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deliciouskeys · 8 months ago

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Me: I already wrote Tentacles for last kinktober. It's old hat now that it's actually part of canon. Why bother.

Me after staring at @vanshoundd and @annetess' art about it for like hours: Okay maybe I'll write it after all. (Thank you for your art 🤤)

Cozy corner kinktober 2024 prompt #11: Tentacles

Free and Wild and Beyond Good and Evil

Butchlander 3.1k; TW: noncon, violence, teratophilia, uh... idk just not very wholesome at all. Please excuse me.

There was never any real plan, Butcher admits to himself as he drives down the empty dark highway. Something something, Frenchie said the virus might be strong enough to kill Homelander, something something, it would have to be airborne which would start a supe plague and make everyone piss and moan about Butcher committing biowarfare genocide, something something, it was going to be a last resort. A plan Z, only nebulously conceived. So what was Plan A, really? What was good for the ganders (Ezekiel, Victoria) was unlikely to be good for the goose, but Butcher just can’t help but crave the visceral feeling of ripping Homelander apart, if not with his own bare hands, then at least his tumor’s jacked up bare hands. Cancer— it was really living up to the name. Butcher feels like he’s been possessed by an alien creature, cancriform, heinously ugly, and unbelievably strong. It’s just too tempting not to try, even though trying and not succeeding isn’t really a good option at all with a near-omnipotent supe like Homelander.

Butcher just has so little to lose. He’s a husk of a human being, and he feels more like a shambling, crumbling meatsuit to carry the cancer to its destination, its rendezvous with fate.

“I’ll get you your revenge, don’t you worry,” Kessler assures him and Butcher wants to hurl just a little bit knowing his cancer can just talk to him, choose whatever guise makes him feel at ease, through a literal neural link to his brain, even though Kessler seems to have chosen headquarters in a metastasis somewhere near his solar plexus, shooting tentacles out into the outside world like the rays of a black sun. “I’ll get you your revenge and you’ll get to experience every moment of it. I won’t leave you hangin’.”

+++

Homelander should have known not to take such obvious bait. Homelander should have remembered that the last two times William Butcher took it into his head to fight him, he very nearly succeeded in overpowering him. Or at least depowering him, with the help of a certain relic from the 1980s. At least that wildcard is still stashed in the federal freezer in DC. But Homelander should have realized that William Butcher announcing that he was ready to keep their scorched earth promise meant he came to play. Maybe he was touched that William called Vought’s headquarters and asked to speak to him. Maybe he was flattered to hear his phrase be used like code between them, even though they never seemed to entirely agree on its meaning. Maybe he was genuinely craving to finish William off before his illness got to do those honors.

Something prompted him to zoom over to the abandoned warehouse in Jersey City, without consulting Sage, without trying to locate Ryan and make sure he was safe, without doing much of anything besides walking straight into the ambush. Can it really be called an ambush if it’s announced beforehand? Homelander counts it as an ambush, because he expected to see William at half speed, that much closer to death with that growth in his brain no doubt spreading further. Instead… instead, before he can even locate which corner of the warehouse William’s heartbeat is coming from, a dark sticky tendril rapidly twines itself around his face— around his eyes first and foremost. Homelander let out only one snarl before something similar winds itself around his neck and begins constricting all breathing. Whatever it is, it’s moving fast, violently fast, and Homelander is astonished to feel just how strong whatever is trapping him is. His fingers scrabble at what feels almost like a plant vine around his face and neck, but he cannot wedge his fingers in and pry it away or apart. It’s squeezing him tighter and tighter… from what godforaken obscure corner of hell did William pick up this supe with boa constrictor powers? That Homelander can’t recall from Vought’s files at all?

Homelander tries not to panic, tries to orient himself, but he just feels more of whatever has him in its grips touching his legs. Not only touching his legs. Wrapping around his ankles, lassoing and pulling them flush against each other so that Homelander loses his balance and ends up suspended in the air. He thinks he’s hovering in the air through his own power, but whatever is holding him has got an iron grip and he suspects that he’d still remain suspended in the air even if he dropped himself down, held by this… thing, sticky, reeking of something oddly familiar and off-putting. The long vines holding him start winding their way around his body in tight coils towards each other, the one at his ankles proceeding to spiral up around the rest of his legs and the one from his neck proceeding to wrap his shoulders, pin his arms straight to his sides as it travels to meet its twin. Homelander is terrified to realize that no matter how much force he exerts against the long rope-like sentient arms, he can’t free himself. He’s never been overpowered like this… but that’s not really true is it. Last time he got pinned down against his will, William was one of the three perpetrators and Homelander had no doubt he was the ringleader. So where is he now? Homelander can hear his heartbeat, can smell him, his cigarettes, his beard oil, the tea molecules circulating in his veins and out his pores, and yes the vile stench of disease, and it’s overwhelming and all around him.

When Homelander renews his struggle to free one hand, a vine snaps against his knuckles painfully. “Knock it off,” William’s gruff voice tells him. Only then does it finally dawn on Homelander that the mystery supe managing to wrap him up like a mummy is Butcher himself, and that the sickly odor is exactly that— the smell of something that should be inside the body, the smell of something greedy and selfish and hogging all metabolic resources. It’s what William smelled ever so faintly of last time he saw him in the hotel kitchen, and now it’s on full blast so Homelander didn’t even place it as the same smell at first. A faint smile passes Homelander’s lips, always feeling pleased to finally recognize something. But that’s about all he has to be pleased about. The situation is dire— he cannot move and now he feels the distinct sensation of William’s two… arms? Vines? Tentacles? Trying to rend him in half. In vain so far, but the tentacles are so forceful, so persistent, that Homelander becomes worried when he hears popping sounds around his compressed ribcage. It’s not his body losing integrity like poor Vicky’s did though— it’s his suit giving up the ghost and getting shredded, the tentacles accidentally peeling him out of his clothing, rolling pieces of it toward his neck and others toward his ankles. Homelander tries to open his eyes, look through. Just getting a glimpse of the scene could help him figure out his best chance for escape, but the tentacle wrapped around his head is squeezing it tightly, as if hoping it can pop his skull open like a nut. It can’t, but Homelander also can’t open his eyelids against the constant pressure. He feels a breeze across his skin, he feels tatters of his suit still hanging off random limbs, but he’s largely naked, and the tentacle regroup, wrap around him again, and this time Homelander can’t help but squirm. It’s just too much sensation against his bare skin. ‘Stop’ he tries to plead but the tentacle squeezing his neck shut doesn’t let him do more than wheeze hoarsely and unintelligibly.

“I ain’t enjoyin it, I’m trying to rip him in half, hard as I can. Ain’t my fault he’s a durable motherfucker.”

Homelander desperately listens in, trying to identify someone else’s heartbeat, breathing, anything, trying to figure out who William is talking to, but all he hears is the cacophony of blood rushing through each tentacle as they twist and tighten ever more around his body. He can’t make out anyone else’s presence in the warehouse.

He still struggles against the grip he’s in, still tries to wriggle the hundreds of tentacle coils loose, but he has a sinking feeling that he’s immobilized until Butcher decides to relent.

+++

They’ve been in this deadlock struggle for more than an hour. Butcher isn’t so much physically tired as mentally weary. Homelander’s nude, and Butcher has never seen him like that before, even though most of him is hidden under the tentacles trapping him in place. Butcher watches the supe’s body periodically still making a valiant effort to escape, muscles shifting, flesh bulging around each tentacle constricting him. His skin is shiny and Butcher’s not sure if it’s the supe’s sweat or whatever clear sticky mucus his cancer’s tentacles keep secreting.

“Look at you two perverts. You’ve found a new bonding exercise!”

“Just shut it,” Butcher says very quietly, through gritted teeth, hoping the supe in his clutches is too preoccupied to overhear him talk to himself like the madman he’s become.

+++

Homelander wonders if the long time without taking full breaths is taking a toll on his brain functions. He’s stopped struggling against his confines. The tentacles can’t hurt him like they did Vicky— that much is clear. And Homelander is for some unfathomable reason both panicked and blissed out. He’s panicking at the level of strength he’s faced with here… He can’t bear to say it, but Butcher’s tentacles seem stronger than him. That doesn’t seem possible. Maybe they’re also ebbing his strength so he can’t get away. That’s a terrifying thought about a terrifying power. But he also can’t help but sink down and relax his body. The tentacles wrapped so tightly around him, trying to rip him in half, are also holding him so confidently, like a warm angry embrace. He knows Butcher’s trying to kill him, but not having his eyesight and not having enough oxygen is making his mind reel with bizarre thoughts in the darkness. There’s a warmth in his chest, knowing William is staring at him, knowing William is trying to twist and wring him out like a human towel, to no avail, not knowing how long it’s been because time has lost all dimension, but knowing William has been obsessed enough to hold him suspended in the air for quite a while.

He gasps when he feels a free end of a tentacle caress his face. The sensation could never be mistaken for a human hand by texture— the thing creeps across his skin leaving moist trails, moves unctuously with no bones inside it— but he can feel the intention behind the movement and it’s William through and through. And with his eyes forced shut, he can imagine the real scene but also see it as William spooning up behind him, holding his entire body in a chokehold, and caressing his face. It doesn’t matter if it’s affection or lust or even hatelust. Homelander leans into the touch, not only because he thinks distracting William might open up an opportunity to escape, but because firm, strong touch like this is instantly addicting.

+++

“The fuck is he doing?” Kessler laughs, watching Homelander clearly trying to push into the touch. “I was just going to stuff his throat, see if I can’t get him to stop breathing completely.”

Butcher doesn’t reply. He thinks it’s funny that Kessler has the need to explain his intentions. They share a brain, after all. They both feel it, no matter how they deny it. Butcher won’t deny it. If he can’t rip him apart, he wants to fuck Homelander in every hole he has. Maybe try to stab a new one into being while he’s at it. Enough with the foreplay. He presses a tentacle against the supe’s lips, preparing for a fight to push in, but the fucker parts his lips and offers no resistance. The only fight he encounters as he plunges in deep down his throat is he has to loosen his own grip on the supe’s neck, to allow some space for the tentacle to travel through.

+++

Homelander may have welcomed the tentacle into his mouth, but he still bucks in discomfort, gag reflex attempting to launch the thing back out, tears squeezing out of the corners of his shut eyes at the pain, yes the pain of feeling the tentacle invade him deeper and deeper, the pain of the tentacle’s diameter getting thicker and thicker as it pushes itself in, until Homelander feels like his throat can barely accommodate it, burning pain in his lungs as his airways are completely blocked off. No oxygen at all now. He won’t die from this, but he might start to get delirious, if he isn’t already. He can’t even moan, his vocal cords have no space to vibrate, stretched taut around the thick tentacle still plumbing his esophagus and god knows what else. So he can’t emit a sound, can’t really budge in protest when another tentacle presses into him from behind. He can’t say his body lets the tentacle in, because his body feels like it’s doing everything in its power to push out whatever just forced its way in. But it’s futile, and it’s not even under his voluntary control. His voluntary control is to quiet down and surrender to the sensations. Yes, he’s being violently spitroasted. Maybe Butcher still hopes there’s some path to killing him here. Homelander’s mind can’t even be bothered worrying about that possibility. He feels like he’s drifting, consumed by an uncanny deja vu, as if he’s been here before. Suspended, weightless, immobilized, attached, blind, muffled. At first he thinks it’s something from his lab days, one of many memories he’s largely buried and never unearths. But even though he’s anything but, he feels safe. Not much of what went on down in B6 felt safe. Maybe he just feels safe in the knowledge there’s nothing he can do, but it feels like more than that. With his eyes still forced shut, a strange vision materializes in front of his eyes. He’s in the womb, unborn, curled up and cramped but oh so warm, warm walls touching him on every side, muffled voices far away above him, his mother talking to someone, swaying when she walks and the fluid around him moving slightly with each step. Is it even possible that he could retain a memory of something like this? He grasps on to it, whether it’s a real memory or just a fever dream, because it feels so cozy, so safe, so loving, and even when he’s brought back to reality, to his body screaming for air, screaming for being able to free itself to move, screaming to push the thick intrusions inside of him back out, the alarm bells in his body seem far away and dull and irrelevant. He’s incredibly calm, maybe in a drugged, oxygen-deprived way, but it feels like bliss. Like fucking enlightenment.

+++

“He’s getting off to this shit. Un-fucking-believable.”

Kessler might feel the need to comment and distance himself from what they’re doing, but Butcher stays silent, lest talking break the spell Homelander seems to be under, watching the supe’s limp, pliant body accept everything he gives it.

“You’re one sick puppy, you know that?” Kessler comments, clearly uneasy as Butcher reaches a tentacle out to wrap around Homelander’s cock and that’s the one thing that causes his body to jerk violently again, but only once, accepting this too.

+++

Feeling that part of him touched brings Homelander out of the memory. It feels good compared to everything else inflicted on him so far, but it also brings him back to concrete, painful reality in a way he doesn’t like. He gags when he feels the thick tentacle slide out of his throat, scraping across his teeth as it exits. Homelander closes his jaw a few times, feeling soreness in his joints and in his throat, mouth full of thick saliva mixed with whatever sticky residue the tentacles leave everywhere. He coughs, spits, cries, there’s snot leaking from his nose and he can’t even wipe it off. He tenses when the tentacle around his head unravels as well and he blinks, adjusting to the light before staring down at Butcher standing below, finally seeing where the tentacles are coming from. His lasers power up, not even a conscious decision but probably a response to all the pain stimuli and seeing the culprit, but just as quickly a tentacle still wrapped around his forehead swivels his face away, and the laser cuts across the warehouse wall, missing the target.

+++

“Hoho, that was close!” Kessler laughs but doesn’t criticize the strange decision to uncover his captive’s strongest weapon.

Butcher looks on impassively as he fucks in and out of his nemesis’ lily-white ass, which gives a satisfying jiggle on every thrust of the dark tentacle. His mouth free now, he’s able to give little plaintive sighs and moans at each motion, and Butcher kind of wishes he could see his facial expression, but it’s just too much risk to have his eyes pointed anywhere but away.

“Do it,” Kessler says leaning in next to him. “You know you want to try.”

Butcher shrugs and briefly unravels the tentacles holding his legs together. Homelander bucks, as if trying to make a break for it, as if his upper body isn’t still being held fast by a bunch of other tentacle and as if the tentacle fucking him isn’t making it absolutely impossible to slip out backwards. Two tentacles wrap themselves around his legs, spreading them wide, probably painfully wide, because Homelander’s lasers go off again, a pathetic attempt at defense through offense again, considering his head is being held in a vise making sure he can only see the wall.

“That’s it, do it for her,” Kessler says, nodding slightly toward Butcher’s opposite shoulder. Butcher isn’t going to turn. He knows who’s standing there and he doesn’t want to see her face. He knows damn well this isn’t justice for anything she suffered. Just two monsters going at it, pretending they don’t absolutely love it. Homelander’s done pretending. His body shudders against the tight grip Butcher has on him, and spills on the floor with a sad sounding moan, visibly sagging in his confines before making the most pathetic movement to try and get away from the intrusion still going on behind him.

“Fuck him raw. Fuck him to death. A man’s got to have a limit doesn’t he?” Kessler cheers him on.

Butcher’s not so sure.

AO3 link

#cozy corner kinktober 2024 #cozy corner kinktober #butchlander #tw noncon #tentacles #billy butcher #homelander #the boys #the boys tv #fic #mystuff

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bohemianblasphemy · 11 months ago

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Hey, could I please request a Billy x reader, where the reader emotions are all over the place for no reason, and she lashes out at the Boys and she also lashes out at Billy who she never does get angry at, and eventually she calms down and Billy is there to comfort her?? (I feel like my emotions are all over at the moment) Thank you!!

of course! i hope this is okay and i hope you’re okay ✨✨

The Boys have always been… chaotic, unpredictable- to put it lightly. Your presence was a beacon of calmness, more than often steadying conflicts and problems that arose between the groups mixed personalities.

However today was different, that calmness you exuded had vanished and a whirlwind of storm-like disturbance had started to brew inside you; your unknown frustration was surging and crashing inside of your head.

The group was arguing once more, this time with MM and Frenchie arguing about the latest supe that they were going after.

“this supe can make sound waves that could fucking kill us Frenchie, it’s gonna be fucking hard to face her if we don’t have the right tools to handle her.” Frenchie shook his head.”

