” Dutch began, his hands raised to calm the air. “This kid could mean the difference between life or death in some of our upcoming jobs.”

The younger man looked to Dutch, then to Hosea, and then to the ground, shaking his head. Dutch was like his father, but these fantasies he conjured up sometimes to justify his antics could be wild. 

“He can shoot faster than me?” 

“My boy, I’d let you challenge him yourself if I wasn’t sure he’d drop you where you stand.” Dutch clapped a hand on his shoulder before turning to Hosea. 

“If he’s really as fast as you say, we should keep him. He can’t be of any harm otherwise.”

-

A moment lasted longer than you thought it would, but you’d garnered the attention of not one but two ladies whilst sitting in the shade of the trees. 

Abigail, the heavily pregnant young woman you’d started conversation with, and Tilly, a young lady who seemed to be swooning with every word you said. You didn’t have the heart to say nothing to her, you weren’t even sure you’d be sticking around. 

“And then what happened?” Tilly asked, scooting closer. 

“Well, I guess I shot him. S’how most these stories end, sadly.”

You suddenly felt a bit sorrowful. You’d shot a man down only today and here you’d moved on so quickly. The time of self recovery was getting shorter and shorter. Maybe you ought to stop shooting folks, then you could make some ground on a normal life… but that’s never really been your way, not since you left home. If you stay with this gang, though… the shooting gets worse, and you know that for a fact. 

“But you’re a good shot, probably why Dutch wants ya,” Abigail lifted a brow, nodding towards the tent. You were sure he’d liked you well enough, and you liked this whole tight knit unit well enough. If you shoot enough folk, you reckon you get to stay. 

“Speak of the Devil,” Tilly smiled behind where you were standing, and you took it as a queue to turn around yourself. 

“We sure as hell want him,” Dutch said, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “I have some people I want you to meet. This is my partner, Hosea Matthews.”

And the man - Hosea - smiled and waved. He seemed nice, and gentlemanly. He had a kind face, like that of a dedicated father. 

“And this,” Dutch stood aside, revealing another man stood behind him… “Is Arthur Morgan. My enforcer, and right hand man.”

You froze when he lifted his head, hat tipping upward enough to see his face. Your breath hitched in your throat as you scanned his features, falling to the stretch of his body and then roaming back up to the brim of his hat. You weren’t sure if it was from fear or from awe, but the tenseness in your body was thick and unwavering. He had all the toughness of a rugged outlaw, but his eyes were calm, serene. Like pools of oasis water against a dry and scorching desert. A beautiful man by anyone’s standard, but completely unaware of himself. 

Standing before you now, he nodded in greeting, and you had to snap out of the haze that even now surrounded you, clouding your mind and blocking out anything that wasn’t him. 

Sweet Lord above, help me look away… and finally you did, begrudgingly. 

“He’s gonna show you around, give you the rundown of how things are around here,”

“Sounds-” you coughed once, trying to play off your strange behavior as you cleared your throat. “Sounds just fine.”

“Alright then,” Dutch leaned in towards Arthur at the last second, nudging his arm as he did. “Don’t test ‘im before he’s had a chance to settle. I don’t feel like losing two fast guns on the same day.”

You heard the tail end of the conversation, but pretended it passed over your head. You were standing quietly, still halfway in awe of the man. Sandy strands of hair that fell over the corners of his eyes, his strong jawline stubbled in the same lovely color. He let his hat fall over his eyes again, but you were certain if you’d been able to see them again, you’d not be able to look away.

He fell into a slow walk beside you, beginning to lead through the campsite.

“What’s your name, kid?” 

Kid, as if you were actually one… 

“Charlie Brooks, sir,” You replied, holding a firm hand out. This was reflectant of a similar introduction you’d made earlier this morning. Didn’t matter what happened though, you wouldn’t be shooting the man before you. Not even if he begged. 

“Dutch says they call you Red.”

You dropped your pleasant expression, huffing a fast breath to match the new look on your face.

“Texas Red… But I ain’t even from Texas, so,” and it was true. You’d only earned that nickname here. 

“The red part still fits,” Arthur was teasing you. Perhaps this is what Dutch meant by ‘don’t test him.’

You sighed, realizing that you’d found the downside to this ruggedly handsome stranger… “My name is Charlie Brooks.”

Arthur laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t get upset, boy… I’m only poking fun.”

You drop the tension in your shoulders… you didn’t like being teased, but perhaps it wasn’t as bad coming from this Arthur character. 

“Men learn fast not to poke fun at me,” you told him, partially as a threat, but followed it up quickly. “I s’pose I’d better compose myself around here.”

Arthur laughed, genuinely. He seemed to find you amusing, or maybe he found you to be annoying. Either way, you earned these hearty chuckles to enjoy for yourself. 

“You may be quick with a gun, kid… but just know, that pistol on your hip couldn’t save you from me,” his voice was in a lower register when he said it, and you didn’t know whether you should be intimidated or completely and totally enamored. He wasn’t completely serious, unwilling to scare you away for Dutch’s sake. But he did want you to understand where you stood with him, and you did. 

You only nodded, and kept walking. 

He had shown you the laundry areas, where the girls nearly strip the boys down just so they have something to do in the daytime. He showed you to Mr. Pearson’s ‘kitchen,’ if you could even call it that. He showed you where the weapons are kept, but not where to refill them. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to yet. You take in every word he says, committing it to memory, not only so you can fit in around here, but also so you can recall the sound of his voice on a whim. 

He shows you down to the sloped rim of the pond, where usually one at the time, members of the camp come to bathe in their spare hours. You wondered how far down the way you would have to bathe, just on the off chance someone might come and see. 

“Bill takes care of the horses, mostly. I’m sure he’ll add yours to his rounds if you ask ‘im,” he mentioned, walking back past the horse rails and troughs. Your horse was standing happily in the sunshine, enjoying the blue skies and grass compared to the dusty and dark stables you always put him up in.

“I’ll remember that,” you say, as if you’ll forget anything else. So far you remember everyone’s name - everyone you passed by, at least - and every individual location of the camp. 

“Miss Grimshaw and the others should have a tent for ya by sundown… if not, just bunk with me until tomorrow,” he offered, hands sat steadily on his gun belt. Your face flushed, but lucky for you, he was much taller and couldn’t see under the brim of your hat when you tilted your head. 

“That’s kind of you,” you nodded in reply, saying nothing more. 

He began to back away, needing to attend to something else, but he stopped short. 

“You’re alright, kid,” he complimented, as best as he could give one, anyway. “See you ‘round.”

And you stood still, watching him walk away with your hands at your sides. 

“I’m in deep shit…”

-

Early to bed, early to rise, yatta yatta yatta. You still hate mornings. The camp wakes at the crack of dawn, and you stir just as some folks are leaving, mounting their horses and setting off for the adventures ahead. You’re fairly certain it’s Dutch, Bill, and that other man Hosea, the one with the kind face.

You did end up taking Arthur up on his offer to bunk for the night. He was kind enough to set up one of the spare cots for you, unwilling to argue about sleeping on the ground and all that. He pegged you for the arguing type and wanted to leave well enough alone. 

He was gone from the tent-like structure by the wagon, away somewhere probably having a cup of that coffee you smelled. They must have had a pot brewing somewhere, because it was the only thing willing you to leave the shaded area you were resting. The sun wasn’t high in the sky, but you could already feel the effects of the heat swirling in around the camp. 

