#he was so so good and so hurt and so guilty of everything he'd done and he had this darkness that he himself feared OUUGHH

[rapidhighway]

I miss nine and ten so bad I'm gonna be sick no one did it like them ever again ououuughhhh

[werecreature-addicted]

I remember some of your posts about a minotaur who lived with a peasant girl, can I ask for something about that? If it's not a bother of courseDue to the life that the minotaur has had, its instincts never appeared, that is, it never went through a stage of heat due to the stress and abuse to which it was subjected, but now everything is different, it is calmer, more relaxed, and it began to pay attention to a girl, specifically the girl she lives with, and apparently her instincts are beginning to appear, her body asks her to "mate" with her partner, although it is difficult to control herself, plus they are nothing yet and the girl does not know that minotaurs also go through a hot season, and it's not like she was going to ask him that, it would be very strange xd

(imagine that poor cock crying to enter the girl, but he must hide it, even if it is uncomfortable)

Sam master list for previous parts.

under the cut because this is long...for me at least.

Normally when it came to the physically demanding chores around the farm Sam liked to do the heavy lifting, literally. You were stronger than you looked but you still didn't have the monstrous strength that he did, and even besides that, he liked to spoil you. He'd never admit it out loud but he liked the way you sometimes watched him as he repaired the siding of a barn or hammered in a sense post. Something about the way your eyes followed him left a warm feeling in his belly. It's especially nice now that sometimes you kiss him after he's done a good job.

Now though, he just stands and stares as you work, nailing together bits of wood making your own saddle stand out of leftover bits of material. You looked so good, sweaty, and bent over your little bench. Is this how you felt when you watched him work? Sam doesn't even have the vocabulary to describe the strange heat that burns inside of him. He's supposed to be doing other work right now but he can't tear his eyes from you.

He wants to bend you over that saddle stand and- and what? He flinches back from the thought he didn't want to hurt you and he hates that his instincts are pushing him in that direction. But he wouldn't hurt you, his mind argues back. He wouldn't pin you down to hurt win a match or something. He'd be gentle. He'd pleasure you. Sam shudders. Where were these thoughts coming from?

His nostrils flare and even from across the barn, he can smell you and the salt of your sweat makes his cock throb. Sam sits down hard and pulls a nearby milk bucket over the large tent in his pants. He immediately feels stupid and tosses the pail aside, it did more to draw attention to his boner than hide it. He settles for just sitting awkwardly and hoping you don't notice.

How can Sam ever look you in the eye again after this? He supposes he shouldn't feel so guilty about being attracted to you but surely it's perverse to want you this badly when you're not even doing anything. At least if you were naked in bed trying to seduce him he'd have good reason to be this turned on. Sam shudders and replays the mental image of you, naked in bed, looking up at him trying to pull him towards you. Fuck he needed to get on top of you.

Just as that thought crossed his mind you bent over the waist-height wooden stand to grab something from your toolbox jutting your ass out in front of him. In a second Sam is on his feet, walking towards you before he can register what he's even doing, all he knows is that he needs you.

"oh, Sam-" you gasp, jumping a little when you turn to see him right behind you. For someone so big he moved silently. Sam takes a step forward and presses you back against the barn wall. "What's going on honey?" you ask trying to sound calm but you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little nervous about his behavior. Sam had always been so cautious with you, overly gentle and paranoid that he might hurt you by accident. The Sam you knew would never pin you against a wall like this, it was nervewracking but also exciting.

"I uhm I just wanted to be close to you I guess," he mumbled, lowering his snout to your shoulder as if he was smelling you. Sam steps closer and you feel something brush against your thigh at first you think it's his leg but you look down and realize it's his barely restrained cock poking into your thigh.

"Do- are you uhm in heat Sam?" You ask and the monster on top of you freezes.

"do- do minotaurs go into heat?" he asks puzzled.

"I guess I don't know but most monsters do have you really never gone into heat before?" You ask then wince, it made sense that he wouldn't go into heat when he was under such harsh conditions his body wouldn't let him go into such a vulnerable state.

"No," he said, his hips grinding softly against your thigh he groans at the friction and you can't help but shudder too. You might not go into heat but you did want him just as much. "Will you help me?" he asked desperately.