“nah MM, we don’t need equipment we just gotta move in quietly, get her to trust one of us and then wham! we get intel from her.” MM rolled his eyes. “ how the fuck are we gonna get anything if she screams the fucking life outta us? what are we gonna do then?” MM argues further, the fight getting more and more ridiculous as time goes on.

“Can you both just shut the fuck up for a second?!” you snapped. your head was in your hands, rubbing your hands over your face in frustration. Frenchie and MM look at you shocked at your frustrated exclamation- this was the first time that they had witnessed you lash out at them, let alone anyone.

“We’re just trying to figure things out.” Frenchie shrugged, crossing his arms.“there’s no need to bite our heads off.” Mother's Milk added, his voice was gentle but firm, unsure of how to approach this different side of you. You took a deep breath, but it did nothing to quieten the feelings inside you. “I’m- I’m just tired of this. all you guys fucking do is FIGHT - it pisses me off!!”

“Oi! what’s got your knickers in a twist? this ain’t like you.” Butcher had spoken up, having watched the events unfold from his seat. you turned to him, the heat burning deep within you.

“no one can ever come up with a solution without having a fight about it. this shit is not a fucking joke! people are in danger and this-“ you gestured to MM and Frenchie. “is the way that you all deal with it!” your anger had boiled over, but the guilt you felt had come crashing into your minds shoreline and tears had welled up in your eyes.

you didn’t like that you took it out of the group, especially Billy- since you joined to group he was your rock; your shared experiences with the evil of Vought and the so-called heroes that had changed the trajectory of your lives brought you both together, he was someone you could depend on.Billy noticed the sudden change in your demeanour and stood out of his seat, walking over to you.

“what’s goin’ on with ya?” he’s concerned, but all you can feel is the overwhelming emotions that consumed you. “i-i don’t know Butcher! e-everything just feels so wrong right now and i can’t fucking take it!” you sobbed, your hands cover your face to stop the tears threatening to fall down your cheeks.

Butcher looks over at the others and gestures them to leave for a moment. “give us some space yeah?” he asks, they nod and moved out of the office space, leaving Butcher and yourself alone. you looked up at Butcher, your vulnerability was on display.

“i’m so sorry…” you apologised, sniffling and wiping your tears away. “ No, no…”he whispered before he pulled you into his arms for a comforting hug which you accepted, melting into his chest.

“shh… it’s alright…” he rubbed your back, holding you tight. “i didn’t mean to Butcher i just couldn’t hold it in anymore-“ “you don’t have ta apologise love, this stuff happens… believe me i know.” he reassured you, continuing to sooth you. you both stood in silence as you embraced.

you spoke up, breaking the silence that filled the room. “i’m just so overwhelmed, Billy. it just feels like the world is crumbling away right under me…” he nodded, understanding your emotions.

“i know that all too well.” there’s a beat of silence before he spoke up once more. “you’re not alone yeah? i’ve got ya, i’m by your side, always…”

you embraced him once more muttering a thank you; his comforting words wrapped around you like a safety blanket, allowing you to relax and come to a more peaceful state of mind- knowing that Billy was there by your side ready to weather the storms that plagued you; that you were not alone.

#billy butcher #the boys #amazon the boys #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher brainrot go brr #the boys tv #billy butcher imagine #answered asks #requests #karl urban

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attractive-nuisance-esq · 2 years ago

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Ed’s journey this season is going to perfectly mirror addiction and recovery, and I am so fucking here for it. Watching these first three episodes of S2 was like watching a highly dramatized AU of my own descent into rock bottom (except everyone was dressed wayyyyyy cooler than I ever was), so I have a lot of thoughts, reactions, and insights that I want to share with other fans. I’m sure many of us who have struggled with our mental health connected with Ed in these episodes, but I think addiction is the most appropriate lens through which to view him because addicts (more often than people who struggle with other mental illnesses) so wholly destroy their own lives and utterly devastate those of their loved ones. I want to share - from the perspective of someone who has steered her own ship straight into a storm and woke up alone to face some very hard choices - what is going on with Ed at the start of this season and what I think is coming.

Let me start by saying that Ed isn’t literally addicted to any one thing, despite his heavy use of drugs and alcohol, but his goal is the same as that of all addicts: escape. He does not want to sit with the pain of Stede leaving him on an immediate, surface level; on a deeper, more habitual level, he doesn’t want to sit with the pain of his own self-loathing. Of course the two are related: the former brings the latter to a head. Stede abandoning him dredges up and brightly illuminates all of his insecurities, and now Ed has to run. Get out. Escape. Don’t think about it. So he is fighting, stealing, drinking, snorting, shooting, killing - whatever it takes to not think about it.

“Demon? I’m the fuckin’ devil.” People in recovery often talk about addiction as if it were a separate, sentient monster living within them. Ed taking on the mantle of demon - a creature known specifically for possession, for removing the host’s free will - is intentional. So is his insistence that he’s not just any demon but the demon. The worst there is. (More on that when we get to The Innkeeper.)

Izzy’s confrontation of Ed in the captain’s cabin and then on deck is a form of intervention. Izzy is trying to help Ed, but of course this goes terribly for him and for Ed because interventions (I cannot stress this enough) are maybe the worst thing you could do to an addict. All addicts know things are bad, but they cannot be pushed to change one single second before they’re ready. Ed knows things are bad. He’s well-aware of how he’s spending his time, how his crew feels about him, how disappointed Izzy is. Being confronted with all of those truths by Izzy was always only going to make him do two things: 1) dig further into his unhealthy coping mechanisms, never mind that they don’t have nearly the effect that they used to; and 2) lash out at the person who forced him to think about it. Izzy lost his leg the moment he stepped into Ed’s cabin.

The impossible bird. You guys remember the song Chandelier by Sia? The one about her addiction to alcohol? The whole thing may as well come right out of Ed’s mouth at the end of that first episode, because that experience is exactly what he’s trying to convey to Frenchie. Nevermind that Frenchie has the temerity to tell him the bird can’t exist, that it has to come down sometime, that flying forever isn’t sustainable. The bird can come down on its own terms, or crash… but Frenchie’s definitely not going to say that much. Still, “that sounds like something that can’t exist” hits Ed, and leads us to the next episode.

Now we’ve got Ed forlorn, heartbroken, almost catatonic while playing with his cake toppers. We don’t actually see him crying in the opening of the episode, which is the point. He’s done crying now. The impossible bird can’t exist, and Ed has already resigned himself to this. He’s decided to die. The only sure-fire permanent way to not think about it.

When next we see Ed, he seems to be doing better, but this is a huge red flag for anyone who knows to look. He’s giving away his responsibility to Frenchie; he’s cleaning the cabin for the closure. He knows the end is coming fast, and the relief that knowledge brings him leaves him weirdly at peace. It is he eeriest part of these episodes, IMO.

Then he goes to find his first mate, the person who knows him better than anyone else in the world, the man he just fucking shot and ordered killed. Ed needs his low opinion of himself validated, and of course he thinks he’ll get it from Izzy after everything he’s done to him. He wants the one person who has stuck with him through everything to confirm that he’s now irretrievably broken and no longer worthy of his love. Ed wants someone to tell him that he’s right: he should die.

He doesn’t get that from Izzy. Interestingly, Izzy doesn’t tell him he should die. He says “Clean up your own mess.” Izzy has learned the lesson now that Ed isn’t ready to get better and that he can’t make him be ready. (This post isn’t about Izzy, but hoo boy - I have big feels about that man.)

Ed has been indulging in various forms of self-destruction in order to not feel his feelings, and steering the ship into the storm is his worst indulgence yet. This is the worst of his crimes - not beheading or arson or a red wedding. It’s when he tries to bring down everyone who has ever loved him into his misery, into believing what he believes. The audience generally (and Ed’s audience of Stede specifically) can forgive him for hurting strangers and for the non-specific mayhem whose victims we’ve never met; but it is much less certain that anyone will forgive him for hurting the only family he’s ever known.

The storm itself is the perfect metaphor for Ed’s attempt on his and, incidentally, everyone else’s lives. One of the most common metaphors used by friends and family members of addicts is that of a hurricane: that their addicted loved-ones tend to destroy everything they touch, anyone who was foolish or brave enough to stick around. And, like hurricanes, addicts aren’t malicious. Ed’s primary goal here is to get himself killed, not to kill everyone else. He wants the ship to go down so his death is certain. His firing a cannonball into the mast and asking Jim and Archie to fight to the death isn’t malice: it’s utter and complete nihilism. Nothing matters anymore. Nothing and no one. The end is near, and he’s so fucking drunk and high off these distractions that he couldn’t think about it if he tried. He’s manic with relief. (See also: “Finally.”)

And now for the finale: Purgatory. Buckle up, because this is where the addiction analogy gets real *chef’s kiss.* Purgatory is the equivalent of the morning after the worst, most rock bottom binge night of your life. You wake up with no one for company but the ghosts of your former selves. Now what?

Well, first - who is Hornigold to Ed? Why is he the guy Ed sees? It’s because Hornigold is another addict, if you will, but one who is (in this Purgatory hallucination) farther along in his recovery. He can impart some wisdom from that place, but he can also stand in as someone Ed can loathe because they’re not as different as Ed once thought, even if Hornigold can say he’s grown.

Hornigold tries to give him soup. He tells Ed, “Gotta get these nutrients into you,” and then literally shoves soup down his throat. That’s what it’s like in rock bottom. You don’t want to take care of yourself, but some lizard brain survival instinct takes over and makes you drink water, eat a piece of fruit, take yourself to the hospital. These things don’t really happen voluntarily that morning after, but you can still count on that instinct to kick in with some damage control.

Ed telling Hornigold how he “got here.” Hornigold says “Mutiny. It’s always mutiny.” Ed insists his mutiny was special, worse somehow. This whole scene is exactly what happens in your first recovery support group meeting. You go in thinking no one has ever been as fucked and fucked up as you are, which makes you feel isolated and alone. But then you get there and everyone else in the circle has done the same shit, been through the same shit. Ed’s not actually the devil; he’s just another demon, like many demons before him.

Ed worries he’s insane when he reflects on everything he’s done. Hornigold’s reply that “Feeling bad isn’t going to rebuild an abdominal wall” is a concept that people usually learn a little bit later in recovery, so I expect we’ll see more on this theme from Ed. Guilt is a useless emotion that only serves to conversely make the addict feel better but doesn’t help the harmed party: the addict feels like their suffering is cleansing, but it’s not - feeling guilt is just more self-indulgence, more self-destruction. Hornigold - a fellow addict in this moment - is trying to get this lesson to him early. It’ll return.

“You’ve got to move on or blow your brains out.” We’re getting back to Purgatory as the metaphor for the morning-after rock bottom, because this is the exact calculation that every person in recovery has done. They all had to answer that one big question. Your whole life is a mess, and you made the mess. Do you want to clean it up? Or quit? (Or make some soup? Yeah. That big question can’t be answered without basic needs having been met. So let’s eat. Let’s start there. It’s easier.)

Now we have Ed’s fantasy about opening an inn: This is also a common part of the morning-after rock bottom. You start thinking about the wrong turns you took, the mistakes you made, the way your life was supposed to go and all the reasons you’re not where you wanted to be. (And all the people you can blame for the fact that your life didn’t go as planned.) And when that honest part of yourself starts telling you that actually it’s all your fault… well, a) you don’t wanna hear it, and b) you can’t silence (kill) that monster, no matter how hard you try. You’ve got to face it. Face all those truths you’ve been running from for years. Now you have to think about it.

So now the big question, the inevitable math. Hornigold suggests looking at the pros and the cons. That’s the easiest way to break the calculation into manageable variables. This is probably my favorite moment of the episode, because when you’re sitting there, morning after the worst night of your life, everything is fucked - these are the exact variables that go into your equation. Do I really want to live? You ask yourself that, and because your life is in fucking shambles, you come up with the stupidest goddamn reasons to keep going. You wanna see the next seasons of Good Omens and Loki. You wanna eat your mom’s spaghetti again. Sometimes it’s nice when someone hugs you. It’s never the big things that save your life; it’s a bunch of the littlest things. The smallest comforts. The big things… they’re too unattainable. They’re too much to hope for, and they’re more than you could possibly deserve. What are the pros of living for Ed? Warmth, good food, orgasms. This is a stunningly accurate representation of the things that will keep you alive once you’ve hit rock bottom.

And then the cons: “I don’t think anyone is waiting for me.” This is why addiction is the better metaphor. There is no human experience more isolating than addiction. You are alone in more ways than you’ve ever been before. You have pushed away or pissed off everyone who ever cared about you. And even the ones who will maybe still be there for you - they can’t help you clean up the mess you’ve made. You have to do the work alone, even if they’re still willing to stand next to you. And this con… it’s the scariest one. Your list of little pros looks so pathetic next to the horror of being utterly fucking alone. Who is going to brave that for some stupid shit like Tom Hiddleston sexily flipping his hair back in that Loki way he does? Why should Ed carry on just because blankets are cozy and marmalade is pleasant?

This is where we get to the moment on the mountain, and what Stede represents. Hornigold tells Ed “You’re unlovable, and you’re afraid to do anything about it.” Ed could do two things about being unlovable: He could try to fix it, or he could end it all. Hornigold represents the worst part of Ed: his weaknesses and cowardice. And if Hornigold is in the driver’s seat, he’s going to end it all. He throws the rock off the cliff, and Ed gets dragged down into the water to drown. (Let’s also talk later about how often addiction is compared to drowning, and how nothing else in the show actually threatened Ed’s life - not Izzy with a gun, not all the rhino horn, not Jim’s cannonball - like drowning in his own mind.)

But then there’s Stede. Stede is how the pros win over that one big, horrifying con. Stede is hope. Stede is just a glimmer of hope. Hope is the most important thing you need in the morning-after rock bottom. As much as I enjoy the idea that it was love that saved Ed, I don’t think that’s a wholly faithful interpretation. Because Stede’s love for Ed doesn’t solve anything, doesn’t fix anything - it certainly doesn’t fix Ed. It cannot fix Ed. Hornigold just told Ed that he’s the one who has to “do something about it,” because Ed is the only one who can save himself. But even if Stede’s love for him in itself isn’t what saves Ed, Ed’s trust in Stede combined with that love gives him hope. Stede loves Ed, truly loves him, came back to him even though he knows Ed’s nature, knows his list of crimes, knows what he’s done to Stede’s friends and family. And maybe Ed can find in himself what he trusts Stede truly sees. It’s a “maybe,” not a certainty. But it’s hope. Someone loves him. Maybe he can love himself, too.

This Woman’s Work: I read this song as referring more appropriately to Ed’s relationship with himself, in no small part because Ed literally made himself the woman in the cake topper couple. All the things that should have been done, should have been said - they’re things Ed needs to do and say to himself. He’s got a little life and a lot of strength left. The journey has just begun.

I want to pop back quickly to a few other moments in The Innkeeper that resonated, starting with Stede and Izzy’s discussion about what happened to Ed: “He went mad. He was a wild dog.” Izzy describes Ed’s breakdown as if he was no longer the same person he once was; this is exactly what addiction does to a person. Ed hasn’t been himself; he’s been held hostage by his need for escape, and he’s become something else. Possessed, if you will.

Izzy: “You and me did this to him, and we can’t let the crew suffer any more for our mistakes.” I’m not writing an essay on Izzy (yet), but this is a very interesting perspective that says a lot about Izzy. Stede and Izzy both owe apologies to Ed, but they are not responsible for his actions. I predict we’re going to see this theme explored in later episodes as a part of Ed’s healing process and recovery. And also hopefully in Izzy’s growth.

Frenchie’s line that “We’ve been living second-to-second for a while now” is a callback to the impossible bird idea. Which, again, is just Chandelier x Sia. “I’m holding on for dear life, won’t look down, won’t open my eyes, keep my glass full until morning light ‘cause I’m just holding on for tonight.”

So what’s next? For me, it was learning to sit alone in a quiet room with my thoughts. It was apologizing to the ones I hurt, because even if I didn’t mean to hurt them - even if I was suffering also and worse - they still got hurt, and in the end it didn’t matter why. It was developing the habit of liking myself, and acting on whatever self-love and affection I could conjure up. And yes… it was new seasons of Good Omens and Loki, my mom’s spaghetti, and hugs.