It was strange, going about your morning routine with others present. Washing up your face in one of the water barrels, raking your hair back over your head with your wet fingers to let the hair sit flat before you crushed it down with your hat. You’d been nearly presentable, good enough for the morning, anyway. 

It wasn’t long before you were sitting close to the congregated group, a cup of coffee in your own hands. It wasn’t the best you’ve had, but hey, it helped you keep your eyes open. You didn’t dare interject into the conversation, unknowing of it they would accept it. Not that it mattered, because you liked hearing them interact as is. They were a rowdy bunch, but they had some wit here and there.

After a while, you zoned out during talks of events you hadn’t been to, people you hadn’t met, things you didn’t get to see before coming here. You watched a bunny that leapt across the camp, running into the wilderness ahead only to disappear behind some rocks. You realized by then you were at the end of your coffee cup. You stood up to take it back to Mr. Pearson, but were interrupted by one of the others in the circle. You remember his name is John. 

“How about you, Brooks?” He asked, catching you off guard, for you had absolutely no clue what the conversation was. 

“How about me?” you replied, a furrowed brow as you stopped in your tracks and waited. 

“Are you really as fast as people say?”

You scoffed, a slanted eyebrow to the man when he seemed in disbelief. You don’t blame him, he’s never seen you shoot. 

“Faster.”

“Boy’s got some pride on ‘im. Shouldn’t be too hard to break it down,” the only other redhead in the gang reared his accented voice. “Ay, Arthur?” 

You turned to the man, stoic and quiet, his hat covering most of his face so you couldn’t see what his features were saying. 

“If Dutch says he’s faster than me, I won’t push my luck.”

Except for he wanted to. He really wanted to, and you were curious to see his skill as well. Maybe not against you, because hell… you ain’t never lost before but there’s a first time for everything, and you like it here too much to throw it away. 

“I don’t buy it. That’s just Dutch telling tales like he does,” John stood up and clapped his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Never in my life have I seen someone with Arthur’s shootin’ speed.”

“Never?” 

You knew it was probably not in your best interest to boast your ability on the first day, but shit, it was the only thing you had going for you. You had to make way in this group somehow. 

“Never.” 

“Alright,” you nodded. “I propose a game. Two bullets, our names carved in. We set up a can to shoot and whoever’s bullet gets trapped inside s’the one that got there first.”

Arthur lifted his head, and for the first time this morning, you saw his eyes. Your face instantly got red, but no one seemed to notice, too caught up in the heat of the exchange. 

He nodded once, a slow and decisive nod. He was thinking it over. 

“Sure,” he said, his thick accent coating the word. “Guess I’ll play along.”

And the group dispersed, grabbing everything needed. Arthur took it upon himself to carve the bullets, and strangely, you trusted him not to tamper with yours. He didn’t seem like the type to play dirty. He didn’t look like he needed to be. 

Sean set up the can on a log, a crudely drawn X out of charcoal on the rusty front of it. There were words being exchanged as you both stepped up, opening your guns to drop out all the bullets before Arthur handed yours over. His etching wasn’t too bad, but you dropped the smug look on your face when you saw what he actually put on it. 

“I told you my name’s not Red,” you huffed, taking it anyway and dropping it into the cylinder, giving it a quick spin to line it up. 

“Doesn’t matter, no one’s gonna see it but you,” he teased, loading his own gun and standing beside you, about five yards away from the can. 

“Need me to count?” you joked back, hopefully not in vain. You wouldn’t be pridefully wounded if you lost in all honesty. You’d been waiting for your talent to fail you for a long time now, and without any stakes on the table, you suppose today could be the day. 

Both guns now strapped to your hips, you waited in silence, and so did everyone else. It wasn’t something that needed cheering on, but it was definitely something to be on the edge of your seat for. 

You saw Arthur drop his hand out of the corner of your eye, so you cleared leather as fast as you could in hopes that your shot would land, and it did… or at least, you thought it did. The can went flying and both guns had been fired. 

“Who won?” John yelled over in question to Sean, who went to kneel down by the log, picking up the can. 

“Uh…” He held up the can, showing two bullet holes, before dumping out both bullets from the inside. “Both of em’.” 

And for the first time in any shoot out you’d ever participated in, you were too stunned to speak. You never doubted this man’s abilities as a talented gunslinger, but given you’d never seen him shoot, and knowing your own track record… it was surprising to see. 

“Well,” Arthur turned to you, as the others continued to chat amongst themselves, not sure how to split the bets they had made beforehand. “You beat me.” 

He offered his hand to you to shake, but you shook you head, you didn’t understand. 

“It’s a draw, both bullets hit,” you tried to reason, but he was set on his own explanation. 

“You hit first. Mine went through the top as it was fallin’.”

You shook his hand anyway, but froze in place when he spoke. Could he really tell? Was he that detail oriented when shooting? You’d never known much of your craft, just that you could do it, just that you’d practiced a bunch and got pretty damn good… but you didn’t even think to make that observation. 

“That don’t count,” you tried to absolve him, still feeling as though from what he said alone, he was the better gunslinger. “I’ve never said this before… but I would not duel you, Arthur Morgan. You’ve scared me somethin’ awful with that gun.”

He had a chuckle in his exhale as he let it fall from his lips, a nod and the drop of your handshake. “Guess we both met our match today.”

“I’d say so.”

-

The day was slow. When Dutch and Hosea and Bill returned in the evening, there was some wind of a job coming up, the first one you’d inevitably be invited to. It was discussed quickly and not in great detail, and the heads of the camp still had some ideas churning about it. Hopefully you’d be able to keep up in the heat of the moment, as you’d never done anything like this before. Never robbed folk - alive folk, at least - or taken something as a means to survive. You’ve lived off of bets and fools you shot dead. It was a lousy way to live but it had never gotten as low as stealing or cold blooded murder. 

The thoughts turned over in your head and for some reason you couldn’t seem to lose them, but at the end of the night they were momentarily stalled when Arthur helped you carry the already assembled cot into your new tent. It was simple, just a double sided narrow-pitched tent, no room inside for anything but a cot and a single human. You could just kick your boots under the cot when you slept, that would be the extent of your storage space. At least it had the privacy of the two flaps at the front, current parted like curtains to allow entrance. 

Once everything was set up, Arthur took a step back, but didn’t leave yet. 

“Thank you, Arthur. I’ll owe you one,” you promised, trying to be as casual about his genuine help and concern over you the past day. No one had ever shown this much attentiveness to you, and though you know he’s only acting on orders from Dutch, it feels like he really cares. He’s kind and he’s gentle, despite his rugged appearance and reputation. 

“S’no problem,” he scratched the back of his neck, looking from side to side to make sure everyone had either retired for the night or was too occupied to listen in. “I wanted to tell you something.”

You furrowed your brow, crossing your arms. 

He sighed and met your eyes again, debating his words in his head. Out with it already…

“I know you’re a lady,” he tried to speak evenly, but the tail end of his sentence got caught. 

Your eyes widened before he even finished his sentence. You looked around as well before shoving him inside your tent, too small for one person let alone two. 

“You don’t know anything,” you assured him, suddenly self conscious of how he perceived you. What was it? Your voice? The way you walked? Your body? Was anybody else going to notice? 

“I wasn’t pryin’, I swear,” he said, reaching into his satchel, still on his hip after a long day. “Bill left early this morning, I took care of your horse. These fell out of your saddlebag…”

He held out to you the most damning piece of evidence there could possibly be. Long cotton wraps and a sanitary apron, the brand new woolen padding you’d gotten was pressed inside and ready. 