"yes- yeah, I'll help you let me just-" As soon as he has your consent all other thoughts fly out of his head. He pushes his mouth to yours kissing you and effectively shutting you up. This wasn't like any of the other soft and innocent kisses you and Sam had shared in the past this was heated, and needy and caused a warm heat to bloom inside of you. This isn't a kiss for the sake of kissing, this is a kiss that promises much much more to come.

Even desperate like this, Sam still tries to be gentle as he strips your clothes and kneels down so he can hook your legs over his broad, muscular shoulders, your back pressed to the wall of the barn he holds your weight easily.

"I'm going to get you nice and prepped for me, my cock is big and I need you to take every inch, okay?" he asks softly, kissing the soft skin of your inner thigh as his thick fingers ghost over your cunt.

"Hold my horns while you rid my face," Sam instructs. You look down at his horns, one normal and the other broken and jagged. You hesitated, you knew how much that broken horn hurt him and you didn't want to grab it, but before you could put much more thought into it Sam pressed his mouth to your cunt, running his large soft tongue over your folds getting you wet enough to slot his big fingers inside of you. You yelp and settle for holding on to his good horn with one hand and tangling your fingers in his hair with the other.

Sam's cock ached. He needed to be buried inside of you, but he held himself back. He imagined the pained squeak you'd make if he tried to fuck you without any prep and that was almost enough to snap him out of his lusty haze. Almost.

You lose count of how many times you cum as he stretches you out and gets you ready for his dick, eventually though he decides that you're ready for him, or he just gets tired of waiting. Your legs tremble and for a second you worry you're not going to be able to stand on your own but you needn't worry, Sam had no intention of letting you stand. he readjusts his grip so that your legs are over his forearms and he pins you against the wall again his cock nudging your opening, slipping up your pussy as he tries unsuccessfully to push into you. His cock head bumps your clit and you feel a pulse of warm precum ooze out onto your hot skin making you shudder, your thighs tense in his arms, and Sam grunts, spreading your legs a little further as he grinds his cock over your cunt again.

You reach between your two bodies and grasp his cock. You curse silently to yourself feeling the weight and girth of it for the first time. You stroke him a few times before you guide his dick inside of you.

Sam had been so careful to be gentle with you this whole time, but now that he feels your tight heat gripping him in a way he's never felt before he no longer has the restraint. His brain shuts off and he feels more like a beast than he has in years. Sam slams his hips against yours burying his cock to the hilt in one swift motion. You cry out and dig your nails into his biceps, holding on for dear life as he thrusts into you with all the strength of a bull plowing a field. You're pretty sure you hear something crack and for a minute you aren't sure if it's you or the barn wall behind you that's breaking.

Sam groans loudly as he sinks his cock into you over and over again. His hips have a mind of their own as they steadily rock back and forth. He hates to admit it, but every time you cry out in pleasure or in pain it makes his cock throb. He would have thought the sound of you hurting-hurting because of him, would be enough to break his heart instead it makes him whimper and only fuels his desire to fuck you harder and fill you with his cum until you were swollen with it.

The mental image of you bloated with his seed proves to be too much for him and with one more deep stroke he cums deep inside of you, his legs shake with the relief of finally breeding you. He pulls you away from the wall and crashes backward into a hay bail laying down to catch his breath while keeping you impaled on his cock.

It feels right to have you on his chest and be surrounded by the earthy comforting smell of hay and dirt. You shift a little and his hands fly up to your hips pushing you back down.

"Stay... please," he almost begs softly.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sam, I just want to get off your dick," you promise, trying to shift again. then he looks at you with the saddest most pleading look you've ever seen. his big brown cow eyes sparkling at you.

"Please don't, I want to be inside of you so you can feel me get hard again before I fuck you," he mumbles pleadingly. how could you say no to that face?