So I think Ed has a lot of accountability, reflection, and breaking of old habits in his future… but also warmth, good food, and orgasms. And good for him. That’s the beauty of recovery: we get to come back.

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lgbtqasacrew · 2 years ago

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izzy/reader where izzy serenades reader? :3

Summary: You’ve been pining over Izzy Hands since he joined The Revenge, you never thought you’d be so lucky to have them reciprocated. You also could never have guessed how the man would declare those feelings.

Relationships: Izzy x gn!reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: None that I can think of

You thought you knew everything there was to know about Israel Hands. Had been filing away every scrap of information you could garner since he’d first stepped onto The Revenge. The way he likes black tea, but prefers a milky chamomile when he’s struggling to get to sleep. How his demeanor can come across as harsh but how deep down he deeply cares for the crew of The Revenge, and how sweet he can actually be once he actually lets you in. But you’d soon learn there was at least one thing you did not know about him.

All these pieces of information that you had collected, and more are what led to you falling in love with Izzy. Alongside each conversation the two of you had ever shared that are tucked safely next to your heart.

It had taken a few months to get to where you considered Izzy a friend, and you hoped he felt the same, although it’s hard to tell with him. You know you’re not so lucky for your feelings of love to be reciprocated, but you’d take what you could get. You were totally unaware of what the man was planning.

Izzy had known there was something different about you since he’d joined this ship, okay you were still soft like the others. and in no way a great pirate, but you were actually willing. You’d never tease him like the others did, even going as far to elbow your friends if you thought they were taking it too far. He found he didn’t even mind when you were bad at something, that he actually wanted to help you learn.

Every lesson teaching you how to tie knots or wield a sword had awoken something in him, if he dared to give that thing a name he would call it love. You’d seek him out when he’s on night watch, making sure he’d had something to eat, listen intently as he told you about the stars. No one had truly listened to him before, like you actually cared.

Once he’d even found himself telling you about a nightmare he’d had, immediately regretting it, pirates can’t show weakness. But you hadn’t mocked him, simply rubbed soothing circles into his back and politely ignored the tears that ran down his cheek.

Every time he was near you he felt this fuzzy feeling in his chest, if he didn’t share his feelings soon he’s pretty sure he’d explode. But what if you didn’t like him in the same way, how could you, you’re so pure and he’s just a pirate past his prime. He couldn’t ignore the way you looked at him though, maybe you did have feelings for him after all.

It’s these feelings that led to the most vulnerable decision of his life. He was going to serenade you, why he’d decided this was a good idea he’s not entirely sure. Ideally he would’ve liked to keep it a total secret from the rest of the crew, but he can’t play an instrument and you deserved the whole experience.

“Whatever it is I didn’t do it” Frenchie exclaimed as Izzy dragged him into to an unoccupied room.

“What? You’re not in trouble. You play the lute don’t you?”

“Uhh, yes?”

“Meet me in my room tomorrow night once everyone’s going to sleep. Got it?” Frenchie just nodded, completely confused by what was happening but too scared to question it. “Great, you’re dismissed” shoving him back out of the room.

Something was different with Izzy, anytime you’d approach him for a conversation he’d seem distant, shaking you off if you asked if he was okay. You’re pretty sure you’d even once caught him humming to himself but that seemed way too out of character. You didn’t know what do, losing that friendship with Izzy would destroy you, but how could you fix it when you didn’t know what was wrong.

You were ruminating in an empty room, when there was a knock at the door. This was soon followed by Frenchie popping his head around the door. “There you are, been looking for you” You thought he just meant he’d noticed you weren’t sleeping up on deck. “Meet me at the front of the ship in 5, by the unicorn” Now you were very confused but before you could question him he’d vanished.

You do as he asks, intrigued by what this could be. You were not prepared for what you found as you crawled through the secret passageway. Izzy is standing there looking rather nervous as his eyes flick to yours before back to the floor. Frenchie is there also, standing in the corner holding a lute. The only light from a few oil lamps dotted around and the gentle glow of the moon.

“What is going-“

But before you can finish, Izzy is gesturing to Frenchie who immediately starts playing.

“Hold me close and hold me fast”

You can’t quite believe the sight in front of you, Izzy is singing? But not just that but he’s singing beautifully, you had no idea.

“The magic spell you cast”

He finds the courage to meet your eyes once more, this time keeping the eye contact, it felt incredibly intimate.

“This is la vie en rose”

Are you really being serenaded by infamous first mate Israel Hands or is this some sort of fever dream, you desperately hope it is the former.

“When you kiss me heaven sighs”

He takes your hand in his, pressing a chaste kiss to the knuckles, you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

“and though I close my eyes”

He releases your hand but doesn’t move far, eyes still on yours. You were feeling overwhelmed with love, were your feelings really reciprocated? Could you be that lucky?

“I see la vie en rose”

By the time the song is over. his love for you is clear, in both the words and the way he looks at you throughout, with such an adoration it’s almost painful.

You’re not sure how to respond, still stunned by the display in front of you. But you know you have to say something, Izzy has given so much, he deserves the same in return.

As words still evade you, instead you grab the man by his waistcoat and pull him in for a kiss. At first he doesn’t move, most likely stunned by your action but then his hands are on your waist and he’s kissing you back with fervor. Your arms move to loop around his neck as you deepen the kiss, parting your lips as he licks along the seam. There’s a longing in the way he licks into your mouth, and you can’t help the small whine that escapes your throat.

You’re interrupted by someone clearing their throat, you both jump back. “Fuck!” Izzy exclaims which causes you to giggle.

“I was wondering if I could go now?” Frenchie asks, looking visibly uncomfortable which you definitely don’t blame him for.

“Yes, you’re excused. Now fuck off”

“Thank you, Frenchie” you add, offering him a smile.

Once he’s gone you immediately turn back to Izzy, hoping the moment isn’t ruined. It seems he won’t let it be as soon his lips are back on yours. Lightly pushing you against the wall as he continues to explore your mouth with his tongue.

Once he’d pulled away, you took his hands in yours, rubbing your thumb lightly against his knuckles. “I love you, Izzy” feeling a weight lifting from your chest and finally being able to say those words out loud.

He looks at you in disbelief, as if he didn’t actually expect you to reciprocate his feelings. “I love you too Y/N” Pulling you in for another kiss, this one a lot more chaste but amazing nonetheless.

You thought you knew everything there was to know about Israel Hands, but it turned out there was a lot you still didn’t know. Luckily the two of you have all the time in the world.

A/N: I hope this was okay, i’m still new to writing reader fics so I hope this was somewhat what you hoped for. I kept the timeline vague but it’s obviously before Calypso’s party.

Please feel free to send in your requests, click here for more info

#izzy hands x reader #izzy x reader #ofmd x reader #x reader #ofmd fanfic

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ragingstillness · 1 year ago

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The Boys thoughts 4x5:

Homelander’s conversation with Ryan: felt realistic to his character but also yikes (as always). Acknowledgement of his manipulation of Ryan +1 Acknowledgement of his own trauma +1 Equivalence of his experience as a deeply privileged white man to slavery -100

Ryan getting the PA to slap the Snyder parody: one of those delightful moments that The Boys does so well where I feel both positive and negative emotions about it. Do I think the Snyder dude deserved to be slapped by his PA? Absolutely. Do I think it’s a good thing that Ryan thinks the ultimate penance is receiving corporal punishment? No I don’t. I do like that Ryan actually let the victim do the punishment and receive the apology rather than white knighting about it. And of course I am deeply aware of how ironic it is that Homelander is helping Ryan stand up for sexual harassment victims when Homelander raped Ryan’s mom in a similar power imbalance situation.

Genuinely feel sad for Ashley that she lost her Ben Shapiro parody submissive (at least partially because I found it hilarious), but she got him back and that felt very earned.

I knew that Ashley and A-Train did more to Homelander’s apartment! Haha I can’t wait to find out what it is.

Man no one is having a great time or talking about it this episode.

Always happy to see more Esposito, love him as the ultimate traitor. Just betraying everyone left and right.

Not super fond of how they’re making it seem like Annie was wrong morally for beating up Firecracker. For falling for it? Sure. For reacting with anger? No.

Big fan of the V-ed up animals. Hysterical and very fun.

“Do you even know who Annie is anymore?” Um has more time passed that they’re showing? Because didn’t Annie decide to use the Starlight name again like two episodes ago?

I like that we got to see Hughie solve a bad situation on his own this time. He’s really coming into his own. Also, I like that we got another chance to say goodbye to his dad. Still sus that Hughie’s mom knows what V is.

Finally we got to see some of Simon Pegg’s comedic chops too. Him spinning around inside that guy had me laughing like nothing else.

Butcher taking that scientist captive? Honestly that doesn’t feel so much like a return to the dark side as just something his character would always be willing to do. Lest we forget he kidnapped Translucent, tortured him, pumped him for information, and would have killed him if Hughie didn’t get there first. I do feel like he’s relying less on other people which is a backslide from his character development but true to where his character was in the first season too.

Not a lot of sister sage the episode, glad to see she saw through firecracker’s fake inclusion attitude. I do feel like she’s growing closer and closer to dropping Homelander as an ally, something I suspected she would do from the minute they teamed up.

No Colin but I’m sure that’s gonna bite them in the ass.

What are the rules of Victoria’s headpopping? We saw her do it a little but there were many more opportunities. Does she need to charge up? Line of sight? Eye contact?

I agree that Victoria turned her daughter into a monster but only because she taught her not to value human lives and also because she turned her into some version of Parasyte: The Maxim.

Not a fan of Frenchie turning himself in. That’s not going to do anything, now they’re gonna have to break him out, and this show’s morality was never black and white enough that it could look at his actions and be like “you finally did the right thing”

Man when they all meet up with Hughie again he’s gonna have some stories to tell.

Side note: I am utterly amazed that now the secret of Compound V is out that no other country is sending like every spy in their arsenal to steal some. Considering how easily Hughie and the Boys can get it, it isn’t very difficult. Take one look at the nuclear arms race and tell me that every country in the world wouldn’t be quietly declaring all out war on Vought to get their hands on some.

#the boys spoilers #the boys season 4 #the boys tv #the boys #the boys amazon #the boys meta

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shit-talk-turner · 5 months ago

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why does it make you think that? it more reasonably implies that she’s planning to stay in and read/// Sorry if this is boring to some of you but i wanna start a debate around this topic. I’m currently in college half way to get my degree and it took me around 5 months to finish Jane Eyre and read 4 books total last year, not to make my particular reading routine an universal experience but if she really were busy (lets say she has an administrative job in the fashion industry like some here have sugested) how on earth can she read that amount of books in such short time period?? Like i remember when she travelled back in august(? to la she sowed almost the same amount of books that she had packed in and stayed for a few weeks? Idk maybe she is an eager reader but her whole vibe is well educated-intellectual frenchie and can’t even write a coherently defensive argument without sounding like a 12 yo who just joined wattpad.

she’s not that smart

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phoenixtakaramono · 2 years ago

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The Boys - 2 or 9

From the 🔥Choose Violence Ask Game🔥

Hullo, hullo, Anon! Apologies for taking so long. I don’t mind answering both. (*´∇｀*)

9) Worst part of The Boys canon

CW warning in this paragraph, but I despise The Deep for SA-ing Starlight (Annie January) and I despise *Homelander (John Gillman) for SA-ing William “Billy” Butcher’s wife, Rebecca Saunders. I have to put an asterisk next to HL though because it depends if Kripke decides to make TV canon follow comic canon where it turns out the “Homelander” who had SA-ed Butcher’s wife was actually Black Noir aka Homelander’s clone. I mean, I get why they went with the women getting s*xually assaulted (shock value, and to show that even superheroes in high positions can abuse their power) and they were able to make me discomforted which means they were successful at getting me to feel sympathetic for the victims and dislike Deep and HL (I’m neutral to Deep tbh but because of S1E1 I can never stan Deep on principle…but I get why there are people who thirst after his character; he’s the comic relief side character who’s amusingly pathetic and the actor who plays him is conventionally attractive).

Ironically though Homelander is a fun character to write as a milk-obsessed psychotic narcissistic sl*tty manchild who needs to be spanked (*coughs delicately* bullied *coughs*). So knowing comic canon, coupled with a writer and reader bias, has softened my stance on HL. He’s not quite my homicidal babygirl that I will defend to the grave, but I do have a soft spot for fictional crazy yanderes.

Another part of canon I’d say I don’t like is…we all know the pain that is awaiting us at the finale. It ain’t a happy story. It’s a Shakespearean tragedy—with the anti-capitalist commentary on the establishment/ system in place being the true enemy. It’s gonna be the whole Plato’s Cave Allegory.

And only Hughie (and Annie?) is going to be the survivors in the end. Yaadaa yaadaa about how power corrupts. How Hughie was the only one who broke from the cycle of revenge (notice how his fiery motivation to avenge Robin seems to be dwindling with each episode?), and how he’s going to use this as a learning experience to not follow in Butcher’s footsteps.

Watch. It’s my show prediction. But you can’t tell me it isn’t very likely the show won’t go in this direction. I’m anticipating a bittersweet show finale (personally I’d make Ryan perish towards the end so it can serve as the straw that broke the camel’s back and make Homelander go off the deep end):

But it’s very possible Kripke chickens out from the absolutely devastating annihilation of all The Boys main cast (save H+A) and preserves Ryan’s life in the end as an emotional send-off for Hughie and Annie to raise (because it also presents an opportunity for the writers to tug at our emotional heartstrings by making a S2 callback to Billy’s promise to Becca to protect her son; he protects Becca’s son from Homelander and from himself, leaving Ryan in the hands of the people who Billy can trust to take care of him in his stead and to give the boy the life that he deserves which Billy cannot provide for him). It all very much depends on the writer’s intent—and which option that the showrunners will think can make the largest impact.

2) A compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom

Ah, see, this is a wee complicated because if I’m being honest, my fave is, unsurprisingly, Kimiko. (*coughs* Asian solidarity *coughs* if you do Asian representation right and I like the character, I will automatically like the Japanese or Chinese character in your show.) And between her and Frenchie…let’s just say Kimiko is the one who pegs in the bedroom.

(You cannot tell me, looking at this photo of her, that you cannot see her Top energy. She might be a total sweetheart, cute and petite and lovable, but she can benchpress Frenchie to kingdom come and back—and he’d love it.)

But I know that’s not what you come here for. You’re here for:

Homelander (my favorite psychopath to write about—and why I think he’s a pretty Bottom Pillow Princess):

…Do I even need a compelling argument? Mind you, I can see him topping (it’s instinctual)—but this be a man who we saw bossed around by Madelyn and Stormfront during their “bedroom activities.” Indulge him, stroke his ego, coddle him, treat him like a precious precious handsome boy, give him the unconditional love and human connection that he so desires—and he’s putty in your hands. Face it; he’s got the Bottom energy. Tired of the constant missionary s*x and want to spice things up in the bedroom? Curious about, I’dunno, BDSM? Homelander might hesitate at first, worrying about his super strength and the possibility of breaking you, but he’ll pretty soon be all for it once you get him hot and bothered. Want to be adventurous and suggest he take a d*ildo or strap-on or finger up to the prostate while you suck him off? *claps hands* It’s electric boogaloo time. This is the type of guy who probably destresses from his daily hero work and the pressure of being the face of Vought (and all the expectations that come with) by wanting to be pampered, petted, kissed, etc on his down time—and he’ll go down on his knees to eat you out or suck you off. It’s safer, you see, with your hands tangled in his hair, guiding his every move and being vocal with your wants and taking the control out of his hands—and he takes pleasure retreating into his little headspace with the knowledge that he’s making you feel good. He feels good. And you’ll reward him later for that, even if it’s a crazy idea like f*cking in the sky floating above the Empire State Building when it’s lights out or getting him off hidden out of view while he’s having a Zoom call with Ashley and Vought’s board of directors.

He’s the type of guy I can see, after a mindblowing org*sm, enjoying the aftercare that comes after.

Butcher (my favorite kind of Male Lead to write—and why I think he’s an absolute Top):

…You’re telling me, this 6'1" muscular guy who has SAS and Royal Marines and CIA field operative experience and duked it out with Homelander whilst on Temp-V, does not top? Excuse me, have you seen this GIF? Have you seen this episode? (Have you ever heard of a honeypot or honey trap operation? I bring it into my fics; it’s a genuine seduction tactic that a CIA officer may employ.)