Shit. You didn’t even think twice about hiding the contents of your saddle bag when arriving here. No one had ever been kind enough to care for your horse, so you didn’t worry. 

You looked into his eyes, firm but not judgemental. When you looked at him just a second too long they turned to a silent fear. Like he was a child getting caught stealing sweets. 

“Don’t tell Dutch,” you begged, and he huffed a sigh, unsure of what to do. 

“I can’t lie to im’,” he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. You were new, this wasn’t just about loyalty, it was about hierarchy. You, the new soldier, could not dare ask the second in command to deprive his leader of the truth. 

“I’m not asking you to. Just don’t tell him, yet. I’ll think of a way to let him know…”

You knew it was a stretch, but he was wonderful with the women of the camp, a man of high honor among the ladies. Surely he would help you, just until you were ready to share your secret. 

“We’re different, y’know? If you’ve been hidin’ all this time out there, that’s one thing… but you ain’t gotta do that here.”

“I don’t want them to look at me differently…” you trailed, silently pleading with him. 

He nodded, the look in your eyes nearly breaking his heart. There’s a story within you, but he’ll wait to hear it. For now, he just complies, hearing your voice at it’s softest point, the feminine silkiness flowing through. You only ever spoke to yourself like that anymore.

“Okay,” he placed a warm hand on your shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze, before maneuvering out of your small tent. “Just until you tell ‘im yourself, ya hear?” 

You nodded in understanding, a thankful and sweet smile dining your features. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

“G’night, Red…”

-

tags are open

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x you

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

There has never been enough of me (and I have nothing left to give)

Blood nose and a crooked tongue (I always wanted to be someone) - series masterlist here

pairing: tim drake x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1k

genre: fluff kinda, comfort

warnings: they're gonna talk abt their feelings, timmy and reader are both so judgy but they get through it, they are both keeping so many secrets

a/n: more timmy bc he's on the brain rn

"Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"Why a PI? Why not a cop or something?" Tim asks, feet swinging off the edge of the rooftop as he sits next to you.

"Never really had much respect for authority." You shrug.

"Can I ask you something else?" Tim continues. You huff out a laugh.

"You can ask me anything," you respond simply.

"You're way too smart for the work you do."

"That's not a question."

"You know what I mean, though."

"Ask me anyway. Say it," you respond, turning to look at Tim, eyes locking with his under the faint moonlight.

"Why do you waste your life and your talents chasing cheating, rich husbands around Gotham? You could do so much more." He says pointedly, a frown tugging at his lips. You turn away from him, tipping your head back to look up at the night sky as you sigh.

"Why do you think I'm a waste? Hm? Why do you think my life isn't worth it?" You ask plainly. Tim tenses next to you.

"I didn't mean that."

"But you did say it." You respond, tilting your head to look at Tim again as he opens and closes his mouth, searching for whatever words will make this right. You sigh again and lift your legs up, tucking them under you as you turn to face him in crisscross. You pointedly ignore the alarmed sound he makes and the way his hands shoot out at the idea of you moving around so close to the edge of the roof.

"What are you looking for here, Tim?" You ask firmly. Tim shifts, eyes wandering away from yours.

"What do you mean?" He mumbles, his gaze avoiding yours.

"It's just… people like you - they spend their whole life trying to make something of themselves - trying to be someone… thinking that their life is a waste unless they, I don't know, find some constant way to justify themselves and the space they take up. You look at your reflection and see yourself - see your worth based on that." Tim looks back at you, finally, lines etched in his forehead as he furrows his brows.

"People like us, you mean," he says gently - too gently for someone who was just insulted, you think bitterly.

"No," you shake your head. "No, I'm not like that."

"Yes you are, you've just… swung too far the other way." 

"No, I… don't push this, Tim." You turn away from him again, swinging your legs back over the edge of the rooftop and looking pointedly away from him.

"Do you ever think about the fact that you let your talents waste away because if you actually try, there's a chance of failing? If you try to actually be someone… actually do something, there's a possibility that you just didn't have all that talent that you thought you had?"

"Tim, I swear to god…"

"Because you're wrong, you know-"

"Tim," you snap. "…stop. You don't know everything about me. You don't know everything about my life or my job or why I've chosen to live the way I do or become the person I've become. And even if you did… you of all people have no right to judge me on this." You frown, hands clenched into fists on your lap as you stare at Tim intently. He sits up straighter at your words, his chin lifting defensively.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asks wearily.

"Oh, come on," you sigh. "Rich boy who grew up in Wayne Manor, taking over his father's company? You can't… you can't say you're any different."

"You don't understand it," he says defensively.

"Then enlighten me," you quip back.

Tim opens his mouth, then closes it. I'm Red Robin, he wants to say. I've made something of myself. I couldn't possibly make more of myself.

"I'm…" he stops, eyes searching yours. "There are things you don't know about me or my life, either," is what he settles on.

"Well," you say stiffly, "maybe neither of us should judge, then."

"…I'm sorry."

"So am I."

Silence blankets the two of you, both of your faces tilted up to watch the clouds pass over the moon, cloaking you in darkness before bathing you in light again, and again, and again. Tim glances over at you, his brain going foggy at the way your eyes flutter closed and a sigh escapes your lips.

"What did you mean earlier?" he muses. You arch a brow questioningly, eyes still closed. "You asked me what I was looking for here. What did you mean?"

"I…" you open your eyes, turning to look at him with a vulnerability that makes him wish he could cover himself up more. "You… think you have succeeded where I've failed. You think you've made something of yourself and I've chosen not to - I think it's the other way around, but whatever. My point is… why are you here? With me? Do you… want to make something of me, too? Or do you want to be with someone who isn't anything, so that you can get away from trying to be something? Because either way, I don't like that. I won't be with someone who sees me like that."

Tim looks at you for a long while, his expression softening in a way that makes you shift, feeling naked under his gaze.

"Maybe I like being with you because I feel like, no matter what I do, I'll never make enough of myself, " he says quietly. "And maybe it's just nice being with someone who sees themself the same way. Maybe you just make me feel seen and heard and… maybe you make me feel like I'm enough."

"Oh," you say haltingly. "…oh."

"And maybe," he continues, taking your hand gently in his to press a kiss to the back of your knuckles. "Maybe we could both learn to be a little less defensive." You huff out a relieved laugh at his words, burying your face in the hand not holding his.

"And maybe a little less judgemental," you add. Tim laughs.

"Yea, that too… that, too."

#smsn.writes #tim drake #tim drake fluff #tim drake x reader #tim drake imagine #tim drake fanfiction #tim drake fic #tim drake wayne #tim drake x you #tim drake dc #red robin #red robin x reader #red robin x you #red robin x y/n #red robin imagine #red robin tim drake #red robin dc #red robin fanfic

[tangerinesgf]

yooo, could you write for Thom Ryder (or whatever his name is ) someee maybe hurt/comfort stuff. Cause I love your writings!!!,💋🙏

Tom Ryder x GN!reader

Summary: Tom Ryder is an addict. But only the person closest to him knows that.

Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Some fluff, Paranoia, mentions of drugs and alcohol.

A/N: Yaaayy my first Tom Ryder fic!! Tysm for your request. I'm having so much fun writing for this man. I hope you like it. Also Tom Ryder is British right? Correct me if I'm wrong here pls, his accent was so confusing to me

It was the night after Tom Ryder’s big movie premiere. Or well one of them. Another big blockbuster on his name, another couple million dollars in the bank and like every big occasion in Ryder’s life it called for a party. As his partner you have been to all the premiere's with him. From London to Paris and even Tokyo, all the way back to L.A. You were by his side through it all. The good and the bad. 