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Lashing Out And Regretting It

Requested: heyya! love how you write the boys characters you got them so well just like how they are on the show. if its okay and if its a good idea, may i request an imagine with the boys and homelander and their reaction after they and reader got into an argument, getting to the point where they told reader some hurtful things and told reader to leave because they dont need reader or reader is nothing to them/is useless. they just say this because they’re angry but reader takes their word to heart and did just as they said. now they cant find reader or finding it hard to locate reader. could be platonic or familial. thank you! - anon

A/N: Screaming I love this!!! I live for the angst!!! I'm so sorry I've been so slow with requests my loves! I hope you can understand! Feedback is always appreciated! 💜💜💜

Requests are open! 🔮

Butcher embarrassed you in front of everyone. Yelling and screaming, calling you useless, all because Samer got away. You were a little too occupied with Kimiko and Frenchie to realize, opting to save your friend than chase after him. Both Kimiko and Frenchie were eager to come to your aid, but he shut them down. He got in your face and he humiliated you, said the team was better off without you. You left without a word, ignoring your friends who begged you to stay. You left your phone behind, knowing they'd call and text, apologizing for him. You were good at your job, the best even. You and Butcher have worked together a long time. This was your first mistake in a long time and he couldn't let it go. You were done. You packed a bag and disappeared. When they realized they couldn't reach you, they split up, looking at your apartment and usual hang outs. No one had seen you. Suddenly Butcher can feel his heart in his stomach. Regret spread through his chest. Everyone was pissed at him, but no one was angrier at him. He never should have done what he did. Now you were gone. Who knows when you'd show up again?

Hughie regrets it immediately. He said what he said because he was angry, and stupid, and awful. You left the night of the Tek Knight party. You were a Supe, a powerful one, but for whatever reasons, your abilities weren't what they used to be. You argued with him, saying he shouldn't go in alone. It came out before he realized, before he could take it back. Right now, he was more powerful than you were. What right did you have telling him what to do when you couldn't do your single job? The look on your face, the horror and hurt, it made him sick to his stomach. He tried to apologize, to explain, but you were done. You threw your hands up, wishing Hughie and the rest a safe mission, but you were done. M.M. assured him it was better to go through with it than run after you, so he did, but the whole time he's thinking about you. He doesn't find you at the office or apartment. You disappeared. They tried to track you, find you, but they hit wall after wall. You'd show up again, they all told him, you just needed time. He'd never felt so guilty in his life.

Annie didn't think you were trying hard enough. It didn't seem like you cared anymore. Not about the team, or taking down Homelander. You seemed like you were just going through the motions. She meant to just talk with you, but things escalated pretty quickly. As soon as she said the words, she knew she was in the wrong. You were becoming a liability to everyone involved. If you were done, burned out, then just say that. Leave. But if you wanted to be a part of this team, if you really cared, you'd stop being so useless. Truth was, you were tired. You were tired of everything. There was no name calling or fighting back. You didn't have it in you. You got up and you walked out, pushing past Butcher and the rest who were just walking in. Annie goes to follow you, but you just pick up your pace. She calls and texts, but you never answer. Everyone says to give you your space, but she can't let it go. She shows up at your place which is completely empty. It fills her with so much shame. She apologizes profusely, asking you to come back, but she never gets a response.

M.M. is reactive and angry and he knows what he's done is wrong immediately after. He's been in charge of this team and so far all you've been is negative. You've lost your faith in the team. He understands, he gets it, but for the sake of everyone involved, he needs you to look on the bright side. If there isn't one, he needs you to make one. He ends up blowing up at you while you're waiting for Hughie as Webweaver. You tell him, Annie, and Kimiko that you have a bad feeling about this, a terrible feeling, but it was too late to do anything. Hughie was already inside. He knows now is not the time nor place, but he loses it. If you can't have faith in the mission, in your teammates, then you shouldn't be here at all. Your attitude problems only hurt morality and it was worse than useless, it was dangerous. Annie and Kimiko try to de-escalate the situation, but you've made up your mind: you're done. You leave without a second thought, wishing them a safe mission. Because they're all occupied, no one can really do anything about it. After his panic attack, Marvin sees just how right you were, but when he calls it goes right to voicemail. When it seems like you disappeared, he does everything he can to track you down. You don't want to be found, though.