Nuff said.

Plus, he’s the defacto leader of his ragtag motley crew of crooks, terrorists, Supes, and Hughie. He bosses them around—and they listen. You cannot tell me that bossiness doesn’t translate into the bedroom. For him to bottom, he’d lift his brows at you, smirk a little over the rim of the glass in his hand, and say he’ll think about it—provided you give him a little striptease show, darling. And maybe, just maybe, he might just give it a shot. And you’re flustered, face red and heart pounding, because he’s f*cked you within an inch of your life and your panties are hanging off your ankle, clothes disheveled, with his calloused fingers pressing deliciously against your thighs.

I can see him bottoming as a Special Occasion (anything for his babygirl who’s been good), but he’s Daddy. He’s Service Top vibes.

#billy butcher #homelander #the boys tv #the boys amazon #the boys #anon #ask #choose violence ask game #phoenix talks #ty for the ask anon!

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izzy-b-hands · 1 year ago

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Life After

Cjizzy smut with ftm Izzy is below the cut! Post S2 fix it; everyone is alive and horny and dealing with an increased sense of their own mortality! In particular, these two lol. Implied polycule and open relationships for Izzy with the rest of the crew as well. Gonna eventually get this on ao3, but for now, on here at least lol.

TW for mention of Izzy's near death experience re: the gunshot wound.

“I just don’t want to think for a little bit,” Izzy murmurs as he settles into Jack’s lap and onto his cock.

“We can do that,” Jack’s hands are warm on his bare back, running slowly, gently, up and down it. “You sit here with me, and we’ll take care of you.”

They’re on a spare cot in the rec room of the ship, where Frenchie ordered quarters be made up for Jack after they found him floating adrift on the waves.

Roach has addressed the wound in Jack’s torso, mostly healed, but a bit of additional babying and care won’t do it any harm from the looks of it.

He tries to be mindful of it as he rests against Jack, letting his head drop to Jack’s shoulder.

“You’re okay,” Jack says softly, soothingly, rocking slightly with the sway of the ship. “I got you. We’re just gonna have some fun, fuck, and not think about anything we don’t wanna.”

He nods into Jack, lifting his head enough to press kisses to his shoulder, his neck, collarbone. The sun wasn’t quite down when they found him, but it’s been cold enough that his skin is still icy to the touch.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye to Ed,” Izzy starts, but Jack shushes him.

“Don’t worry about any of that right now,” Jack says. “I’m sure I’ll run into him again someday, one way or another. Can I roll us over?”

“I’m good with that.”

Despite his more-than-occasional frustrations with Jack, he’s never worried about his safety in Jack’s arms. Now is no different, as Jack holds him close and rolls them over, a hand behind his head helping to guide it onto the cot’s pillow.

“I missed you,” Jack’s head drops down to kiss at his neck, breath warm on his skin. “Been too long since we did anything like this.”

“Maybe I should have been following you around for years,” Izzy mutters. “We could have had more opportunities.”

“Don’t start,” Jack sing-songs softly. “I know your brain. I know how it goes, once you let it get going. It’s been trying to eat you alive with everything that’s happened, hasn’t it?”

He doesn’t need to tell Jack, he knows Jack already knows that’s the truth. He barely made it through the group retelling of everything that’s happened over the last few months without breaking into tears, and it was obvious to everyone the state he was in.

“Let it shut off for tonight,” Jack continues, pausing to kiss him more, each kiss increasingly frantic, like he can’t get enough. “You convinced them to bring me onboard and take care of me. Let me take care of you.”

That does it, and he can’t stop the tears.

“I got you,” Jack thrusts slowly, mindfully. “If you need me to adjust, or stop-”

“I’ll let you know,” Izzy can hear himself sniffling, and wishes he could make himself stop. “I’m good. You’ve never felt anything other than fucking perfect inside me anyway.”

“Now you’re just bein’ nice,'' Jack chuckles, moving to kiss at the side of his eyes, catching the tears as they fall. “But I’ll take the compliment.”

He lets himself melt into the next few kisses, feeling Jack finally start to warm up as they move together.

“Speaking of compliments,” Jack blushes as he thrusts harder. “How would you feel about going for a second round?”

“That close?”

“Oh god, don’t mention it,” Jack laughs softly. “I’m trying to not think about it, so I don’t. You know. But I wanted to warn you-”

“Come in me,” he whispers it into Jack’s ear, nipping gently at his earlobe.

There are a lot of sounds he would admit he finds satisfying, but hearing Jack moan and whimper while his cock pulses inside of him is one of the few that’s in the top five.

“Sorry,” Jack mutters. “Fuck.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Izzy rubs gently at the back of Jack’s neck, running his fingers through his hair. “I like it. And thank you for the compliment with that.”

“You’re welcome,” Jack laughs. “Can I stay inside you?”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

They readjust again, flipping so Jack can lay on his back.

“Your leg okay?” Jack tentatively touches the spot where Izzy’s knee used to be.

His prosthetic is set carefully against the nearest wall, along with the pile of their clothes. “I’m okay. I’ll let you know when I need to move. Honestly, if anything, now I don’t have to worry about that knee giving out on me if I ride you. No guarantee on the other one though.”

Jack giggles, hands roaming over Izzy’s thighs. “We got matching torso wounds too now. Ain’t that special?”

“Ed and Stede have left their marks on us both,” Izzy mutters. He can’t pretend he wasn’t thinking a bit about Ed when Jack came in him, if only because Ed used to love fucking him and cockwarming until round two as much as Jack does. That, and the way Ed used to thank him for it, peppering his face with kisses, smiling in that uniquely relaxed way in the moment-

“Yeah,” Jack’s voice interrupts his thoughts, a hand reaching up to cup his face. “They left that and more on you, didn’t they?”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“I’m just callin’ it like I see it,” Jack shrugs. “If they’d been smart, they would have kept you for themselves at that inn.”

“And have me do what, exactly? How would I have been of any use to them?”

He doesn’t mean it to come out so harsh, so forceful, but it’s been haunting him since they left the inn. At sea, he can do most of what he used to, albeit more slowly and with accommodation on the days everything hurts and refuses to stop. Those are the days he dreads the most, when the phantom pain in his leg distracts overwhelmingly and the spot where the bullet tried to go through his gut itches and twinges, making him worry he won’t be able to keep up with the rest of the crew.

There’s only been a couple days where he genuinely couldn’t, and stayed back from a raid. No one has held it against him, and Frenchie has told him he can take as many of those days as he needs. He appreciates it, but it somehow doesn’t make it any easier when he’s stuck there, left to hope that everyone will come back okay, that they won’t need his help-

“You keep disappearing into that brain of yours,” Jack interrupts his thoughts again. “Stay here with me.”

He sighs softly, and tries to focus on the moment. How he can feel Jack getting hard again inside of him, the occasional twitch. The warmth of being pressed so close together there, with Jack’s other hand gently teasing his cock and the lips of his cunt as they splay around Jack’s cock.

“Fuck me,” Jack murmurs, head dropping back onto the pillow on the cot.

“I’m working on it,” Izzy scoffs playfully. “I thought we were giving you some more time before the next round.”

“Yeah, no, we are,” Jack mumbles. “Just. You feel so fuckin’ good.”

“Not already-”

“You know very well I’m not there yet,” Jack interrupts. “But goddamn it might not take me long again. I know you might have meant for this to be a one night thing-”

He leans down and kisses Jack. “I’m up for it for as long as you want to hang around with us. And you might as well stay, you’re safer here than anywhere else right now. You have to behave yourself though.”

“I won’t kill anybody else’s birds.”

“No, you fucking won’t,” Izzy flexes himself around Jack’s cock, grinning when Jack whimpers. “Stede told me all about that fucking mess. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” Jack replies. “Got no excuse. I fucked up.”

“Well, Buttons is a bird himself now, so you’ll do well to make sure you don’t go after any gulls,” Izzy murmurs into his ear, in between kisses and nipping bites to his neck. “Or the crew will gut you alive.”

“And you’ll watch?”

“If you’d want me to.”

“Kinky, nasty, little fucker,” Jack laughs, pulling himself up to sit against the wall the cot is pushed against with a groan. “Ugh. Felt that right in the cannonball wound.”

“Then let me handle this round,” he shifts on Jack’s cock, letting himself move just enough to make Jack moan again. “I do mean it though. I asked Frenchie when we were pulling you up, if you could stay. As long as you keep your shit together and don’t kill anyone, you’re welcome here.”

“I’d like that,” Jack sighs, his eyelids fluttering shut. “Come here.”

Jack’s hands move from where they’d been resting loosely on his hips, and his arms wrap around him to pull him closer.

He waits for a nod and affirming grunt from Jack before he starts to fuck him in earnest, grinding on his cock.

“I never understood it,” Jack mumbles as they fuck. “How Ed wasn’t fuckin’. Doing everything he could to keep you happy, keep you right by him-”

“He knew I wouldn’t leave,” Izzy murmurs against Jack’s lips before kissing him. “And I didn’t. Not even at the end. Not even when I felt goddamn close to it-”

“You were that close to going? To dyin-”

“I don’t know if a person is supposed to see anything in particular when they nearly die,” Izzy continues, switching to a gentle bounce on Jack’s cock, leaning harder on his full leg to move like he wants. “But I didn’t see jack shit except the light fading. It was close.”

Jack’s hands move back to his hips, helping him bounce. “I’m glad you’re still here.”

He almost stops moving, out of shock. “I thought you weren’t that sentimental.”

But Jack’s head drops against his shoulder, and he switches back to grinding as Jack holds him close and tight, so tight it almost hurts.

Jack’s shoulders hitch, and he moves his hands to rub the back of Jack’s neck. “Hey, I’m here. I’m okay. Slower, still learning how to move like I want to with all of this, but-”

“I don’t think you’ve lost any of your skill with moving,” Jack sniffles, raising his head, tears still falling. “Not like this, at least.”

“Goddamn it,” Izzy sighs, feeling tears at the edges of his eyes. “I just fucking stopped crying.”

“Fuck it, cry while you fuck me,” Jack sobs it as much as he says it. “Maybe we both need it.”

He can’t deny that, even if he doesn’t like it. There’s something fucked up but freeing, fucking Jack as hard as he can, ignoring the ache of his hips, while he lets himself go and weeps into Jack’s shoulder.

“I know you got everybody on here lookin’ after you, whether you’re fucking them or not,” Jack says after a few moments. “But while I’m here, however much longer I manage to survive…I got you too, okay? I want to look after you.”

“If you wanted me to stop crying, you’re going to be disappointed,” Izzy gasps in between something that’s not quite a moan, but not quite a sob. “I love you; you absolute twat.”

“I love you too,” Jack sighs happily. “I don’t normally like saying all that sentimental shit, but it feels so good right now. You can take the piss out of me later for this, but…can you say it again?”

“I love you,” Izzy repeats, breathing into Jack’s mouth before another kiss. “I love you, despite everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve done to each other-”

“You’ve only ever shouted at me, and usually for good reason,” Jack interjects softly, his hips thrusting up to meet Izzy’s movement. “I know you’re feeling good or you would have stopped this by now, but-”

“I’m close,” Izzy murmurs. Jack, bless him, has always been a bit bad at noticing when he’s close. He’s gotten better over the years, but he can’t fault him for being distracted enough to struggle with it tonight. “Either keep doing that, or-”

“Tell me how you want it,” Jack’s arms are warm around him, hips thrusting up harder now. “Quicklike, if you could, though.”

“Either like this, or flip us over again,” he’s actively holding off now, wanting to come as close to when Jack does as possible. “I’d say prone, but-”

“You do love it like that, don’t you?” Jack chuckles.

“I do, but I want to see you when I come,” Izzy continues. He can hear himself panting, and the rest of the crew can probably hear them if they’re in any of the nearby rooms. He doesn’t care; he can apologise for it later. “And if you’re not biting my neck when you come, or kissing me, or something-”

“I know how you like it,” Jack smirks as he moves them, helping Izzy get onto his back without his cock slipping out too much. “If you’re feeling up to it, later we could try it out prone bone. Make sure it still feels as good as it used to.”

“I think we’d better make sure.”

Jack laughs, thrusting hard. “Are you-”

“If you stop, I’ll stab you directly in your fucking cannonball wound.”

Jack laughs again, shoulders shaking, tears still falling. “I fucking love you.”

“Then come in me again.”

He lets himself go just as he feels Jack’s cock start to pulse, drifting on a wave of pleasure that leaves him moaning loud enough that the rest of the crew will definitely hear.

Jack swallows up his moan in another kiss, panting into his mouth. “I know I just said it, but-”

“Keep telling me,” Izzy interrupts. He’s tired of trying to figure out if what he feels is the same as what other people would call ‘love.’ All he knows is he likes Jack, likes being this close to him, and only wants more of it. Maybe that’s love to him, even if it isn’t love to anyone else. It was enough love for him and Ed, for the longest time. “Tell me, please-”

“I love you,” Jack murmurs into another kiss. “I do. The way things are going, we all might be dead in a week. I’m gonna say it and make up for the years I couldn’t, wouldn’t. I love you.”

They lay there, in a sweaty heap, gasping and moaning into each other’s mouths as they come down together.

“I made you a fucking mess,” Jack sighs after another moment. “Can I eat it out of you?”

He cackles. He can’t help it. “Yeah. Yeah, you can.”

Jack moves to settle between his legs, and he lets his eyes shut.

“There you go,” Jack murmurs as he kisses Izzy’s thighs. “We spent most of this time talking, didn’t turn your brain off at all. Now though-”

“Not a single thought,” Izzy interrupts with a contented sigh. It’s been awhile since he’s had anyone do this particular bit, and he’s tempted to ask Frenchie, Roach, and the other crew members he’s been spending nights with if they’d be into it at all. “I promise. Just gonna lay here. Catch my breath-”

“And let me make you come again while I eat you out,” Jack smiles, his head lifted for a brief moment, nose prodding at Izzy’s cock. “Good boy.”

That shuts the rest of his thoughts off, and he can only focus on threading his hands through Jack’s hair, and the feeling of Jack’s lips and tongue on the folds of his cunt.

#text post #cjizzy #the title is eh but i couldn't find any lyrics I liked enough so i just winged that lol #making myself title it now so I don't get caught up on that when i put this up on ao3 fdjakljdasf #it's nearly 430 in the morning and i gotta get my tshot done but pls enjoy this thing where i project a bit onto both of them lmao #it's all good it got some emotions out and writing smut is just. always so satisfying #just feels good to have a completed and published piece too tbh

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ourflaghashands · 2 years ago

Text

just wip things

a spicy scene from Pitch Black that I was too impatient to wait for 😂 (don't worry, I'm still working on chapter 4)

Read under the cut!

(I don't write spicy stuff very often so I'm sorry if it's wonky :'D)

Izzy paces back and forth across the captain’s cabin. It’s well past the point when Stede said he would be joining him, and Izzy is dying for an explanation. He hadn’t done anything wrong. At least, not really. But Izzy can still see Stede’s face, pinched and anxious, and the authoritative voice pouring out of him still rings in Izzy’s ears. He doesn’t know what to expect when Stede finally joins him.

He manages to get in a few more laps before the door opens with a gentle click and Stede walks inside, looking pale and drawn.

“How’s Frenchie?” Izzy asks, before anything else can be said. Stede puts up a hand momentarily before divesting himself of his coat. He sinks into one of the armchairs with a sigh. “He’ll be fine. Might need stitches, but Roach assured me he’d make a full recovery.”

Something in Izzy’s chest unclenches. He knows that it wasn’t his fault, but he had a sense of responsibility for the crew. He was supposed to make sure they were prepared for everything, and Frenchie’s sword work had never been his strength. Perhaps Izzy would have to fix that.

“Good.” Izzy murmurs, just loud enough for Stede to hear. He doesn’t want anyone to think he’s gone soft, so he adds, “It’d be a shame to lose the only bard on the ship.”

Stede snorts, slightly undignified, and the response says more about how exhausted he is than his looks. Izzy slinks over to him. “What was it you wanted to speak to me about?” He can’t just sit here and wonder any longer – the unknown is driving him insane.