Tonight was all good. He just had a busy press tour behind him and was finally ready to unwind. He invited all of his friends and their friends to his house, or as he called it his ‘kingdom’. 

The first few hours you stuck to each other like glue, laughing dancing, ofcours a bit of flirting and kissing too. After a while you told him you were gonna go to the bathroom for a second and after some serious looks that told him that he couldn’t come with you.

When you came back Tom wasn’t in his usual spot anymore, but you didn’t really think anything of it. He was probably outside smoking weed or hanging around with his friends.

At some point during the evering you started to miss your boyfriend and started looking for him across the dancefloor, expecting to find him grinding with some random person he just met.

You’ve come to find his behaviour when high or drunk to be quite predictable. Whenever you found him dancing with another girl he’s quite genuinely confused, saying sorry over and over again, because he thought he was dancing with you. Though you couldn’t entirely blame him for it since he was high off his nuts and completely disoriented. Besides that, he was absolutely adorable while begging for your forgiveness.

Inside that asshole he protrayed himself to be was just an insecure little boy who didn’t get enough validation from his parents. 

So here you were searching his entire loft, shoving people aside left and right to find Ryder, which wasn’t nearly as easy as it appeared to be. His loft was huge with multiple bedrooms, bathrooms and just random rooms filled with whatever crazy thing Tom wanted to try this time.

As his girlfriend you were often at his place, which means you were there last week when he turned one of his rooms into a small makeshift jungle for his new Koala. You gave it 2 weeks max before animal protection would show up at his front door. 

His loft felt like an absolute madhouse everytime he held a party there, the music was deafening and the smell of weed and alcohol hung in the air. You were pretty sure Tom didn’t even know half of the people in his house right now. 

To your surprise he wasn’t shagging up with some random girl, in fact he was nowhere to be found at the party. Usually you’d stick by him during parties like this, especially when there were drugs involved. So when you couldn’t find him with his usual group of friends and he hadn’t come to find you, you knew something was wrong. 

You abandoned the party downstairs and went to find the actor upstairs where the guests weren’t allowed. The bedroom was empty, as was his second bedroom and the room he uses to practice his scenes (that particular room had a huge mirror).

“Tom? Love?” You call out in the hallway as you walk past all his movie posters. Then suddenly you stop in your tracks as you hear a voice coming from the bathroom, it sounds like Tom talking to someone, but there’s no other voice talking back. Like he’s all alone in there. 

Silently you walk over to the bathroom, the last thing you wanted to do was scare him right now. The door was open just a bit as you leaned beside it, looking through the little slit in the door. Tom was pacing the room back and forth like madman. You couldn’t exactly hear what he was saying because most of it came out hastily in a mumble. 

You decided to approach him carefully since you had no real perception of the state he was in right now. Ever so softly you knock on the bathroom door to announce your presence. At the sound Ryder’s head immediately snaps up in your direction, he looks like a deer caught in headlights with those wide eyes.

In a split second he grabs his hairbrush from the shelf above the sink and holds it in front of him like you would a knife. Ofcours you knew he wouldn’t get very far with that, but right now you just wanted to make him feel comfortable so you hold your hands up in the air to show him you mean no harm.

“Tom..” You say softly as you take a step closer to him. The beads of sweat on his forehead become apparent to you as do his frantic eyes which are constantly scanning every part of the room for threats. 

His movements are erratic as he holds the brush out in front of him and you wonder if he even reconizes you as his partner at this moment. “Stay back- I know why you’re here… I know it. Where are your friends, hm?” He raises his eyebrow at you, skeptical of your intentions. 

“What on earth are you talking about?” A frown appears on your face as he starts ranting nonsense. You were well aware of Ryder’s drug problem, but you really hated seeing him like this. The poor guy was really in a miserable state.

It had all started quite innocent, just one joint to take the edge off before a press tour or a premiere, you even did it with him sometimes. Then at parties he started to dance on the edge of safe and dangerous. Taking more and more different kinds of drugs with the excuse of ‘just experimenting’. 

In the last couple of weeks you’ve found him throwing up in the bathroom, pale as a ghost more than once. You’ve tried to offer advice but he never wants to hear it. He’s Tom Ryder. He can do whatever he wants. 

“Don’t pretend you don’t know. You came all the way up here to get me alone, right? So there’d be no witnesses when you kill me.” The brush is shaking in his hands and his words are quick, full of distrust towards you.

You can tell it’s bad this time. You’ve never seen him so paranoide before and it’s seriously concerning. Lately one or two hits just aren’t enough for him anymore, it’s like he’s trying to numb himself. From what you wouldn’t know, he’s not exactly open about his flaws and weaknesses. That’s vulnerability and that’s bad. 

“No I’m not-” You step closer, but he cuts you off by throwing the brush in your direction which you just barely manage to dodge. You look at him with wide eyes and before he can grab the bar of soap from the sink to throw that as well you rush over to him to grab his wrists.

“Tom, listen to me- fuck..” You mutter as he struggles against you, trying to push you off him. 

“What do you want from me?!” Ryder shouts desperately. Even after doing all those movies and action scenes he has really no idea how to fight, so most of his attempts to fight you off go nowhere. 

“It’s me, Tom. No one is trying to kill you!” You yell as you finally manage to remove the bar of soap from his hands. You quickly reach your hands up to cup his face. With closed eyes you take some deep breaths to slow down your heart rate. You weren’t exactly sober either, so you took a moment to steady yourself before looking back at him.

It wasn’t that you didn’t understand where the paranoia came from, ofcours you did. Tom Ryder is the most famous actor in the world, everyone who didn’t want to be with him, wanted to be him. Let’s just say that both of you have experienced first hand how far some people are willing to go for celebrities. 

Yet when sober Tom didn’t seem necessarily concerned about it, more annoyed or angry when another fan tried to touch or attack him. And don’t get it wrong, Tom loves the attention and validation, but he doesn’t exactly want those crazies near him.

“Hey, hey look at me, yeah? Look at me.” Your voice is demanding and his eyes immediately snap back towards yours. His sunglasses do a poor job of hiding his wide blown, red eyes. 

“You’re okay.” You gently stroke his cheek with your thumb to try and calm him down like you’ve done countless times before. “You’re okay..” You repeat in a softer tone, a small smile spread across your lips.  

“Baby?” He whispers quietly. His eyes have softened and you can feel the man you love coming back to you. 

“Mhm..” You hum softly. “No one’s going to kill you, I promise.” 

You notice Tom’s eyes starting to water a little as he realizes everything is okay and that you’re with him to keep him safe. He holds his head down in shame.  “I’m sorry..” His voice barely comes out as a whisper as he leans forwards and buries his face in your chest. 

You wrap one arm around him, the other gently stroking his messy blonde hair to comfort him. He’s always had a weak spot for you when you played with his hair. 

“And I’m sorry I tried to hit you with my hairbrush.” He mumbles again.

“I know, love..” You whisper back as you hold him close. Then without warning Tom starts sobbing into your chest, it sounds broken and helpless. Every single thought inside his head just spilt over, unable to keep it in anymore, yet also unable to actually talk about it. 

You pull him into a tight hug, leaning his head on your shoulder as you rub his back. You’ve never seen him this vulnerable before and while it felt a little bit weird, it also felt good that he trusted you enough to let himself be vulnerable with you.