Frenchie fights with you after Samer gets away. It was the three of you that were in charge of him and you let him get away. You didn't have any fight left in you. It was your fault. He must've been working on the cuffs for weeks. You trusted him and you let Kimiko get hurt. You know that's the reason he's so upset: because he had to cut off her leg to save her. She could have died. You know what she means to him. And yet, he goes a little overboard. Everyone thinks so, yelling at him to stop when he's gone too far. You were useless. You let Samer get away, you let Kimiko get hurt, you failed at every single job you were given. He can see the look of hurt on your face and finally stops, the room left in a heavy silence. You grab your coat and you leave. There was no use in fighting with him, he was right. Annie and Hughie called after you, pleading with you to stay, but you waved them off, storming out. When they don't hear from you, they all start to worry. You sent a single text to Frenchie before turning off your phone. Tell Kimiko I'm sorry. Feeling guilty, he goes to your place. You're not there though, and neither are your immediate belongings: wallet, keys, phone, some clothes. He has to do something to fix this, to make things okay.

Kimiko is really hurt you turned yourself in alongside Frenchie. The guilt was eating you alive, all the things you've ever done. It was horrible. It was unforgivable. When you come back alongside Butcher, who insists you and Frenchie can replicate the virus, you can't stand to look at her. She wants to talk with you, to ask you why, and eventually, when you get a little alone time, she does. Of course she would understand, your upbringings were cruel, brutal, and it lead you down this road, but you couldn't move on. You couldn't forgive yourself. Kimiko was pissed. Did you really think it was that easy? Did you really think you were the only one eaten alive by guilt and shame and self-hatred? She was signing at you furiously, as close to yelling as she could get. You were so smart, so intelligent, and yet you were wasting your talents wanting to rot away in prison! If you were going to throw your talents away and hurt the team and hurt her and become a useless nobody, then what was stopping you? Certainly not her, not any of your friends. You don't have it in you to fight back. You don't have anything left in you, not anymore. She tries to get your attention when you leave, but you don't look back. When none of them hear from you, Kimiko begs The Boys to do everything they can to find you. Please, she has to make things right.

Bonus! Homelander cuts people out of life left and right. Still, you never thought he would turn on you. And yet, when you don't know who the snitch is, when you're not closer to pinpointing the culprit, he loses it. His eyes even heat up, though he catches himself, calming himself down. Firecracker interrupts his yelling, foolishly, but in the end it saves you from hearing anymore about how pathetic, useless, stupid you are. That you don't deserve to be a part of The Seven, you don't deserve to be a Supe at all. He goes off with her, believing it was Webweaver all along. You don't know how much time you have, but you know, in order to avoid his wrath, you have to leave right away. Get some space between you so that he can cool off, if he ever does. You took it as a pretty clear way of saying that you were out, you lost his trust. You weren't a friend anymore, you weren't anything anymore. Firecracker had saved the day. Again. When he comes back, covered in blood and no closer to finding the narc than he was before, he goes looking for you. He searches the entire city, but you've disappeared completely. Vanished.

[lanawinterscigarettes]

More Important (Greg House x reader x James Wilson)

Summary: you not feeling well is far more important than work in your boyfriends' eyes

Warnings: the reader is sick/doesn't feel good but it isn't specified the reason why so it's pretty much up for interpretation, House and Wilson are both loving and worried boyfriends, kind of hurt/comfort given the themes, brief and mild swearing, they/them pronouns are used to refer to the reader one (1) time in a gender neutral manner

A/N: I felt awful when I woke up the other day and when I went back to sleep I had a dream with House and Wilson that ended up inspiring this fic

When you woke up that morning, every muscle in your body ached as if someone had dropped a sack of bricks on you while you slept. As much as you wanted to just stay in bed, you unfortunately had to get up to use the bathroom.

House was still asleep next to you, letting out the occasional peaceful snore despite the time indicating he'd be late for work if he didn't wake up soon. Not that he cared.

Wilson was already up and ready, from what you could tell. That assumption was later confirmed when you stumbled to the bathroom, the sight before you making it seem as though your boyfriend was being serenaded by the sound of the blow dryer as he fixed his hair.

"Are you almost done? I need the bathroom," you mumbled groggily, leaning up against the side of the doorframe while you waited for him to finish.

"Well, good morning to you, too," He responded in a voice that was far too chipper for your taste given how early it was. "And yeah, almost." He shut off the blow dryer and turned to face you, his big brown eyes studying you with a slight look of concern. Being a doctor, of course he could recognize when something was physically wrong.