“I’m under no illusion about your abilities with a sword, Israel, but even you have to realize you were way in over your head. Why did you put yourself in that position?” Bonnet’s words strike something in Izzy, drawing up memories of the night of The Incident with Edward.

Izzy swallows, looking down at his feet. “I couldn’t let anything happen to my Captain.” He responds easily, because it’s true – even if he and Edward still aren’t entirely in good standing with each other, Izzy still can’t bear the thought of losing him. He’s been the one constant in Izzy’s life. The single port in a storm for as long as he can remember.

“I understand. And I do thank you for helping him. But next time you shouldn’t go in alone like that.” And Izzy knows Bonnet is right, loath as he is to admit it. Izzy has always been Edward’s attack dog, his sword, an extension of the legend himself, but Blackbeard’s reputation isn’t unfounded. Ed probably would have been okay if Izzy hadn’t jumped in like that, but taking the risk of finding out was too terrifying to give thought to.

Izzy finally crosses the room to Stede and sinks to the floor, resting his forehead against one of the Alpha’s knees. “I’m sorry for making you worry.” He bites the words out, because this sort of vulnerability is still new to him. Bonnet makes a noise, somewhat like a scoff but too gentle, and cards his fingers through Izzy’s hair.

“You’re okay, darling. I’m just glad nothing happened.” As calm as Stede sounds, the memory of his furious gaze is still Fresh in Izzy’s mind, and it draws a submissive whine from the omega’s throat.

“None of that, now.” Bonnet murmurs, reaching down and forcing Izzy’s face up. He leans down and presses their lips together, all gentle. Izzy lets himself melt into it, lets Bonnet deepen the kiss and explore his mouth with his tongue. He takes what he’s given and nothing more, until Bonnet breaks the kiss. Izzy’s tongue darts out to wet his own lips.

He’s still tense, despite the fact that Stede seems to have forgiven him. There’s always been a balance to Izzy’s experiences, and right now the scales feel tipped. He had upset Stede, he knows he had, but there’s no follow up. No retribution. It leaves something in him unsettled, and Izzy doesn’t like it.

“What if I…” He trails off, before he realizes how messed up that thought process is, and he feels his face go warm.

“What if you what?” Bonnet prompts. His hand is still in Izzy’s hair, scratching soothing circles into his scalp. It’s almost distracting enough to make the omega lose his train of thought. He feels his face pinching together like he’s just eaten a lemon. How does he voice the problem without sounding absolutely mental?

He’s never been good with words. That’s always been one of his shortcomings.

“I…you can’t just forgive me, Stede. I saw how angry you were.” Izzy doesn’t look Stede in the eyes, focusing his attention on a fold in the Alpha’s shirt.

“I just did.” Stede says, nonplussed. Izzy fights down a groan, shaking his head and nearly dislodging Stede’s hand.

“I don’t want you to.” Izzy clarifies, feeling his face grow hotter. “I need you to follow through.”

There’s a long moment of silence, before Stede makes a soft noise of understanding. “You…want to be punished.” It isn’t a question, but Izzy nods a confirmation all the same. Shame wells up in the pit of his stomach because he knows it’s not normal of him, but he can’t help the way he is. A lifetime of conditioning, quid-pro-quo, an eye for an eye – whatever you want to call it – has made it impossible for Izzy to leave things feeling unfinished, especially when it comes to those who have earned his respect.

And, despite everything, Stede has earned it.

Stede hums thoughtfully, his hand leaving Izzy’s hair. Izzy fights down a soft noise of disappointment – he hasn’t earned that affection yet. There’s a lingering silence, and Izzy’s nerves fray just a little more as time stretches on between them. He feels like he’s about to burst when Stede finally addresses him.

“What if you made it up to me?” Stede asks, and Izzy finally raises his eyes to look the Alpha in the face. It’s a decent proposal – Stede seems hesitant to actually punish him, never seems to really want to unless he’s truly angry, but his eyes are bright, and Izzy thinks he can work with this.

“…Yeah, alright.” He concedes, the tension in his shoulders receding a bit. He will earn his forgiveness. That’s acceptable.

“Come here, darling.” Stede urges Izzy up with his hands, and Izzy rises from the floor, clambering into Stede’s lap and straddling his thighs, his feet hanging over the edge of the seat. Stede pulls him into a heated kiss, and Izzy can feel that the Alpha is already half-hard in his trousers. Something in Izzy’s stomach squirms pleasantly at the thought. It could have been the excitement of the raid, but Izzy likes the thought that their proximity is what’s doing it.

Stede kisses Izzy until he’s breathless, delirious and pliant under the Alpha’s hands. The hard line of Stede’s cock is pressing into the space between them, and Izzy’s hips roll forward into the bulk of it, making Stede hiss into his mouth.

“Strip for me, Darling.” Stede’s voice is rough, and tinged with the steel of command that Izzy is helpless to disobey. He carefully extricates himself from Stede, removing his clothing one piece at a time. His cravat and ring are first, and he places them carefully on the nearby table. His vest, shirt, and pants are quick to follow, before Izzy peels off his smalls. They’re damp, and he knows he won’t be putting them back on until they’ve been washed.

Stede rises from the chair, grabbing a cushion off of the nearby chaise and depositing it onto the floor. “Kneel there, and wait for me.” He says, no-nonsense. Izzy sinks to his knees on the cushion, glad of the padding. He’s not as young as he used to be, after all.

Stede busies himself, grabbing a few things from around the room before going into the washroom for several minutes. Izzy remains where he is, letting the calm warmth of obeying the orders given to him wash over him. He’s drifting, mind pleasantly fuzzy, and the burning need between his thighs is only a distant bother.

He loses track of time, and nearly jolts out of that fuzzy space when Stede returns, carrying a basin and wearing a robe that does absolutely nothing to hide his straining erection. He places the basin and a cloth down on the table, before turning his attention back to Izzy. He pets a hand through his hair, humming pleasantly.

“Good boy, Izzy. So patient for me.” He rumbles, and it’s enough to make Izzy’s legs shake where they’re still holding him up. Stede reaches down and presses the pad of his thumb against Izzy’s lower lip, and Izzy’s mouth falls open obediently. Stede presses the digit flat to Izzy’s tongue, holding his mouth open.

“Will this be alright for you? If I use your mouth?” Stede asks, and Izzy whines at the promise of it, nodding his head just slightly so as not to dislodge the Alpha’s hand. The consent seems enthusiastic enough for Stede, because he removes his thumb and tugs his robe open. His cock is standing at attention, rock-hard and glistening at the tip. Izzy feels his mouth water, but doesn’t close it.

Stede shifts closer, letting just the tip rest against Izzy’s tongue. He shifts his hips, dragging it back and forth against the plain of it, before slowly pushing in. His thrusts are shallow at first, presumably to let Izzy get used to the feel of it, before he pushes deeper. Izzy can feel the tip of it hitting the back of his throat before long, and subtly tilts his head to give the Alpha a better angle, breathing through his nose.

Stede sets up a slow, lazy rhythm, giving Izzy time to pull in little puffs of breath between each thrust. It’s a torturously slow pace, but the repetitiveness of it drives Izzy to heights he didn’t know he could reach. The weight of Stede on his tongue, the control of it, and the knowledge that he’s being used by Stede to chase his own pleasure tugs him into that fuzzy space once more, and he’s only mildly aware of saliva leaking from the corners of his mouth.

He’s painfully hard himself, and he can feel slick drooling out of him, down between his thighs and onto the cushion below him. He reaches up to hold onto Stede’s hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He doesn’t control the pace – Stede is doing that, but he needs contact, and this is the best way to get it.

Stede seems to read his mind, and one of his hands goes to Izzy’s hair, fingers carding through it and pressing against the base of his skull. Izzy’s eyes slip closed and he loses himself in the sensation of it. The alpha keeps up his carefully controlled pace, and Izzy can feel warmth and pressure building between his thighs; he’s close to coming, his hips twitching slightly against empty air.

It goes on like this, Izzy quickly losing track of time, his own arousal building. Stede’s thrusts are getting a little faster, cutting Izzy’s breathing off at quicker intervals. He’s swallowing around Stede’s cock, willing the Alpha to go deeper. Stede complies, and soon enough he’s fucking into Izzy’s mouth with abandon.

The intensity of it is too much, and Izzy feels the tension between his legs build at a dizzying rate. His thighs flex as he tries to stave it off, but there’s nothing he can do. Heat blooms low in his belly and his hips jerk forwards as he comes, untouched, his cunt clenching rhythmically on absolutely nothing.

He distantly hears Stede swear above him, a choked-off ‘Did you just—’ spilling out of his lips before his hips stutter and he comes down the back of Izzy’s throat. Izzy swallows him down with purpose, sucking gently until Bonnet’s softened cock slides back out of his mouth, leaving him empty. He whines, bereft, and suddenly Stede is on the ground with him, pulling him into a filthy kiss. Izzy doesn’t doubt he can taste himself, his tongue is so far back in the omega’s mouth.

The aftershocks and shaking in his thighs are too much, and Izzy sinks the rest of the way down, a grimace pulling at his lips as he lands in the cold puddle of his own slick. Stede chuckles gently above him, pressing his face down to nuzzle into Izzy’s hair. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He murmurs, before carefully rising to his feet. “Get on the bed.” He says, crossing over to the table to fetch the basin and cloth.

Izzy rises on unsteady legs, making it over to the bed and sitting down heavily. Stede sets the basin down next to the bed and pushes on Izzy’s chest until he’s lying back. Stede goes to work on him, using the damp cloth to clean the slick from his thighs and cunt. The drag of it on his oversensitive nub draws a whimper from him, but he’s too far gone to feel shame for it. Stede makes a soothing sound in the back of his throat, finishing up his work before climbing into the bed next to him.

He pulls Izzy against him and Izzy immediately shoves his nose into the crook of Stede’s neck, scenting him thoroughly. A stuttering purr rumbles up from his chest, unfamiliar but comfortable. He curls up against the Alpha, hoping the noise will be enough to convey his thanks. He no longer feels off-kilter, and he can feel the tug of sleep softening his edges until it pulls him under. He’s vaguely aware of Stede pulling the blanket over both of them, but he’s out like a snuffed candle before much else can register.

#Pitch Black #SteddyHands #Stizzy #technically this is just Stizzy for now #but eventually....#im steddyhands trash so #u know #ABO dynamics #up in this bitch #so beware of that if you haven't ready Pitch Black

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cryptfile · 1 year ago

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Hii!! Can I request frenchie from the boys x f! reader, maybe she's patching him up after a long day? <33

yes,,, thank you for this from the bottom of my heart, might went above with what you actually asked, but whatever, i’m living my best and just rolling with it.

⟢ mountains at midnight, [ frenchie x f!reader ]

summary — After a failed relationship, Serge knocks on your door half baked / half bleeding-to-fucking-death.

warnings — angst, some smooches, it's implied that reader is in her twenty-somethings, filthy mouth, frenchie is in loOOoOve here, some fighting, fluff in the end, usual the boys content aka violence, blood, drugs, mentions of murder, infinite sadness, if you’re a medic you might hate me, little nina is a warning herself.

side notes — hi lovely people on the internet! first things first: i've recasted frenchie to dev patel cause fuck zionists, also loved writing for frenchie, been writing about gen v on wattpad but this? a whole different level. word's on the street my ass latin, so you know now english is not my first language and if there's any mistakes is my own fault being just a girlie out here,, comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated and very much loved! thank you guys so much for the support.

It’s way too late when you hear the knocks on your door.

You’re not used to receive visitors in the middle of the night. Your friends know you hate people to show up uninvited so it’s almost a non-spoken arrangement: You sell the weed to afford med school and they keep you out of trouble.

So you can’t stop yourself from thinking the absolute worst when you hear the noise in your front door, already cursing cause you don't have these expensive cameras that allows you to watch who's outside: What if the police knows you’re selling weed? Worse. What if Vought discovered all about your nice ability of astral projection? Just the thought of it makes you grab the bat, trying to find something to defend yourself with as if it’s going to work against someone as powerful as Homelander.

When you open the door, it’s something similar to seeing a ghost.

Cause that's what Frenchie is to you. A fever dream you must experience after being so tired, after exhausting yourself with the damn residency. You've been doing turns lately in the hospital and you are drained all the fucking time, too many hours standing and trying not to fuck it up it’s now passing you the check.

But when he talks. Jesus fucking Christ, when he talks, you just know it's him in the flesh, stopping the world for a minute — "Bonne nuit," he says all normal like you understand more than just the basics of French. "Long time no see, mon ami."

How does he still remembers your address? How did he managed to get to your apartment when you explicitly said you don't want him anywhere near you? Your heart skips a beat when you're realizing the blood covering his shirt, the dirt on his skin, the bruise forming in his eye: he's injured.

It makes sense soon after, why he's there outside your place, surpassing the locks that protected the building and are supposed to keep people like him out yet, failed miserably. You let out a scoff, taking mental notes of talking about security to the building manager tomorrow.

"You need to go to a hospital, there's also a vet clinic a couple’ blocks away, both do the work" It's tempting. The thought of closing the door in his face after he was a complete asshole with you last time you saw him, but you cannot bring yourself to be cruel, to leave him standing while he seeks for somebody to stitch him up. — "Told you not to come here, Frenchie."

He's different now. He has now cut his hair in a different way, split lip while he pouts like he has loose a huge fight. He looks better, more composed even, but you don't let it slip while you look at him, debating if he won the fight he was involved in or if he just managed to escape, as usual, always in danger.

"Please," he says placing his hand in the door frame like he just read your mind, preventing you from closing the door. "Need your help, mon docteur."

When he looses balance you know shit's for real, quickly grabbing him by the waist as you take one of his hands to place it in your shoulder. He smells like blood, sweat, and weed, and it takes a minute for you to get used to it, being so intense at first when you hold him close to you that it stays with you even when you help him lay in the couch, already knowing it's going to be stained forever.

Fuck's sake. It's not physically possible to say no to him.

You hate him from the moment he's inside. Hate how he has you now all stressed looking for everything you need to prevent him from bleeding out on your couch, still trying to understand if you're worried about his well being or if it's actually about the fact that he could die in your apartment with good grams of weed well hidden, leading you to arrest under micro-trafficking and possible murder charges.

And when you see the large cut on his stomach, you know exactly why you guys didn't work out in the first place, why his way of living was so different than yours trying to keep a low profile, not used to get in trouble with superheroes, usually surviving. You hold your breath in as you notice the situation, his body bruised, blood spread all over like it was a medal.

“The person who did this didn’t do any harm to your organs” you say inspecting, lucky bastard. “But you're gonna’ need stitches.”

"See? I’m gonna' be fine, docteur" he says almost trying to keep you steady while you took the new-moon-shaped needle, that damn nickname you hate with all your guts. You know he would not come if it wasn't absolutely necessary, his gaze following you like he cannot possibly believe he's talking to you again after all that time promising not to. "Not planning to die on your settee."

"You're high" it's not a question but more of a statement. "So please, shut up if you are really not planning to die tonight."

You’re struck by his accent, the way he combined the words so easily while you worked on stitching his skin, finally stopping the bleeding as you can breathe in peace. Med school has been awful, but at least you can do decent stitches even under the dim lights of the lamps, looking at your work almost proud moments after.

Handled him like a fucking pro.

You seem to forget about the contact, being trained to be a doctor has hit deep down now that you can keep professional at all times, but for Frenchie, even after being pretty much stabbed, he managed to fill his mind with memories of you while your cold fingertips close the cut, to think, once again, that he does not deserve you at all, your meeting being a mistake he wouldn't do all over again.

He stills hallucinates about when he met you in your second year of university, selling weed in your campus parties making a pretty good list of clients for yourself. He remembers being so mad at you for stealing possible clientèle at the time, he was planning on beating your ass and scare you out until you didn't dare to sell at all. At least, that was the idea until he notices his potential nemesis. You.

He talked about the situation with Little Nina convincing her he could take care of the problem, but in reality, he chooses to make you his problem instead. You were just a twenty-something med student that stayed up late at night and sell plain weed in order to afford some stuff he knew you needed: How could he be aggressive with you?

He's almost whipped before even talking to you, after following you for a while without you even noticing, he's studying you like you're, indeed, the enemy. And when he finally talks to you in that stupid party, you finally seem to notice he's not there for a nice business, not when he's pulling you aside from all the noise.

You both are so different it's annoying, however, fits so good must be a curse.