For now you'd just hold him, let him air his heart as long as he needs to. You can both work on your issues later. In this moment being in the comfort of each other's arms is enough.

A/N: I'm a firm believer that Tom Ryder swings both ways, but cannot hold a normal stable relationship to save his life. Anyways I hope you enjoyed this and please if you have any Tom Ryder requests send them in.

I don't have a Taglist for Tom Ryder fanfics yet, so if you wanna be on it lemme know.

#tom ryder x reader #aaron taylor johnson #aaron johnson x reader #aaron taylor johnson x reader #tom ryder #the fall guy #the fall guy fanfiction #fanfiction #aaron johnson #tangerine x reader #fanfics #fanfic writing

[waywardstation]

WIP FRIDAY

I apologize for getting this out two days late, I’ve been busy with lots of packing and events! But I have a little reprieve, so I wanted to post another WIP; this one is from Heart Full, Bowl Empty.

BE AWARE THAT THIS SEGMENT INVOLVES A CONVERSATION REVOLVING AROUND UNWILLING BUT INTENTIONAL STARVATION. I know there are people who say they can’t read this fic because of themes like this, so be aware of this before reading this WIP!!

I included this snippet in today’s WIP because I have like three versions of the entire segment this snippet is from. I feel like it’s a really important segment with a really important conversation, and I’ve had a hard time balancing all the emotions the way I want to between Ingo and Akari, with frustration, sadness, anger, and empathy, to realistically get them to the resolution I want at the end of it.

The final version will probably only include a few parts from this particular segment.

Enjoy!!

—————

“I knew it! You’re doing it again!” Akari’s eyebrows scrunched, trying to understand through the frustration. “You said you wouldn’t!”

“Circumstances will improve soon.” Clearly done with the conversation, that was all Ingo said, but it was confession enough that he had fallen back on his word. Shame contaminated his voice, but if there was any regret, he hid it well.

“No, it won’t!” They were not even half-way through winter yet. “And you know it won’t!”

Ingo said nothing as the kits carefully moved around his slumped form, finding comfortable places to settle around him. She didn’t know if he intended to snuff the conversation out with angered silence, or if he was just too exhausted to care about arguing with her anymore. If it wasn’t for his small occasional signs of movement or acknowledgement, she’d think he was actually sleeping.

Akari carefully stepped into the nesting layers, moving to sit down next to Ingo. She settled with her back against the cavern wall, pulling her knees close as a few kits shuffled around to accommodate her. “You know I’m right.”

Huffing out an irritated sigh and nothing more, it didn’t seem like Ingo had any intentions to engage with her argument anymore.

“You couldn’t even pull yourself up over the ridge,” She prodded at him again, trying to motivate more conversation out of him. “I had to help you!”

“There are many, many factors that go into that.” A reluctant answer, perhaps a reflexive attempt to quell her worry; Ingo feebly rubbed his wrapped hand, almost as a display for his excuse.

“I’ve seen you do more when you’ve been hurt worse.” Akari retorted, a little softer now but still cold.

Ingo’s eyes remained closed, though his hardened expression implied that it came across as more accusatory than she’d intended. But perhaps it was precisely the time to be accusatory.

“Ingo, you’re so tired all the time now – you stopped coming to the training grounds because you just can’t make the trips all the time anymore! And you’re sleeping so much more than you used to, and it’s like you’re always hungry all the time, even though all I see you doing anymore is gathering food!” Akari’s voice grew more jagged as she continued to jab at him, entirely uninterrupted.

It was getting difficult. With Ingo’s tunic still sopping by the bucket, still somewhat red from the exhausted effort of washing out the blood, it could not hide the ribs that pressed out just a little bit more, or help fill out what the waistline had lost under the loosening belt. The abject dread of directly acknowledging that was too much.

“And- and look! You aren’t even willing to hold a conversation with me anymore, and I don’t know if it’s because you just won’t, or because you can’t!” The kits shifted uncomfortably as Akari retreated back into her own frustration instead. “People think you’re sick, Ingo! They’re asking me about you! What are you doing?”

The exhausted man remained where he laid in the nesting material, only moving his hands to rub at his face and sigh — a deep, forced sigh that swelled his side before releasing. Akari almost didn’t think he’d answer her, but with some effort, he propped himself up first onto his elbows, then slumped forward. The teen watched him run shaky fingers through his hair as he sat next to her.

“…I don’t know what I should do.” The guilt. The weary guilt cracked his voice and tore Akari’s anger down to heartache.

#ref for fic #BE AWARE THIS IS DISCUSSING INTENTIONAL BUT UNWILLING STARVATION #tw starvation #just in case #cause I know not everyone vibes with this story #and I’ll say it’s been weird myself returning to these segments I wrote months ago and re-reading them #AND TO BE MORE CAREFUL I talk about a personal situation sort of dealing with this below #a lot has happened in the timeframe of originally writing this and coming back to this #at the end of fall I got very very sick and it lasted well into February #I unwillingly shed thirty-five pounds because I could not eat #and I didn’t notice at all until I stopped and realized just how tight I had to make my work belt #even when family members pointed it out during the holidays when they’d hug me #it wasn’t until someone got very concerned and did something about it that I realized just how bad it was #I’m sure people remember when I mentioned I had gastritis #that’s what all this was I just never really went into detail about how bad it truely was here #so coming back and reading this segment specifically #having written it months before I went through any of this #felt really really weird and a little uncomfortable #I edited Akari’s accusations a little to fit my situation more about a month back #because I did not realize just how much more stuff like this would make you want to sleep #at least in my experience #but it’s been very very just #strange I guess coming back to this #it doesn’t make me want to not work on HFBE anymore it just feels very weird

[beatrixstonehill2]

"Headed up to the surgery intake at this university as my boyfriend films me, and I show off my fat, gorgeous titties one last time. We were at the park when this group of boys came up to my boyfriend and I. They seemed so nervous but I encouraged them to speak their minds. The boys told us they were from Fairfield University and were studying to become surgeons. My boyfriend and I congratulated them and asked how we can help.

They were explicitly told they have to train not to be nervous when working on patients and had to go out and find a beautiful girl with very large breasts. I giggled, and instinctively bounced my boobs for them, which made them look so horny and nervous, like they were going to nut their pants any second, it was adorable! They told me they were tasked by their surgical professor to find a few girls like me for them to work on, and ask them if they'd be OK with having their breasts removed. My boyfriend looked very amused. I put my hands on my hips and stuck out my breasts.

'Oh really?' I asked them. 'Your assignment is to find some girls with huge bouncy boobs and chop them off?' The boys gulped, nodding along. I again jiggled my breasts for the boys, making one partially fall out of my top. 'Well?' I asked. 'If you're chopping off my boobs they're yours now. So, you better get comfortable with them. Touch them, squeeze them. Go on.' The boys were stunned, one by one they started to grab my breasts as my boyfriend filmed, teasing me about being their guinea pig, and way too much of a people pleaser, but he liked that about me. One boy nutted himself when he squeezed my left tit and milk sprayed out.

'Sorry, I know it's a pain in the ass but my boobs are lactating really badly. I gave birth two months ago. That won't be an issue, I hope?' The boys shook their heads, knots in their throats as another winced and came in his pants. The boys were so inexperienced, probably nineteen or twenty. I reached out and took their greedy hands off my breasts as I knelt down. 'Come on, you guys can't chop off my big, lactating tits with these rock-hard cocks distracting you.' My boyfriend zoomed in on my face, happily filming away as I sucked the boys off, cleaning off the ones who came in their pants to the best of my ability. I went to college for four year so I was very familiar with having a bunch of cocks to serve in front of me. I honestly loved being filthy and showing off how good I am at deepthroating.