"Are you okay?" He tentatively asked, trying to approach the subject in a delicate manner. After all the time he'd spent with House he knew not everyone wanted to talk about their feelings or even admit when something was wrong.

"Yeah, 'm fine. Jus' have a slight headache." Technically it wasn't a full lie, as your head did hurt, but you were greatly underexaggerating the pain level in hopes he wouldn't worry.

Big mistake. Almost as soon as you shut the bathroom door did Wilson turn and head towards the bedroom with the full intent of waking up your other boyfriend.

By the time you were done, both House and Wilson were standing close together, presumably discussing your supposed symptoms, even if you couldn't hear what they were saying.

"I know you guys are talking about me," you grumbled out the accusation while shuffling back over to the bed. Wilson looked a bit guilty to be talking about something involving you behind your back, but House just seemed amused you still had the energy required to dish out snark despite not feeling good.

"Whatever led you to that conclusion?" House asked rhetorically. "We very well could've been discussing what traffic will be like on the way in to work, or our favorite romantic movies." At that, Wilson rolled his eyes in annoyance. House ignored him, finishing with, "Not everything is about you, y'know."

"Don't play dumb with me," was the only thing you could manage to get out as a response given how tired you were. Collapsing onto the bed, you curled under the covers in hopes that maybe all you needed was a couple hours of extra sleep.

Too exhausted for your brain to work properly, you only picked up bits and pieces of their conversation. From what you could tell, they were trying to decide whether or not they should stay home from work to look after you, and if so who it should be out of the two of them.

"I'll stay here with them. Just tell Cuddy I can't come in today because of a medical emergency," House offered while glancing over at your blanket clad form. As much as he acted like he didn't care, he didn't enjoy seeing you in pain, even if it was over something small.

"Are you sure?" Wilson questioned, just to double check in case he wanted to change his mind.

House nodded his head to confirm, uttering "yeah, I'm sure" in an uncharacteristically soft voice.

You heard the sound of footsteps approaching, feeling as Wilson leaned down to press a kiss to your face, murmuring the words "I have to go to work, but I'll be back soon". You just nodded, too weak to say anything more than a quiet "love you".

After he left, House made his way back over to the bed, gently nudging what he assumed to be your leg with his cane. "Move over," he commanded in his usual gruff manner that led little room for argument.

Obliging, you shifted over on the bed, giving him the space to lay down in his normal spot. "Sorry."

He let out a sigh as he got on the bed, feeling a little bad he was so rude given just how pathetic you looked. "It's fine."

The two of you were quiet for a moment before you spoke up again, your voice sounding a little hoarse. "I'm sorry you got stuck here with me. I'm sure you'd rather be doing anything else other than this."

As much as he didn't want to admit it, hearing you say that hurt his heart a little. Then again, he couldn't necessarily blame you for thinking that. "Not true. Why would I want to be in a hospital full of sick people I don't even like when I could be with only one sick person I can at least tolerate?"

You let out a snort of laughter, fully recognizing the jest in his tone. He obviously cared, the grumpy bastard, even if he didn't show it very often.

He felt accomplished when he heard your laugh, continuing in a softer and more genuine tone. "Besides, some things are more important, anyway."

"Mhm." Humming softly in agreement, you moved closer to him on the bed until your head was resting against his shoulder, making sure to give him the space to get up and stretch his leg if he needed to later on. "I love you."

A faint smile formed on his face at your words, one of his arms reaching over to wrap around you protectively. "I know." It was his own way of showing his love for you without having to say the words.

Feeling comfortable and safe in his arms, you must've dozed off because the next thing you remembered was being woken up by the sound of a door opening and shutting.

"Could you be any louder?" House's irritated voice rang out through your ears, the sound not being entirely unpleasant even if it did manage to wake you up more.

"Sorry," you heard Wilson apologize in a hushed tone. There's no way it was evening already, which meant he must've gotten off work early.

"What are you doing back here?" You called out, your voice sounding tired yet curious. "You're supposed to still be at work."

"I couldn't stay knowing you were home sick," he responded as he slipped under the covers next to you, not even bothering to change into more comfortable clothes first.