You managed to work out the next couple of months, split the clients, the money, and there were no suspects until Nina found out and killed one of your classmates in response, leaving you surrounded by cops and detectives and a profuse sadness that never seemed to go away.

Frenchie is pretty sure you're one of the best thing he used to have in his life, utterly convinced that he must remain far from you after years of not talking to you, yet, he's unable to do it much longer. Maybe it's the weed, the fever and the pain all combined together, but when he noticed he was close to your place, he choose to seek for your help instead of turning to his teammates.

He's no good for you. Even after not being around Nina and changing completely. He's simply no good for you.

You work in silence, unsure of what to say at first. Your breathing is steady as you cover the wound with bandages, neck sore already after keeping the same position over the minutes without sleeping much all that week. Frenchie doesn't whine even when it hurts, making it easier to work with as you check other injuries.

When it comes to the split lip, you know it's going to be a thing.

"Thanks for patching me up," he says while you press the alcohol revealing a much smaller wound that you'd actually imagined, mouth's always bleed tons. "I'm just sorry for showing up so late, mon ami."

Inconsiderate. Your eyes dart the movements of his upper lip while he speaks, trying to clean the blood while it moves with no victory.

"Please talk to me princesse" he says soon after, crazy by your silence — “Please.”

Your eyes narrow in response, looking at him while inspecting his lip. “How did you manage to get so damn fucked up?” You wished you didn't ask, because you already know how he got it, how he was working now for a whole different group doing suicidal missions all the time, heard it from a close friend.

He stays silent for a while, and you cannot help but roll your eyes in response. You’re used to it, to the lack of information and the blatant lie he always used to tell just to reassure you, so instead, you continue cleaning his wounds with alcohol, pressing the gauze with less patience now that he regained the color of his skin. You’re simply not doing it anymore.

“Just stay still so we can do this fast enough” you say tired already, having to deal with him even just ten miserable minutes results in a classic headache.

Silence. You are dragged by the current into an awkward silence, inspecting the stitches and the bruises that now appeared in his skin. He’s warm to the touch in spite of the blood loss, and you cannot help but worry about his well-being deep in your mind, hating him for it: The guy disappears however he wants to, and now has the fucking nerve to show up like nothing ever happened? God.

It’s impossible to keep quiet for the next two minutes, specially when you notice he’s biting the inside of his cheek like he’s stopping himself from saying something stupid — “What?”

“Nothing,” he responds, avoiding your gaze. "I know you're mad at me, docteur."

"I'm pretty mad at you, you're right" you admit in a low voice, finally taking your utensils to the kitchen sink when you finish, cursing when you notice you got blood on your shirt. "That's why you're waiting an hour before leaving. Not involving in whatever is going on in your life right now.”

His pained expression makes you almost regret everything you say. He knew he deserved it, but it didn't stop him from being miserable when he hears you, the cold words lingering in the air as they repeated in his mind over and over again.

"Sober up. Leave after."

It's almost a command, and he hates the sound of it, far from the way he wanted you to command him in reality, the sound of your voice making him shiver. He hates every second of it, remembering why he kept far, giving you space to continue your life without him in the picture.

It stings on Frenchie’s chest, and you try to keep your pride high enough to not think about how much you actually missed him, how you're done with him after moving on at least twice since the last time you saw him, staring at the blood circling in the drain.

"I'm sorry, mon ami" he says when you pass close to him, grabbing the dirty towels as you search, in your mind, for ways to make miracles in that sofa, and you believe him for a second when he grabs you by the wrist, cause deep down you just want him to be sorry for all the shit he did, the lies, the danger.

You just started to sell weed again recently, and his sudden visit makes you so damn uncomfortable: You don't want to take anyone's clients, you learned that the hard way. "I'll never be able to make it up to you docteur, not even in a million years. Je ne voulais pas te faire de mal."

You don't fully get what he says, and you blame it on that fucking app that's been teaching you french all along, you don't even dare to look at him until you think you can handle his intense gaze, now burning in your cheek — "Created this huge mess just to leave me alone to the fucking wolves."

“And there will not be a day I won’t regret it.”

“You’re not going to be able to make it up to me even in a century, Serge.”

It happens all so sudden after, when he pulls you down slightly, enough to press the palm of your hand flat against his chest, the feeling of his heartbeat giving you straight up chills. It’s beating so fast you’re sure it’s abnormal, the expression of his face almost begging you to have patience with him, that he just needs you beyond explanation.

“Don’t call me like that,” he asks, and you’re just standing there, so fucking close, looking at him slightly blushed.

“Like what?”

“Like I don’t mean anything to you, coeur. Like we’re strangers.”

“I don’t know you, at all” you admit in a low voice, and it saddens you to say it out loud — “I don’t think I ever did.”

God. You don’t expect it, you don’t expect the visit, the way he enters to your life again through the main door, dissolving you completely. You don’t expect any of it, it catches you by surprise without giving you any time to even prepare yourself.

He somehow manages to make sit down close to him, composed now that the he’s not bleeding-to-death. And fuck, it takes a minute for you to adjust, to notice what you’re actually doing, the feeling of his hand holding your wrist making it impossible for you to leave, to even put some necessary distance, his breathing changing as you got closer.

“We’re not strangers, mon docteur, never would when my heart beat that fast for you. To me, you’re the most real thing in my life” he’s smiling, and you can’t help but look at him amazed of his way of always change everything around. “It’s visible you don’t want me here, but I cannot stop myself from coming every single time, tu me manques, coeur.”

“You miss me, huh?” you ask almost in disbelief.

“You are missing from me,” Frenchie corrects. He knows the world is a pretty fucked up place to be, but he just wants you to be okay, to avoid trouble and just live a regular happy life.

You are willing to reply, to say something about it, about the time you spend hating his ass and missing him at the same time, but you stay silent when you can feel his gaze following your every movement, when he’s the one that puts his free hand on your cheek, his touch being enough to warm up your face, staining your cheeks red.

It’s so intense. The lack of air, the way his eyes find yours in demand of something you already know.

“Please forgive me” Frenchie says, blatant sincerity. “I’m deeply sorry, mon docteur. I’m the worst thing you’ll ever met, and I cannot help but come back to you.”

His words echo in your brain, and you don’t know exactly when, but you lean into his touch, the palm of his hand warm against your cheek.

“Fuckin’ hate you.”

You don’t. You know you don’t hate him at all. It’s quite the opposite, and it weights on your chest as he smiles like he just got his life back in track again, like it’s everything it takes to make him really happy after all that shit he’s enduring day after day.

And you try put some distance between both of you seconds after, but your heart betrays you sooner than you expect and it’s all it takes for him to finally kiss you, a tender kiss at first that freezes you for an instant, his touch transforming in something else — Something your skin has already experienced before, a taste you’ve savoured long time ago. Makes you shiver when you realize how it feels not foreign at all but just natural, like something you already learnt but it’s kept in the depths of your mind.

He’s damanding when pressing his lips against you, and it clouds your mind for a second, a thick gaze that just makes you dumb at his touch. His hands on your hips are pulling you closer without even caring for his damn stitches, and it becomes intoxicating, the need to keep on kissing him, to have him close, you forget about Little Nina, the weed, and almost everything that surrounds you.

Heavy breathing you seemed to understand it all. Nose touching his as you get it. Maybe you do need to talk. Maybe it’s important to keep your guard down one last time. You cannot avoid him much longer, not when your own heart aches in need.

Serge’s like climbing a mountain at midnight: Just impossible.

#frenchie x reader #frenchie #the boys x reader #the boys #cryptfile // the boys #the boys fluff #frenchie the boys #frenchie imagine #drabble

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deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist · 1 year ago

Text

I was afraid it was going to shake out this way, but I’m still so mad at The Boys I could spit!

I love that Ben benched Frenchie to get her to safety, rather than keep him in the fight, because he wants her safe. He obviously thought more of Huey than Frenchie, even though Frenchie was the one with munitions and weapon experience, because he told Frenchy to get her safe – he could’ve chosen Huey instead. If the team couldn’t see by that gesture that he cared for her, they were absolutely blind as well as heartless.

But “As the last vestiges of his strength slipped away, Soldier Boy was overwhelmed by a sense of defeat. In his final moments of consciousness, he could only watch helplessly as his `Teammates´ closed in. Again.” broke my heart - damn Butcher for his plan, and damn them all for doing that to Ben and her after Ben defeated Homelander! Hell, they’d never have done it without him, and they KNOW he was betrayed once before! I can’t believe they’d let him go back to the Russians instead of keeping him in the event they needed him to take down a problematic Supe in the future. And damn Frenchie for lying to her, especially when he knew how she felt about Ben!

I am absolutely gutted for the reader, that she thinks Ben ignored her - the picture should have tipped her off something wasn’t right about Ben leaving. Not even coming back for old photographs, if he had kept them all those years? I would never trust them again when I find out the truth. And as much as I adore Frenchie personally, I would kick him in the teeth when I learn the truth, break Butcher’s teeth, then I’d blow shit up at Supe Affairs and find a way to get to Russia, and blow shit up there until I could free Ben!

As for Jay - me personally? There’d be no way I could even go out with him – after finding out my first husband cheated, it was three years before I even considered dating, but that’s me and my trust issues. Regardless, this was a great chapter – fantastic job!!

✨ His only exception - Pt. 20/? ✨

Summary: 12 months ago, Butcher went above and beyond to have you join his team. You had a simple office job at Supe Affairs. The same thing every day, working from 9 to 5 and watching Butcher and his team defeat one renegade after another. One evening, however, something changed.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, angst, hurt

Word Count: 4728

A/N: This is part 20 of “His only exeption”.

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The next few hours were a blur as you remained glued to the laptop screen, your eyes scanning the live feed from Vought's cameras. With Frenchie on the earpiece, you guided the team through the building, directing them to the best possible routes and warning them of any potential threats.

As they made their way through the corridors, leaving a trail of chaos and destruction in their wake, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease gnawing at the pit of your stomach. The guards they encountered didn't back down easily, and the resulting skirmishes left a grim reminder of the danger they faced.

Despite the violence unfolding before your eyes, you remained focused on the task at hand, doing everything in your power to ensure the team's safety and success. With each passing moment, the stakes grew higher.

Despite the team's best efforts, it became increasingly clear that Homelander wouldn't be served on a silver platter. Vought was prepared for nearly every contingency, making it incredibly difficult for the team to advance.

As the battle raged on, the odds seemed to stack higher against them with each passing moment. The guards were relentless, their firepower and tactics proving formidable obstacles to overcome.

In the midst of the chaos, MM was the first to go down, struck by a barrage of gunfire. His body crumpled to the ground, wounded badly as blood pooled around him. Kimiko acted quickly, dragging him out of harm's way and ushering him towards the safety of their van waiting outside.

After a tense struggle, the team encountered A-Train, who was already waiting for them, ready to join the fight against Homelander. His presence provided a much-needed boost to their morale, and with his help, they pressed on, determined to overcome the obstacles in their path.

Despite A-Train's assistance, Soldier Boy proved to be the standout performer. With an almost effortless grace, he dispatched the guards one by one, moving through the chaos with a precision and skill that left you in awe. It was as if he was born for this moment, his every move calculated and deliberate, his determination unwavering.

In that moment, you couldn't help but feel a surge of pride knowing that he was kinda fighting for you. Despite the trials and tribulations that had tested your relationship, there was no denying the strength and courage that lay within him.

The minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity as the team fought their way through the building, inching closer and closer to their target. Finally, they reached the top floor, the anticipation mounting with each step.

With bated breath, they pushed open the door to Homelander's room, ready to confront their greatest adversary. But just as they stepped inside, the door to your apartment swung open, revealing Homelander standing in the doorway, a smug grin plastered across his face.

The sight of him sent a chill down your spine, his presence looming over you like a dark cloud. His shit-eating grin only served to fuel the fire of anger burning within you.

"Fuck", you muttered under your breath.

Frenchie's voice crackled over the earpiece, his tone laced with concern. "What's going on?", he asked, the urgency in his voice reflecting the gravity of the situation.

Ben's head snapped towards frenchie at the sound of your voice, his eyes narrowing in focus.

"He's in the apartment", you both said in unison, your voices cold and devoid of emotion.

As Frenchie's voice echoed through the earpiece, his urgency palpable, you knew there was no time to waste. "Run!", he yelled, his words a desperate plea for you to escape.

But deep down, you knew there was no outrunning Homelander. With the team already on their way back, you felt a sense of dread wash over you as you realized there was nowhere to hide.

Just as the realization set in, you felt a presence behind you, a cold chill creeping up your spine. Turning slowly, your worst fears were confirmed as you came face to face with Homelander.

He wore a sinister grin, his eyes glinting with malice as he took a step closer. "Looks like we're going for a little walk", he sneered, his grip on your upper arm tightening with a force that threatened to crush your bones.

Panic surged through you as you struggled against his iron grip, but it was futile. With Homelander in control, you knew there was no escape. All you could do was brace yourself for whatever horrors awaited you on this twisted journey with the most dangerous man alive.

As Homelander dragged you along, his grip unyielding, he chuckled darkly, the sound sending chills down your spine. "I knew sooner or later that piece of shit team would come for me", he remarked, his voice dripping with disdain. "And they left you behind, didn't they? To keep you safe. What irony".

The team's mission to take down Homelander had inadvertently led to your capture, leaving you vulnerable and at the mercy of the very person they were trying to defeat.

You gritted your teeth, fury boiling within you as you struggled against his grasp. But Homelander merely chuckled in response, his grip tightening even further as he led you away.

As Homelander dragged you through the woods, your heart pounded with fear and uncertainty. He pushed you to the ground roughly, causing you to wince as pain shot through your body.

"What's your plan with me?", you snapped, your voice tinged with defiance as you struggled to maintain your composure. Rubbing your aching arm, you glared up at him, desperate for answers.

Homelander laughed. "Right now, I don't care about you", he sneered. "All I want is my showdown, once and for all. I'm going to kill all of these amateurs, and especially that pathetic excuse for a hero, Soldier Boy".

As Homelander squatted down in front of you, his gaze bore into yours with an intensity that made your blood run cold. "Right now, you're just my little decoy", he said. "But after I've dealt with every last one of your little friends, I've already got a nice, cozy place for you in the lab".

His words sent a shiver down your spine as the gravity of the situation sank in. You were nothing more than a pawn in Homelander's twisted game, a means to an end in his quest for domination. The thought of being imprisoned again, in some cold, sterile lab filled you with dread.

Summoning every ounce of strength and determination, you grabbed a rock beside you, desperation lending you a newfound resolve. With a primal scream, you launched yourself at Homelander, wielding the rock like a weapon as you aimed for his face.

The impact was swift and brutal, the rock connecting with Homelander’s jaw with a sickening crunch. For a fleeting moment, you dared to hope that you had gained the upper hand, that you might have a chance at escaping his grasp.

But your victory was short-lived as Homelander reacted with lightning-fast reflexes, throwing you off of him with a powerful shove. The force of his blow sent you hurtling towards the nearest tree, the world spinning as pain exploded through your body.

With a sickening thud, you collided with the tree, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs and sending darkness swirling at the edges of your vision. In the haze of unconsciousness, you dimly registered the sound of footsteps approaching, and then everything went black.

Just moments later, Ben and the rest of the team arrived, guided by the GPS signal from your phone.

As Ben heard the familiar rhythm of your heartbeat, his eyes narrowed with determination. "Frenchie, look after her", he barked, his voice filled with urgency as he strode purposefully towards Homelander.

With every step, Ben's resolve hardened, his fists clenched at his sides as he squared off against his formidable opponent. "You're gonna die", he growled, his voice low and menacing as he met Homelander's gaze head-on.

Homelander chuckled, a deranged glint in his eyes as he spoke like a madman. "No one can beat me", he ranted, his voice laced with arrogance and delusion. "I'm invincible. I'm a god among men".

But Ben remained undeterred, his jaw set with steely resolve. It was time to put an end to Homelander's reign of terror once and for all.

The rest of the team surged forward, a united front against the unstoppable force that was Homelander. But their efforts proved futile as one by one, they were brutally swatted aside like mere flies.

Annie lunged forward with her powers blazing, but Homelander effortlessly deflected her attacks, sending her crashing into the ground with a resounding thud. Frenchie and Butcher charged in next, armed to the teeth with weapons, but their efforts were swiftly thwarted as Homelander effortlessly brushed them aside, their bodies sent flying through the air with bone-crunching force.