After making all the boys cum (in a crowded public park, mind you), I stood back up, wiping cum off my lips using the back of my hand. I smiled at them and asked how many girls they need for their little breast-removal project. They nervously told me five. I perked up, bouncing my boobs for them once again, to my boyfriend's amusement. 'Only five?' I said. 'I can hook you up with four more girls who are just as pretty, and some have even bigger boobs than I do. Oh, but three of them are very pregnant right now, will that be an issue?' They shook their heads, but I could tell saying that made them all rock-hard again. What stamina!

And so, I told them I'd love to do it, and I knew from my friends having been through similar surgeries we'd be awake and only numbed. I told them I'd be giving them lots of encouragement the whole time and I'd tell my gorgeous, busty friends to do them same. I smiled, letting them play with my boobs a bit longer, telling them if they needed to cum in the middle of operating I'd be happy to give them a handjob as they work, if it's OK with their professor and all the students watched. They said it shouldn't be an issue...... Sucks to lose my big, sexy tits but my boyfriend is kinda excited to see me get them chopped off, and my friends are totally thrilled to do this. So, I'm not bummed out or anything, what can I say? College made me such a people pleaser, boys can ask me anything and I'll do it."

#breast reduction kink #breast shrinking kink #body modification kink #medical kink #breast removal kink

[mahitomylove]

Mahito is desperate for your attention - Part 2

Mahito x Reader, fluff, no smut

Mahito offers to shower with you

Part 1

"How about we shower together? I could wash your back and stuff." Mahito shrugged.

"Are you serious?" you rolled your eyes. You could hear your own heartbeat, loud, against your chest. Part of you could only hope he'd say yes.

"Don't worry," he raised his hands to show you how serious he was, "I won't do anything stupid...!"

You paused for a minute, processing what he said. Did you hear that right? This would be your first time showering with someone else, you were so nervous.

"I heard humans become so flustered when someone offers to shower with them," Mahito thought to himself as he awaited your reply. Kenjaku had told him about it, and he was curious to try it on you ever since. Your reaction did not disappoint, it was just like he expected.

"Well?" he took a step forward, smiling. 'It's okay if you don't wanna."

"No, I d-don't mind."

"Yaayyy!!"

You went to the bathroom, preparing towels and letting your hair loose. Mahito simply stood, the door open, as he watched you. After you got the water to the perfect temperature, you stopped, turning to look at Mahito. It felt extremely awkward, you knew what you were supposed to do, but couldn't.

"Are you just going to stand there?" you asked Mahito, who's lips curled up into a smile after hearing that. He swiftly removed his shirt, tossing it away. The smile never left his face as he ripped off his pants. Your eyes involuntarily went to his crotch, only to find out he had nothing there. You brushed it off, assuming curses didn't need organs to reproduce.

"You didn't need to do that... I'm not giving you any clothes after that."

"Don't worry, I have plenty!" He rushed inside, pushing you aside as he stood in the shower. He joyfully screamed your name. "Why don't you get in?"

"O-okay..." You took off all your clothes, but chose not to remove your underwear.

"You gonna shower like that?"

You remained silent.

"I mean, sure, if it makes you comfortable!" He transfigured his right hand to a weird object looking like a chair. "Sit here!"

"Uhm, that's not necessary," you said, bringing an actual chair as you sat on it. "Do I really need to sit?"

"Yes, you should get comfortable," he answered. You blushed, averting your gaze in embarrassment. It was the first time someone treated you with such kindness. Maybe meeting this cursed spirit wasn't so bad after all.

"You don't need to be so thoughtful, Mahito... You're a really nice person."

"This feels so nice..!" Mahito said with a smile as he used your shampoo to wash his own hair.

You shot him an annoyed expression. "I take back what I said," you grunted. "You're an idiot."

He simply giggled in response, "want me to do the same to you?"

"No- I mean... never mind. No."

"Stand up," he ordered.

"Whatever," you said, rolling your eyes as you stood up.

He hugged your waist from behind; you could feel his breath against your neck. "You know..." he whispered, "you've been very cruel to me today. I only wanted to hang out with you, but you kept ignoring me."

"..."

"It made me very sad."

You didn't know if he was just lying or if he was being genuine, but he sounded hurt. His voice made it clear. He somehow made you feel bad too, even though you objectively did nothing wrong. "Sorry. I didn't mean to," you blurted out.

"It's okay. I'm glad you're choosing to spend time with me."

"Hey, Mahito"

"Yes?"

"You do realize we're wasting water right now, right?"

"Right!"

Mahito let go of you, gesturing you to sit on the chair. He gently rubbed your back with some soap, occasionally playing with your hair.

"Mahito, thank you for everything."

He burst into a fit of giggles. "What's with this sudden change in attitude?" he said, wiping a fake tear off his eye. This annoyed you, so you splashed some water at him. After realizing how silly he was, you decided to go along with him and laughed as well.

"You know, I think we should shower together more!"

"Agreed!"

#mahito x you #mahito #mahito x reader #jjk x reader #mahito jjk #jjk

[avengerscompound]

The Interview - Chapter 21

The Interview - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating:  E

Warnings: None

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Melody Danes

Word Count: 2586

Summary:  Melody Danes gets the break of a lifetime when as a lowly intern, she’s assigned to write a profile piece on Captain America.  Steve Rogers is a hard man not to fall for and as she and Melody get closer and Melody’s career takes off, jealousy leads to sabotage, and the potential to bring her whole world crashing down.

Chapter 21

Melody felt completely beaten down by the time she arrived at the Avengers Tower.  In less than an hour, she had gone from having a workplace she loved with colleagues she enjoyed working with, to a workplace that felt hostile and colleagues she couldn’t trust.  All because someone she worked with had decided that it was okay to stalk her.

Even though she had content that needed to be reviewed, she spent the afternoon moving her personal calendar offline and deleting things just in case she was being hacked.  She also ran antivirus on the system, but she was considering asking Tony Stark the large favor of coming in and checking it out too.

It was past leaving time when she was done, and the pictures of her and Steve were up on the internet.  There was no hope that people wouldn’t recognize her.  Even if the rumors that she had been dating Captain America weren’t already floating around, she wasn’t an unknown entity.  Sure she wasn’t famous, but she also wasn’t someone outside the media.  The people writing the articles knew who she was, which meant that along with the photo were her name and her job, which led people to her socials, which meant as she was packing up her desk to leave, her phone started to blow up.

It was a mistake checking Twitter.  She didn’t use it for anything other than promoting work, the place was a cesspit of toxic people sharing their toxic thoughts.  Today she was the target of them.  Steve was trending thanks to the photos and her notifications were full of people atting her, calling her a slut, a whore, and ugly, and that wasn’t even mentioning the people who took issue with her race.

When she arrived, Steve, Bucky, and Bobbi were all already there.  Steve greeted her at the door, kissing her cheek and ushering her inside.  Bucky and Bobbi were squeezed together on Steve’s recliner, so Melody sat on the couch.  Steve took a seat beside her.

“Rough day, I hear,” Bucky said.

“You can say that,” Melody sighed, letting her head fall back on the couch.

“What actually happened?” Bobbi asked. “I saw the photos of you both.  Did they finally find you?”