"Oh, sure, just forget all about me," House complained in mock offense, something that Wilson chose to outrightly ignore.

"But the hospital- I mean, you're the head of oncology, you can't just-"

"Some things are more important," Wilson gently cut off your worries, his hand reaching out to rest on top of yours.

"Hm, that sounds familiar," you muttered while giving House a look that said 'I know you two have been talking about me again'. He looked back as if he had no clue what your deal was.

"Go back to sleep, honey. We'll both still be here when you wake back up." It was hard to ignore the command of the oncologist next to you, especially when he spoke in such a low and soothing way.

"Okay," you agreed without a fight, snuggling comfortably into the arms of your two boyfriends as you closed your eyes and allowed sleep to overtake you yet again, starting to feel a lot better already.

End notes: I feel like I'm not very good at writing fics with poly couples which is a damn shame because I really love doing it </3

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated | requests are currently open

Main masterlist | House MD masterlist | wanna be added to my taglist?

🏷 taglist: @pigeonmama

[fanaticsnail]

Thinking about a reader who's too polite for their own good. They aren't a total pushover, of course, but still don't speak up a lot of the times even when they probably should.

It's been a problem their whole life, but it really comes to a head when they join the strawhats. There's the usual problems; Luffy being obnoxiously loud, Chopper and Usop and their hyjinks. But none of these things compare tho their problems with Sanji.

The chef has one rule: no wasting food. It's how he was raised, and his experiences have lead to him understanding the importance of a meal. The 'no food waste' rule is known ship wide.

So when something is made that the reader doesn't like, they have no choice but to choke it back with a smile.

Sanji thinks he's done something wrong; underseasoned the food, maybe? This leads to a vicious cycle of him trying to perfect the food (because damn if he isn't going to get this right for his pretty crewmate) and the reader choking it back reluctantly (because damn if they're going to break Sanji's one rule and potentially ruin their chances).

All of this comes to one glorious, horrendous conclusion where one of Sanji's attempts uses an ingredient that the reader is allergic to and well....let's just say the aftermath was something to behold.

-♡♡

POOR BABYYYYYYYY. I love it. Let's torture him a bit.

Food Preferences

Masterlist Here

Little drabble.

Synopsis: Sanji caters to suit your personal food preferences, and it hurts him to learn of how truly picky you were with your food. He lives to serve, but his background as a great cook leaves him with a bruised ego to dull down his extravagant meals.

Themes: Sanji x gn!reader, underlying feelings, Sanji is a service king, reader is a picky eater.

Warning: potential eating disorder mentioned. Sanji serves large portions and it hurts to finish your plate.

Notes: Oh my gosh, Sanji would feel so guilty about it too. He'd cry before giving Luffy your portion, but would absolutely cater to suit your needs.

His portion control is due to the fact that he's feeding Luffy constantly, and expecting everyone to get a taste of everything he makes before Luffy takes it all for himself. It's the same with Zoro's drinking habit. He wants everyone to have a sample of something nice, and is used to having the collective gratitude and praise from everyone as soon as they eat their food.

Sometimes all you want is simplicity. No extravagant flavours. No richness in your desserts, no complex flavours in your meals. A military ration wafer block or two with a hot cup of boiled water is sometimes enough, you're not for all the complexity. Tea and a biscuit. Black coffee and a shortbread cookie. Simple flavours.

When Sanji nearly killed you with your allergy in a bid to win you over, you finally softly explain to him your preferences, and he listens. He may not understand it, but he listens. Simple, clean, basic, boring.

Immediately purchasing new crockery and knives specifically catering to your allergy preferences, he ordered in ingredients specifically for you that would never even glance at the same cabinet the allergins would be homed in. He's not about to send someone into anaphylaxis because he wanted to please someone, especially someone he served with on his crew.

He can't help but almost mourn when he makes your food now. He lives to serve, and that service includes providing foods that suit your preferences. Preferences that hurt his ego as a chef, but suited his purpose as someone who lives to serve.

Each time he brings you a dish now, he attempts to hide his sorrow at such a dish. He can't stand it, it kills him inside. It's worse than Chef Zeff wanting to drown everything in oregano. It's bland, it's boring, it's little...