Even A-Train, with his super speed, proved no match for Homelander's raw power. With a vicious swipe of his hand, Homelander sent A-Train hurtling backwards, his body skidding across the ground in a tangled mess of limbs.

Despite their best efforts, the team was no match for the sheer might of Homelander. With each devastating blow, their resolve faltered, their hope dwindling with every passing moment.

But as Soldier Boy and Homelander finally clashed, the air crackled with energy, their blows echoing through the battlefield with force. Each punch was met with a counterattack, neither willing to back down in the face of their opponent's fury.

Soldier Boy's combat skills were honed to perfection, his movements fluid and precise as he met Homelander blow for blow. With each strike, he channeled every ounce of strength and determination, refusing to yield to the overwhelming power of his adversary.

Homelander, for his part, fought with a ferocity that bordered on madness. His punches were like thunderbolts, each one delivered with the force of a freight train. But despite his raw power, Soldier Boy held his ground, his resilience matched only by his unwavering determination.

For what felt like an eternity, the two clashed, their battle raging on with no end in sight. Each exchange was a test of strength and skill, a testament to the unyielding resolve of both combatants.

In the midst of the chaos, it became clear that this was no ordinary fight. It was a clash of titans, a battle for supremacy that would determine the fate of the world. And as Soldier Boy and Homelander fought on, their struggle reached a fever pitch, each one pushing themselves to their absolute limits in a bid for victory.

As Starlight, Butcher, A-Train, and Hughie managed to pin Homelander down, the tension in the air was palpable. Every second felt like an eternity as they struggled to keep the formidable Supe restrained. Meanwhile, Frenchie rushed back to the apartment, cradling your unconscious body in his arms, desperate to get you to safety.

Soldier Boy's chest began to glow with an otherworldly light, a sign that he was reaching his breaking point. The nervous energy in the air grew thicker with each passing moment, the anticipation of what was to come almost unbearable.

But then, in a moment of sheer determination, Soldier Boy threw himself at Homelander with all the force he could muster. With a deafening roar, he unleashed his power, the energy within him erupting in a blinding flash of light.

In the chaos that followed, everyone else scrambled for their lives, knowing that they had only seconds to escape. And then, just as Soldier Boy collided with Homelander, the explosion consumed them both in a fiery inferno of destruction.

As the dust settled and the smoke cleared, the echoes of the explosion ringing in the air.

After a while, Soldier Boy began to regain consciousness, the world around him swam in a haze of confusion and pain. Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, Butcher, Hughie, and Annie were upon him, their faces twisted with determination.

In his weakened state, Soldier Boy struggled to defend himself against their onslaught. Annie and Hughie held him firmly in place, their strength amplified by the urgency of the situation. Butcher wasted no time, swiftly placing a mask containing Novichok gas over Soldier Boy's face.

Despite his best efforts to resist, Soldier Boy found himself succumbing to the effects of the deadly gas. His vision blurred, his muscles weakened, and his consciousness faded into darkness once more.

As the last vestiges of his strength slipped away, Soldier Boy was overwhelmed by a sense of defeat. In his final moments of consciousness, he could only watch helplessly as his `Teammates´ closed in. Again.

The heavy breathing of the team echoed in the air, a testament to the intensity of the situation. Butcher wasted no time, his voice steady despite the urgency of the moment.

"Annie, Hughie, get Soldier Boy to the airport of Supe Affairs. There's a plane waiting there", Butcher commanded, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

Annie and Hughie nodded in unison, their resolve unwavering as they prepared to move Soldier Boy. With determined strides, they hoisted his limp form between them, their muscles straining under the weight as they set off to carry out their task.

Turning to A-Train, Butcher's gaze hardened. "You're with me. We're taking Homelander to the Headquarter of Supe Affairs", he declared, his voice firm and commanding.

A-Train nodded, understanding the gravity of their mission. Together, they moved to secure Homelander, their determination to prevent his escape unwavering even in the face of his unconscious state.

With each member of the team assigned their roles, they set out to execute their plan with precision and determination, knowing that the fate of the world hung in the balance.

As the late evening light filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room, you slowly began to regain consciousness. Blinking away the haze of unconsciousness, you found Frenchie sitting beside you on the couch, his expression one of relief mixed with concern.

Groaning softly, you shifted in your seat, the ache in your body a constant reminder of the ordeal you had just endured. As you opened your eyes, you met Frenchie's gaze, offering him a weak smile of gratitude.

"Hey there", Frenchie said softly, his voice filled with warmth. "Glad to see you're awake. How are you feeling?".

With a slight wince, you replied, "Sore, but I I'll survive. What happened?".

Frenchie's expression grew somber as he recounted the events of the past few hours, detailing the harrowing battle against Homelander and the frantic rush to get you to safety.

Listening intently, you couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude towards Frenchie and the rest of the team for their bravery and quick thinking.

And despite everything that had happened, despite the anger you felt towards Ben, pretty much your only thought was how he was doing. So you asked Frenchie where Ben was.

"He… He left, (y/n)", Frenchie lied.

As you processed Frenchie's words, a heavy weight settled in the pit of your stomach, crushing your world with a sense of loss and disappointment. The news of Ben's departure struck you like a blow, leaving you reeling with a mixture of hurt and resignation.

"He left?", you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Frenchie nodded, his expression reflecting the weight of the situation. "Yeah, he said he didn't see any reason to stay now that Homelander is neutralized", he explained, his voice tinged with regret.

A wave of sadness washed over you as you absorbed Frenchie's words. It was as if the ground had shifted beneath your feet, leaving you adrift in a sea of uncertainty and heartache.

Frenchie's sympathetic gaze met yours, his eyes filled with understanding and compassion. "I'm sorry", he murmured softly, his words a gentle acknowledgment of the pain you were feeling.

But no amount of sympathy could ease the ache in your heart as you grappled with the abrupt end to your relationship with Ben.

Your voice shivered slightly as you mumbled, "I… I think I'm gonna go take a shower". The weight of your emotions threatened to overwhelm you.

Frenchie nodded in understanding, his expression filled with empathy. "Take your time", he said softly, his words a silent reassurance that he would be there for you when you needed him.

With a heavy heart, you pushed yourself off the couch and made your way to the bathroom, seeking solace in the comforting embrace of the warm water. As you stepped into the shower, tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over as the reality of Ben's departure washed over you in waves of sorrow and regret.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. The chaos of the world outside faded into insignificance as the overwhelming sense of abandonment consumed you. The thought of Ben leaving, of him deeming you unworthy of his presence, echoed in your mind like a haunting refrain.

You didn't care about Homelander or the fate of the others. All you could think about was Ben. How could he just walk away, leaving you.

As the water washed away the tears streaming down your face, you felt a profound sense of emptiness wash over you. In that moment, you were alone.

As the days passed, your initial sorrow gave way to simmering anger. How dare Ben walk away without so much as a word? How could he ignore your calls and messages, leaving you to stew in a pool of unanswered questions and unresolved emotions?

Fueled by frustration and a burning need for closure, you dialed Ben's number repeatedly, each call met with the cold indifference of silence. You left voicemails and sent messages, pouring out your heart in a desperate attempt to reach him, but each attempt fell on deaf ears.

As time wore on, the messages went undelivered, your words lost in the void of digital silence. The realization that Ben had chosen to cut you out of his life without a second thought only fueled the flames of your anger, driving you to new heights of resentment and indignation.

But beneath the anger lurked a deep-seated hurt, a nagging ache that refused to be silenced. Despite your best efforts to bury it beneath a veneer of rage, the pain of Ben's betrayal continued to gnaw at your heart, leaving behind a bitter taste of betrayal and disappointment.

Three weeks had elapsed since the tumultuous events that rocked your world. MM's recovery had progressed steadily, bringing a sense of relief to everyone involved. With Homelander neutralized and held captive at Supe Affairs, a semblance of peace had returned, albeit tinged with the echoes of past trauma.

As you stood before Ben's room, a mix of apprehension and determination filled your heart. Today marked the day that Butcher intended to clear out Ben's belongings, erasing all traces of his presence from your lives. Before everything was discarded, you felt compelled to sift through his possessions one last time, searching for closure amidst the remnants of what once was.

With a heavy heart, you entered the room, the air thick with memories.

As you moved through the room, memories flooded your mind with every item you touched. Ben's belongings, though few in number, held a weight of significance that was undeniable. You carefully selected one of his hoodies.

Amongst the scattered mementos, you found a small stack of photographs, capturing moments from Ben's childhood. Each image offered a glimpse into his past, revealing layers of his personality that you had yet to explore. With a tender smile, you tucked the photographs in your jeans.

Finally, your gaze fell upon his favorite lighter.

With your chosen keepsakes in hand, you made your way out of the room.

As you flipped through the stack of photographs, back in your room, your eyes widened in surprise when you stumbled upon one that featured you. In the image, you were sleeping peacefully in Ben's bed, bathed in the soft glow of morning light, with his sheets draped loosely over your form.

Raising an eyebrow, you couldn't help but feel a pang of curiosity at the sight. It was a candid moment captured in time, one that showcased a side of Ben you hadn't expected to see. Despite his rough exterior, there was a tender, romantic quality to the photograph that took you by surprise.

"Mighty romantic of you, Ben", you mumbled to yourself, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Despite his protests and claims of being anything but sentimental, the evidence before you painted a different picture. You lingered on the image, your heart ached with a mixture of longing and regret.

As another month slipped by, the absence of Ben weighed heavily on your heart. Eight weeks had passed since he walked out of your life, leaving behind an unfillable void. Despite the ache of his absence, you knew that life had to move forward.

In an attempt to distract yourself from the pain, you threw yourself into your work, immersing yourself in new projects and challenges.

It had been four weeks since you started working at Vought, and while you had hoped that this new job would provide you with some leads on Ben's whereabouts, your search had yielded no results thus far. Annie's prominent position within the company, with the support of A-Train, had facilitated your employment.

As you threw yourself into your work at Vought, hoping to find some semblance of closure or perhaps even a clue about Ben's whereabouts, you found yourself caught off guard by a coworker's persistent advances. From your very first day on the job, he had been flirting with you shamelessly, his charm and charisma impossible to ignore.

Despite your best efforts to focus on your tasks, his attention was a welcome distraction from the ache of Ben’s absence. With each playful exchange and lingering glance, you found yourself drawn to this new person, his presence offering a glimmer of solace amidst the uncertainty of your heartache.

As the clock struck noon on a Friday, the familiar sound of a knock interrupted the quiet hum of your office. You glanced up to see Jay, your coworker and so-called boyfriend, standing at the doorway with a hopeful smile on his face.

"Hey there", Jay greeted you warmly, his eyes lighting up as he took in your presence. "I thought I'd swing by and see if you'd like to grab some lunch before heading back to my place. What do you say?".

You hesitated for a moment, but as you looked into Jay's eyes, a flicker of warmth and affection tugged at your heartstrings.

With a soft smile, you nodded in agreement. "Sure", you replied, the corners of your lips quirking up in anticipation.

As you settled into his car, Jay turned to you with a gentle smile. "I was thinking", he began, his voice soft and reassuring, "maybe we could watch a movie tonight. And if you're up for it, we could have some… well… romantic time together". Jay's hand found its way to your thigh.

You felt a pang of guilt as Jay voiced his desires. After four months of Ben's absence and eight weeks of dating Jay, you hadn't yet taken that next step in your relationship. The truth was, you still weren't ready to fully open yourself up to someone new, not when your heart still carried the weight of unresolved feelings for Ben.

"It sounds nice", you replied, forcing a smile despite the turmoil swirling within you. "I'm just not sure if I'm ready for that yet".

Jay's expression softened with understanding, his hand squeezing yours in a reassuring gesture. "That's okay", he said gently, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering warmth. "Whenever you're ready".

As the day progressed, you found yourself nestled in Jay's arms, the soft glow of the TV casting a warm ambiance around you. The movie played in the background, but your thoughts were elsewhere, drifting back to memories of Ben. Again.

Jay was handsome, kind, smart, caring and came from a wealthy family—everything you could ask for in a partner. Yet, despite his many qualities, every touch, every kiss, every whispered word from him only served to remind you of the void left by Ben's absence.

With Jay's arm wrapped around you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm, you couldn't help but long for the familiar touch of Ben, for the comfort and security you found in his embrace. As much as you tried to push aside thoughts of him, he remained a constant presence in your heart and mind, a ghost haunting every moment you shared with Jay.

Despite Jay's genuine affection and the comfort he offered, you couldn't shake the ache of longing for someone who was no longer there.

As the movie played on, Jay leaned down, his hand gently tilting your chin to meet his gaze. His eyes held a warmth and tenderness that made your heart ache in a way you couldn't quite explain.

"You look stunning today", he whispered softly, his voice laced with sincerity as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face.

Before you could respond, his lips captured yours in a gentle kiss, his touch tender and affectionate.

As the kiss deepened, Jay's touch grew more urgent, his hands trailing up your hipbone beneath your shirt. You could feel the warmth of his touch searing through your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

His lips moved with a newfound intensity, his desire evident in the way he pressed his body against yours. You could feel the undeniable hardness of his cock against your thigh, the physical manifestation of his arousal.

Despite the warmth of his embrace and the passion in his kiss, a part of you couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that lingered within you.

Feeling Jay's weight pressing down on you, you couldn't suppress the feeling of discomfort that surged within you. As he began to kiss your neck, you gently pushed against his chest, creating a small barrier between you.

"I can't", you whispered softly, the words catching in your throat as you struggled to articulate the turmoil raging within you.

Jay's expression shifted, a hint of disappointment and hurt flickering across his features as he pulled back slightly. "What is it?", he asked, his voice tinged with confusion. "Why don't you want to sleep with me?".

"I just… I can't", you mumbled, your voice barely audible as you struggled to find the right words.

Crawling away from him, you stood up and made your way to the bathroom, the weight of your decision heavy on your shoulders. As you gazed at your reflection in the mirror, a wave of longing washed over you, your thoughts drifting back to Ben. Again. His words echoed in your mind, a painful reminder of the promise he had made to you. His vow not to touch you again if someone else ever laid a hand on you.

"Hey, are you okay in there?", Jay's voice called through the door, laced with concern.

You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself before responding. "Yeah, I'm fine", you replied, your voice wavering slightly. "Just need a moment".

There was a brief pause before Jay spoke again. "Do you want me to come in?", he asked tentatively.

You hesitated, unsure of how to respond. After a moment's consideration, you shook your head, even though he couldn't see you. "No, I'll be out in a minute", you assured him, your voice strained with emotion.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy @jackles010378 @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles @sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl @emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444 @seasonofthenerd @staple-your-mouth @artemys-ackles @selfdestructionandrhum @mystic-mara

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astonmartinii · 2 years ago

Text

always the ones you least expect | esteban ocon instagram au

pairing: esteban x actress!reader

when rumours circulate that y/n y/ln is dating an f1 driver people forget to root for the underdog

(face claim is saoirse ronan because i love her and everything she has ever been in)

popcrave

liked by taylorswift, estebanocon and 512,801 others

tagged: yourusername

popcrave y/n y/ln is nominated for best actress for her role in little women, making this her third ever nomination. it girl.

view all 11,027 comments

florencepugh so so deserved

loveletterstoyn i would jump in front of a moving train if she told me to

user45 please seek help

timotheechalamet literal royalty

liltimmyt so like when are yall gonna admit you’re in a relationship

emmawatson such an inspiration

yourusername

liked by timotheechalamet, charles_leclerc and 2,087,156 others

tagged: florencepugh, emmawatson

yourusername so so grateful for this nomination. this film was such an experience for me and led to me meeting so many amazing women. thank you so much to the little women family, love you all.

view all 40,912 comments

timotheechalamet miss you all already

f1wagsupdates so charles, lewis, esteban, pierre and mick all liked, which one do we think it is?

ynprotector31 it’s literally an oscar nomination post can you guys fuck off

leclercies16 it’s definitely charles

likedbypierregasly y’all set esteban up putting him on this list, be real

gretagerwig my heart is always so full for you

lewishamilton congrats y/n, very deserved

sirlewy44 I TOLD YALL ITS HIM OMG

estebanocon

liked by yourusername, lancestroll and 201,651 others

estebanocon

view all 2,915 comments

lancestroll dapper fellow

estebanocon tears in my eyes bro

estemcbestie he’s so ???

ynoscarwinner y/n liked.... thoughts being thunk

user341 be fucking real

estebanoconnnnnn i have faith in my frenchie

user341 your delusion needs to be studied

yourusername added to their story

estebanocon

liked by lancestroll, yourusername and 431,521 others

estebanocon suited and booted

comments are turned off

yourusername

liked by florencepugh, emmawatson and 3,103,988 others

yourusername i can’t even begin to put it into words what this means to me. thank you for all the support, everything has led to this and i’m more grateful than you can imagine.