Melody groaned and rubbed her eyes with the balls of her hands.  Steve put his hand on her leg and squeezed it reassuringly.  “It seems that someone at the Daily Bugle found out where we would be before we got there, and sent an email to the media from Mel’s address alerting the press.”

Bobbi sat forward in the chair. “What?!” she said, sounding outraged on Melody’s behalf.  “Do you know who did it?”

Melody’s head lolled forward again, and she met Bobbi’s eyes. “I have no idea.  I really like everyone there, and I hadn’t put it in my work calendar or even in my phone. Steve called me this morning and I scribbled the time and just Comfort Diner on a post-it.  I didn’t say who I was meeting or anything.  All I can think is someone overheard.  You haven’t heard anyone say anything suspicious have you?”

Bobbi shook her head. “No.  I mean - they might not say anything to me anyway.  They know we’re close.  But as far as I’ve heard they all like you.  They sometimes say you’re a hardass, but only when the deadline is overdue and you’re starting to lose it.  I’ve never heard anyone bitching about you personally or saying anything about Steve.  Oh - apart from when you get an Avenger to come in and they speculate if the person agreed because of Steve and it was lucky you had the connections you do.”

Melody groaned again, tugging on her hair.  “I don’t get it.  Why would someone want to pretend it was me who did it?  Surely if you wanted to out me, you’d just go for a scoop.  You could just say you didn’t know and go out and take the photos alone.  This isn’t someone wanting to break the news that Captain America is dating, this is someone trying to ruin my life.”

“Are they being gross on Twitter?” Bobbi asked with a frown.

“So fucking gross,” she agreed.

Bobbi made a little grunt of acknowledgment.  Melody knew why.  Bobbi had deleted her Twitter years ago because of how toxic it could be.  She just had Facebook to keep in contact with old friends and her siblings and then Tumblr for the memes.  “I’m so scared about that with Bucky.  I can already picture people being fucking disgusting about it.”

Bucky sat forward and kissed Bobbi’s shoulder, his hand snaking around her waist.  “I don’t have any social media.  They can say what they want.  It’s screaming into a void.”

Bobbi leaned back and pecked Bucky’s lips.  “Thank you, baby,” she said.  She turned back to Melody, her brows knitted. “It couldn’t be that - shit - I don’t know her name. The blonde that thinks you stole her job?”

“Norah Winters?” Melody asked.

“That’s the one,” Bobbi said.  “I don’t know her, but you said she was a complete bitch to you a few times.”

“I know her,” Steve said.  “She interviewed me once and then twisted everything I said so it was completely misrepresented.  She somehow made me sound like a complete Nationalistic Fascist who doesn’t care about the public’s safety.”

Melody shook her head and leaned against Steve.  She needed his support so badly and he didn’t disappoint. His arm went around her automatically and he pulled her in a little closer.  “I don’t think it could be her.  She works in a different part of the building and she wasn’t around when I was on the phone with Steve.”

“Unless she hacked your phone,” Bucky said.

“Tony is going to come up and check that.  FRIDAY can you nudge him,” Steve said.

“I’ve sent him a reminder,” she said.  “He should be down soon.”

Melody hid her face in Steve’s neck, resting her cheek on his collarbone.  This was all so much to deal with.  It would be bad enough having to just deal with his psycho fans, but to deal with all this as well, she just wanted to run away.

“It’s not even just that.  I went to speak to Jameson.  He said he wanted me to write about my relationship with Steve in my column,” she groaned.

“He what?!” Bobbi said, almost leaping out of her chair.

“He said I didn’t need to name names, but now it was out if I just said vague things about him, people would know and more people would buy the paper,” Melody explained.  “I don’t want to do that.  I can’t exploit Steve like that.  But we moved because I had this new job and it paid well.  If I quit, we won’t be able to make rent, and then what?  We’re on a twelve-month lease!”

“Well, I might have…” Bobbi began but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Tony Stark came in without waiting to be asked.  “Someone ordered a genius?” he asked.

Steve stood and shook Tony’s hand.  “Thanks for coming up.  Do you think you can take a look at Melody’s phone?  We’re worried it might have been hacked.”

“Sure thing,” he said, holding out his hand.  “Hand it over.”

Melody pulled out her phone and passed it to Tony.  “Thank you, Tony.”

“Hey, it’s Stark Tech.  There’s no way it’s hacked.  Despite what he said, he pulled out a device from his pocket and connected it to her phone.  He sat on a stool nearby, opened a holographic screen, and began typing.

“What were you saying, Bobbi?” Melody asked.

“Um… about what?” she asked.

“You said about me quitting the job and not being able to afford the apartment,” Melody prompted.

“Oh,” Bobbi said.  “Well, Bucky and I have been talking about moving in together.  Specifically, him moving in with us.  If he was there we could help you cover your rent until you're back on your feet.  That is if you’re okay with him living with us.”

Melody almost jumped out of her chair.  She hadn’t suspected that Bucky and Bobbi were thinking about moving in with each other at all.  She wondered if Bobbi was maybe making something up so Melody didn’t feel bad.  It wouldn’t be the first time her cousin had lied to protect her.  But she couldn’t imagine Bobbi just springing moving in together on Bucky out of nowhere like this.  “Really?” she shrieked.  “You’re really going to move in together?”

Bobbi laughed.  “Yes.  If you’re okay with it.”

Melody lunged at Bobbi, wrapping her arms around her and hugging her as tightly as she could.  “Oh my god,” she said, nuzzling into Bobbi’s dark hair.  “I’m so happy for you both.”

“Okay, okay,” Bobbi laughed, rubbing her back.  “I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, giving Bobbi one last firm squeeze and pulling back.  She flopped back onto the couch leaning against Steve.  “I don’t think I’m going to use it as a reason to quit my job though.  At least not yet.  I need to stand up for myself.  I can’t just run away and shut down because people were mean to me.”

“That’s the ticket,” Steve said, patting her shoulder.  “You have to stand up.  If you lie down, they just end up walking over you.  And for the record, I love your column as it is.  I don’t mind the little pieces of information you give about us.  It’s never invasive and it’s always more about you.  If people can figure out that the guy who keeps leaving socks around your apartment is me, that’s okay.”

“Wait,” Bobbi said.  “That’s you!  I thought it was Bucky!”

“Hey!” Bucky said.  “I’m tidy!  He’s the punk that can’t pick up after himself.”

A bright flush crept up the back of Steve’s neck and he dropped his gaze.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I just don’t think about it.  I’ll try to be better.”  He shook his head and looked back up at Melody.  “Anyway, as  I was saying; I’m happy for you to write the way you do even knowing that everyone will know it’s me.  I don’t like the idea of you forcing it for hits, but that’s more about your artistic integrity than privacy.”

“Artistic integrity,” Tony snorted.  “Cap.  Come on.  She works for the Daily Bugle.”

“Thank you for that input, Tony,” Steve deadpanned.  “Ignore him.”

“Yeah, ignore the guy trying to keep your information secure from hackers,” Tony snarked.

“I wouldn’t want to force it,” Melody insisted.  It was part of the whole problem.  The suggestion that she use her personal life to sell papers made it feel like none of the other things she did all day long mattered.  She wasn’t a writer, she was a woman with an in with Captain America.  “I almost feel like backing off on it now.  The column’s either good on its own or it’s not and I don’t want an audience coming in just to learn about your private life, Steve.”

“Hey,” he said, putting his arm around her, and rubbing her side. “So don’t.  Just write what you want to write about.  If it’s good enough people will read it.  I have faith in you.  And if you do decide to write about something personal, I just ask that you think about how it affects me.  I trust you.  I don’t think you’d do anything that would hurt me.” 

She leaned into him and let out a soft sigh.  She was glad he trusted her.  She just hated being in a situation where it would even be questioned in the first place.

“Well,” Tony said, getting up and unplugging Melody’s phone from the device he’d been using. “It hasn’t been compromised.  If you message me from work tomorrow, I’ll access your computer and see if there’s anything there.  If that doesn’t work I’ll get you a device that sweeps for bugs.  I’m not sure how well that will work in a studio that’s full of recording equipment, but hopefully, we can figure it out.”

Melody stood taking the phone and hugging the man.  “Thank you, Tony.  I really appreciate it.”

He patted her back. “No problem.  It’s what I do best.”

Bucky and Bobbi both stood together.  “I gotta get to work, Mel,” she said. “You gonna be okay?”

Melody nodded. “Yeah. Thank you.  Congrats on moving in.”

“We’ll let you know when it’s going to happen for sure,” Bobbi said. “Thanks for saying yes.”

“Of course, I would,” Melody said. “It’s awesome!”  She turned and grinned at Bucky. “See you, new roomie.”

“See you, Mel,” he said.

When Tony, Bobbi, and Bucky had left Melody sat down in Steve’s lap and curled up.  She felt emotionally and physically exhausted and she just wanted to stay pressed as closely to Steve as she could get and fall asleep.

“Shall we order something for dinner?” Steve asked as he enclosed her in his arms.

She nodded and burrowed into his chest more. “I want soup.”

“I’m sure we can get you soup,” he chuckled.

He didn’t move to place the order, he just held her and rested his chin on the top of her head.  She was grateful for it.  She had always been tactile and she often drew her comfort from touch.  The fact she could just be quiet as he held her felt more reassuring than any of the talk.  He had her.  He wasn’t going to let her fall.

After a little while, he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Do you think we’re moving too slow?” he asked.  “Bucky and Bobbi are moving in together.  Sam’s taking Matthew to meet his family.  Should we be living together?  We have been dating longer than any of them.”

She pulled back and looked at him, cupping his strong jaw.  “We’re going just as exactly fast as works for us.  It’s not a race and the checkpoints aren’t in any particular order.  I’m taking you to meet my parents soon, and if you really want to move in together, we can talk about it.  But if what feels more right is the old-fashioned dating, engagement, marriage, moving in, then that’s the way we do it.”

Steve smiled and turned, kissing her palm.  “But you’re in the relationship too.  And you’re not the traditional type,” he said.

“Maybe not.  But I’m also not the type to push the person I’m dating into doing something they’re not comfortable with doing.  I hope you know that by now,” she said.

Steve leaned in resting his forehead against hers.  “I do know that.  And I love you for it,” he said and kissed her.

She continued to caress his cheek as her lips parted and his tongue teased into her mouth.  She melted completely into it, all worries about her job and their future dropping away - at least for now.  Steve pulled back slowly and rested his forehead on hers again. “I do plan to marry you one day.”

She smiled. “And when you ask, I’ll say yes.”

His lips brushed over hers once more before he sat back.  “Okay,” he said.  “Let’s order dinner.”

Melody pulled out her phone and opened up one of the apps.  She still dreaded work tomorrow, but for now, she was content knowing she had an amazing group of people who all had her back.

// NEXT

#marvel #avengers #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers fanfic #captain america fanfic #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers x ofc #ofc #original character fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #the interview #avengerscompound

[hella1975]

all hate to tiktok for taking 'having a space to more openly and actively talk about different cultures' to mean 'cultures are NOT to be shared and we must be vigilantly defensive of our cultures for fear of appropriation, a word that can be applied to any multicultural interaction'. like of course cultural appropriation is a very real problem but ive seen with the access to global multicultural conversation that tiktok provides it's made people TERRIFIED to even interact with cultures other than their own for fear of 'doing it wrong'. like at some point you have to acknowledge that in the real world of the great outdoors, the majority of people are eager to SHARE their cultures. yes there are ignorant questions and biases but also... how do you think those things get unlearnt? i dont understand how deciding that multiculturalism is an elephant in the room instead of a normal thing that should just be talked about and lived with is supposed to benefit anyone? and kids on tiktok are CONVINCED that it's a time bomb of a conversation to have and therefore must be avoided at all costs but like. people generally LOVE their home and their culture and are PROUD of it and want to share it. how have we made it so that showing genuine interest and a desire to understand something so integral to a person's identity is now feared and borderline demonised?

#thinking about this a lot lately. thinking about how fun it was comparing cultural differences in america #thinking of how when i was homesick one thing i found a great comfort in was talking about my home #and how it differed and i really loved and appreciated it when people would ask me about england #in a way that they genuinely just wanted to learn about it and not to take the piss #thinking about how the kitchen at work has chefs from all over europe. we have an irish chef and a spanish chef and an italian chef #and one of the kps is from eastern europe (i havent actually been able to find out where yet) etc and the way they banter with each other #like usually chefs are Problematic bc their humour is VERY abrasive and usually offensive #but this is one instance where it's actually to their benefit bc they're so unafraid to ADDRESS THE FACT THEY HAVE DIFFERENT CULTURES #i feel like the tiktok gen are so petrified of even acknowledging other cultures let alone discussing them #that it's actually sending the conversation backwards. like how does hoarding your culture and pretending it's not there benefit anyone #LET ALONE YOU AND THE CULTURE IN QUESTION. idk it just baffles me a bit that something that started as people on tiktok #genuinely spreading information and talking about the BAD side of this where people DO culturally appropriate or invade spaces that arent #theirs has now become 'for fear of speaking bad about it we will not speak about it at all'. and they'll crucify you if you do. like what #even at uni my best mate is indian and she's too scared to join the sikh society on her own so i regularly go to the events with her #and im typically one of the handful (or the only) white non-sikh there and i get SO welcomed each time #like there's such a genuine excitement to share the culture with someone who is effectively a blank slate #and like yeah ill ask 'dumb' questions or i'll have different experiences (tried a samosa for the first time at one of these events #and the moment that info got out i had like five STRANGERS trying to give me different samosas to try and it was genuinely such #a laugh bc yes they were TEASING me bc 'how have you never had one' but they were also really eager to share MORE as a result) #ugh idk what im saying. i just think it's a shame to watch this happen in real time on the internet #when if people would just go outside and actually TALK to people from other cultures they'd realise 9 times out of 10 the interactions #are actually really really nice for BOTH parties. and actually refusing to talk about this stuff is long-term pretty fucking detrimental #and it also goes the other way!!! like imagine if i - citizen of colonisation motherland herself - didn't interact with other cultures #and didnt ask questions or hear their opinions on whatever shared history we have from THEIR POINT OF VIEW #imagine the kind of shit id be internalising bc i only hung out with other white british people. it wouldnt matter if i was doing it #to be woke or 'respect their culture'. it would still be fucking ignorant. like half my interactions with other cultures #see me as the butt of the joke bc of this like aforementioned irish chef at work VOCALLY slates the english all the time #but it's done in an environment where we're FRIENDS and it's poking fun at each other while still addressing a very serious history. like?? #idk if any of this is worded in a way that makes sense but yeah. i have thoughts #cant believe i got inspired to make an actually serious post bc of the CHEFS AT WORK. embarrassing. no one let them see this