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timotheechalamet LETS FUCKING GO

charles_leclerc congrats y/n!!

estebanocon beyond proud

user123 mans thinks she knows who he is

zendaya one of the best to do it

estebanocon

liked by yourusername, lewishamilton and 731,912 others

tagged: yourusername

estebanocon turns out the winning feeling is actually ten billion times better when it’s the one you love. so proud of you y/n.

view all 23,871 comments

user591 HOLY FUCKING SHIT

pierregasly congrats to y/n and all that jazz but @yukitsunoda0511 you owe me £50

yukitsunoda0511 idk whether i’m more annoyed i lost or that you backed the guy you supposedly hate so much

timotheechalamet good now i can publicly demand paddock passes

florencepugh yeah we kept this secret so long we deserve them

estebanocon you got it

esteoconstan este being besties with the hollywood big guns i SUPPORTED HIM BEFORE THIS LET IT BE KNOWN

yourusername i love you estie, i’m so glad you could come with me (the suit was a definite plus)

ynylnlover77 i love them your honour

yourusername

liked by estebanocon, zendaya and 2,871,045 others

tagged: estebanocon

yourusername i guess the cats out of the bag. i love the french

view all 51,780 comments

estebanocon did what the humble croissant could not. i feel unbeatable.

lancestroll someone is getting a bit ahead of themselves

yourusername no he’s right

ynylnstan NOOOOO Y/N STAND UP STOP

dannyric3333 she’s in love, but it’s not with me when will it end

yourusername added to their story

yourusername

liked by estebanocon, timotheechalamet and 1,098,761 others

tagged: estebanocon

yourusername he didn’t lie when he said the winning feeling feels better when it’s the one you love. my baby is a racewinner, so so so so so so proud of you este

view all 61,814 comments

estebanocon thank you my love, you being there made it all so much better

yourusername all my pleasure, this paddock life might be for me

user889 NO MISS MA’AM YOU CAN’T QUIT ACTING

yourusername don’t worry there’s still so much to come

f1stan77 the way they all doubted him, my king came through

f1 our new favourite couple, see you soon y/n!!!

a/n this one is super long, hope yall enjoy. este bestie is severely underrated.

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 x reader #esteban ocon #esteban ocon x you #esteban ocon x reader #esteban ocon instagram au #instagram au

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lesbiantaikawaititi · 3 years ago

Text

okay I wanna talk about the significance of the name of the last episode of ofmd: Wherever You Go, There You Are.

It’s an old adage which basically means that you can’t out run yourself. You can go anywhere to try to escape from your problems but at the end of the day, you might be the one you’re trying to escape from, which is impossible.

This applies to both Stede and Ed. Stede’s solution to his problems of being “uncomfortable in a married state” was to leave his family and become a pirate, which worked well for him, but in the end, the guilt of causing the deaths of Nigel and Chauncey and the guilt of “changing” Ed into something that he “wasn’t” was too much for Stede, and so he abandoned Ed in order to escape the “monster” he was as a pirate. But of course, things at home are even worse than before. He’s different after all of his experiences. Going home didn’t fix him like he thought it would. Because he’s still himself at home. Wherever he goes, there he is.

Then there’s Ed. Ed was finally being himself thanks to Stede. Even after Stede left him he was vulnerable and open with people about his feelings. But when Izzy says that Ed isn’t Blackbeard anymore and mocks him, Ed puts on his Blackbeard persona again. While Stede actually goes to a different place, Ed changes his appearance and actions. But the last shot we see of him is his crying and looking at the lighthouse painting. Because he can’t escape from himself, no matter how much he wants to. He can’t go be Blackbeard because that’s not who he really is. Wherever he goes, there he is.

But I think this adage has a second meaning, which is about Ed and Stede’s love for each other. Stede left Ed, not because he didn’t love him, but because he thought he had ruined him. So he left thinking Ed would be better off. But at home, he thinks of Ed. He even has a conversation with an orange pretending he’s talking to Ed. And he realizes that he’s in love with Ed, and he wants to be with him. He could go anywhere, but that won’t change. For Stede, wherever he goes, there Ed is, in his heart.

And oh boy, we get to see Ed’s full rollercoaster of emotions after Stede leaves him. First he tries to hold on, then he wants to let go, then he makes it seem like he’s actually let go by being Blackbeard again. But the things he does to let go of Stede really just shows how much he is still thinking about him. He gets rid of all of Stede’s stuff, and most of his crew. He has Frenchie sew a heart on his flag to show how “over” Stede he is. But he still sleeps in Stede’s bed and still keeps the lighthouse painting. He tells himself he’s better off without Stede, when it’s the lack of Stede that he’s focusing on. Stede was his first love, and it takes a long time to get over that. And again, the last shot we see of him is his crying over Stede. Because wherever he goes, there Stede is, in his heart.

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd stede #ofmd edward teach #ofmd episode 10 #wherever you go there you are #ofmd theory

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dragonmuse · 2 years ago

Note

For the Prompt of Choice... Maybe something focused on Roach, Pete, & Frenchie for Mainverse? ~Lem

(You got it! Lucius sneaks in here at the end, hope that's okay!)

Visiting the doctor was a nerve-wracking experience these days. Pete knew he was fine, and his doctor was a lovely woman, but still. He worried the days before, because what if this time it wasn’t okay? It never used to to be like that, but since rounding on fifty, the thought was just in his head.

It had been fine, of course it had, he was in excellent shape, she said. They had tweaked his cholesterol medication last year and now his numbers were perfect. All was well. He still walked home a little faster than usual, eager to return.

“PETE! HELP!” Frenchie cried from the floor as soon as he crossed the threshold. So that was distracting.

“What am I looking at?” He asked, baffled. Frenchie was tangled up, holding his hands out pleadingly while Roach apparently tried to lasso him back with a lot of very bright cords.

“He’s being a baby,” Roach rolled his eyes.

“He’s trying to kill me with bad fashion,” Frenchie wailed and then was jerked back again. “And terrible construction.”

Pete hung up his coat. “Are you making something with a plan or experimenting?”

“There’s a plan,” Roach protested. “He just won’t stay still.”

“He wants to make a corset out of bungee cord and he’s using me as his victim/model.” Frenchie grumbled, subsiding a little. “And now he can’t get me out of it. Or won’t.”

“I have it figured out,” Roach scoffed, but then glanced at Pete a little nervously. “Mostly?”

“Okay, okay, let’s see what we’ve got.”

Pete kneeled down beside them and found one of the clips had hooked into Roach’s crocheted shirt. Another was locked around Frenchie’s belt loop.

“Were you two wrestling with this or something?”

“He kept wiggling,” Roach sighed. “And it got a little out of hand.”

“John said we were being too loud and left to get lunch. That was like forty minutes ago, so I don’t think he’s coming back anytime soon,” Frenchie heaved a sigh. “I’m hungry.”

“Okay,” Pete carefully unhooked Roach from the mess and got to detangling. “Let’s free him, eat lunch and go back to the drawing board on this one cause it looks like you’re trying to make a mess.”

“Fuck off,” Roach grumbled, but did stay still long enough to be freed from the morass. “I’m making soup out of whatever you people have in the fridge.”

“Best of luck,” Pete agreed and started unraveling Frenchie. “John tie these knots?”

“Yes.”

“We’re going to be here a while.”

They were on the floor long enough that Roach delivered up steaming bowls of something that smelled really good. Pete tugged the last knot free and Frenchie got to his feet, bolted to the bathroom, then came back to snatch his bowl and take it covetously to his seat.

“I don’t think knots are the way to go,” Pete said into what was startlingly good soup considering the state of their fridge.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Roach growled.

“I don’t have to help,” he shrugged.

“Don’t help him!” Frenchie said from his chair.

“Wow,” Roach rolled his eyes. “Like half of that wasn’t your idea.”

“The better half.”

The two of them sniped at each other as Pete finished his food. He wasn’t particularly concerned about it. As soon as Frenchie looked actually wounded by one of Roach’s verbal blows, Roach collapsed like a house of cards into mumbled apologies. The two of them had these spats in long cycles, going months in harmony then tearing at each other until inevitably Roach was the one that cried mercy.

Pete hadn’t actually noticed that pattern, it had been Lucius that spelled it out when Pete complained about one of their fights.

“It’s just how they go. But then they make it up to each other, it’s okay,” Lucius has shrugged. “Annoying for a few hours, but I bet we are too sometimes.”

“Never,” Pete insisted. “How could we be annoying?”

“You’re right,” Lucius laughed and kissed him. “We’re perfection. Never the least bit grating. Definitely never ever make Frenchie and John throw socks at us.”

“I can smack your ass in my own kitchen if I want to,” Pete pouted. “I’m not doing it AT them.”

“I think it’s really more what comes after that annoys them,” Lucius cuddled in closer. “But you don’t have to convince me, I like it.”

So these days, Pete let it happen, the same way he observed John and Frenchie’s occasional spats from a distance. Roach sat down in John’s chair and Frenchie listened to his whispers then pat him on the knee and they talked for a few more minutes, before Roach turned to Pete and said:

“Okay, how would you do it?”

“Oh, am I getting cut in on commission now?”

“I don’t have to feed you, you know.”

“...Fine,” Pete conceded. “Let me show you what I think.”

He picked up a few cords and started weaving them together like a basket. Roach moved to sit beside him, watching.

“I’m going to need a lot more if we do it that way.”

“Yeah, depends on how much you want to make. Full corset?”

Roach touched the smallish panel Pete had made. “Mm, I like how it looks. What if it were a whole dress?”

“A lot more cord.”

Going to the hardware store with them was a new and interesting experience. Frenchie and John usually left the purchase of such materials up to Pete, so he’d never walked in the door with Frenchie at his side, in skinny jeans and a crop top. Definitely never with Roach, who had opted for a mangled dress barely held together with safety pins and mismated Converse today.

“You know this is the first time every salesperson in the place as left me the fuck alone?” He mentioned as he picked up cord. “Like fuck them, truly, but uh, can you guys come with me every time? They are annoying as hell.”

Roach cackled while Frenchie sighed.

“I thought you’d want to bond with your people,” Roach teased as he picked out colors. “All these grunting hypermasc types.”

“You think I’m hypermasc?” Pete considered that. Ten years ago, he would’ve been thrilled with that as a compliment, back when he’d considered drag a very occasional hobby that had little say over his day to day choices.

Now...well. You could only work at the Revenge for so long before the entire concept of gender started to seem a little like silly putty. Maybe when he and Lucius were out, people slotted them neatly into that kind of category. Lucius certainly projected some things that weren’t hard to pick up and Pete couldn’t really help being bald and built a certain way.

“Only when you get really into some things,” Frenchie assured him. “We all know what you’re really like. But you do have the second best camouflage.”

“Who’s got the best?” Pete asked, affronted. He knew it didn’t make any sense. He didn’t even want the best camouflage, but second best was just mean.

“John,” Frenchie and Roach said in perfect agreement.

Which was fair. John didn’t want it either, but if Pete’s body made a statement without his consent, John’s pretty much screamed it.

“Yeah, fine,” he grumbled in resignation.

“You can be our bear anytime,” Frenchie popped a kiss right on the center of his head. “Grr.”

“Fuck off,” Pete laughed and pushed him out of the way gently. “Okay, I know white isn’t on the color list, but do you think it’d hold dye?”

“No way,” Frenchie wrinkled his nose, touching the cord. “Plastic, I think.”

They debated and left with several more bags of cord. Back at the apartment, they experimented and when they found a weaving technique that worked, they started measuring and cutting. Pete had to get out his hotknife and some duct tape to cut the edges so they’d stop mushrooming out and fraying. Roach, predictably, fell in love with the hotknife so that was his next birthday present done and dusted.

“This is going to take a few days,” Frenchie determined. “And like a lot of measuring.”

“Yeah,” Roach touched the weave. “I’m going to pay you the going rate to finish. Didn’t really expect to be this involved.”

Pete almost argued, but then bit the words back. If Roach thought it was worth paying for, then it was. Money between friends could be sticky, but they charged everyone else for costuming and no one had gotten miffed so far. Sometimes they even took it out in trade. Oluwande’s styled wigs for a gown had kept Frenchie and Ethel in hair for years.

“Gotta to prep for tonight,” Frenchie got to his feet and held hands out to help Pete up off the floor. “You want the shower first, tool man?”

Now that he mentioned it, Pete did feel a little tacky and gross. “Yeah, thanks.”

With one bathroom, they had all agreed early on not to lock the door during a shower. You knocked if you needed the bathroom and you used it as quickly and efficiently as possible. This also had the very lovely side effect that halfway through his shower, Pete was joined by his very naked husband.

“Hi, babe,” Pete said giddily, welcoming him with soapy arms.

“Hiya,” Lucius grinned and kissed him thoroughly. “I’ve been told that you were getting handy when I couldn’t even be here to watch. Naughty.”

“I’ll do it again soon,” he promised, sliding his arms around him. “Doc says I’m perfect.”

��You don’t need to be charged a copay to find that out. I would’ve told you for free,” he kissed him again, then reached for his own soap. “But I’m glad to hear it.”

“You have a good night?”

“Yeah, saw a decent movie. You’d hate it. Izzy took me to look at knives. He wants to replace his kitchen set. I told him he doesn’t need to be more deadly, but you know how it goes.”

“What’d you do while he looked at blades for I’m gonna guess fifteen hours?”

“It was an hour,” Lucius groaned. “And I found a new app for remixing, so I got Leda’s new number done. It sounds pretty good.”

“Play it for me later?”

“Sure, you can tell me if the last blend is okay, still isn’t quite working for me.”

There wasn’t time to have any more fun than that. Frenchie would be waiting his turn and John would probably want to shave before they headed out. Still, it was nice to have that handful of minutes in steam and freshly cleaned skin. Back in their bedroom, Pete packed his look for the night while Lucius put away the last basket of laundry that he’d left behind the day before.

“Hey,” Pete touched his elbow as Lucius slipped past him to put something away. “Am I too masc sometimes? Or like...I don’t know. I don’t even know what I’m asking.”

“Not for me. I’m into your whole thing,” Lucius stopped in his tracks. “What brought this on?”

“Just had a weird moment in the hardware store.”

“Ah, the place for all existential panics.”

“Roach and Frenchie were with me.”

“Okay, sarcasm retracted, I don’t know how you wouldn’t have some kind of panic with the two of them near power tools. I’m impressed you all came back with all your limbs.”

“I guess I’m used to like...passing? Some anyway. And I don’t think about it much anymore. It doesn’t matter what people assume about me most of the time, but I dunno. Felt weird today.”

“You can always camp it up,” Lucius nodded. “But babe, you’re pretty great just the way you are.”

“Does it bother you when people assume shit about us when we’re in public?”

“Well...” Lucius got a distant look for a second. “Honestly, I’m usually happy when they get that far. Most people don’t even think we’re a couple unless we’re like making out. That bothers me more.”

“Yeah,” Pete frowned. That came up a lot for a lot of reasons. “Me too.”

“People assume things all the time about everyone. Let ‘em,” Lucius shrugged.

“Yeah, fuck ‘em,” Pete decided and returned to packing. It was only when they were nearly ready to go that he floated. “I think I might put my earring back in.”

“Yeah?” Lucius lit up. “Want me to go with you to the parlor? Cause I think the hole closed up.”

“Will you faint?”

“Shut up, I won’t watch. I’ll be on handholding duty.”

“Then yeah, I’d like that.”

One earring wouldn’t change much, but Pete didn’t need to change for the world. Just a little bit for himself, he decided. A reminder in the mirror.

#leda house and the kraken verse #ficlet #pete black #frenchie chery #roach feldman #apartment dwellers #lucius black

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