...and it makes you smile.

And boy, oh boy, is he a sucker for that smile.

The way his heart flutters, his smile brightens, his eyes twinkle all in the hopes that you'd bless him with that soft smile he'd come to cherish. He didn't know when, but his heart sang to you. Maybe he could coax you in to expanding your preferences through something small, something new mixed in with the familiar. If he was willing to cut back for you, perhaps you could find it in your heart to expand for him.

If not, he'd love you for who you are anyway.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady

[animeaandp]

[emptying drafts-88 to go]

MHA Prompt

Aizawa’s wife forgets him (Wanted to do so much more with this, sad it didn’t work out)

Captured by the league with the intent to transform you like they did to Oboro

You're rescued before the transformation can be completed

No physical damage is done but mentally you weren't the same

you flip flop between yourself and a programmed villain

Aizawa was committed to staying by your side and had total faith that the partial effects could be reversed

You tried your hardest but the following year was turbulent. The outburst and fits created messes sometimes too big to hide from you once you turned back to normal, making you feel guilty and like a burden.

The doctor explained that you were being affected in a way that was somewhere in between of a split personality and alzheimer’s. Slowly this switch would continue to take over; overriding your natural state of mind until you eventually become this other person.

A person with no memory of who they 'used to be'.

A person who didn’t love Aizawa anymore.

It felt like your life ended right there.

You and Aizawa kept trying to make it work, even when you 'went away for a while'.

A unique spin on long distance relationships is how Aizawa tried making light of it but you could see how much he was hurting

Your doctors worked out as many bugs as possible; there's no more 'evil twin' of yours after a year but there was nothing to be done about you still turning into another person.

The switches were increasing in frequency and duration as well.

It wouldn't feel like the end of the world if this 'other you' didn't have zero romantic feelings for Aizawa whatsoever.

You couldn't cope with the knowledge that one day you'd refuse his loving embrace, and not be filled with butterflies when he smiled at you.

You finally snap and Aizawa accepts the reality of the situation

Aizawa couldn't stand it any longer and tried absolutely everything to put it off but you were in so much pain, so was he, and things reached a point that it was unavoidable any longer.

Aizawa divorces you. So when 'the time comes' you can be set free entirely.

You cling to him for every waking moment of sanity that you have left

Then one day you drifted out of his reach for good

People grieved with and comforted Aizawa as best they could

Then struggled to pretend that nothing's happened around you

A year passes and things relatively settled

you lived a brand new life and Aizawa truly wished you a lifetime of happiness

Before your mind completely went, the 'other you' developed a crush on none other than Allmight

It became a nightmare for both men

Allmight wanted to drop dead the first time he realized you were flirting with him, knowing this had to be violating some kind of bro-code or law or moral something!!!!?

He avoided you as best he could then later, once you were yourself again and full of shame, he'd awkwardly accept your apology

He also pleaded with Aizawa to understand he wasn't feeding your crush whatsoever, that this was a very uncomfortable position to be in

Aizawa never thought he'd have to watch you fan over another man with his own eyes and the pain of seeing it is agonizing

But he says it's okay

Because he can't remember how long it's been since he's seen you so happy; so much like yourself again

So Aizawa implores Allmight to give things a chance.

If it meant you'd be well taken care of by someone he knew to be trustworthy and treat you how you deserved, then Aizawa would support it

Allmight is hardly put at ease but Aizawa can no longer hold the torch for you. Who better to carry it for him than Allmight.

Finally, for his friend's peace of mind, he agrees to entertain things

At a very VERY slow pace

A snail could run laps around Allmight he took things that slowly

Everyone around you could understand the situation, also wanting the best for you as well, but it took so long to get used to seeing you with someone other than your husband, whom you loved dearly 'til your final days of sanity

Allmight struggled to shake feeling icky about this whole thing but there are moments he could see the silver lining and cherished getting to see you happy again

People ask Aizawa how he deals with the agony of seeing you with someone else, acting so normal when you'd come to visit Allmight on campus every now and then, and engage in conversations with you as if you had only ever been acquaintances.

He tells them to just look at you and how full of life you were again

He'd never deny that there isn't a single day he wished this was all a dream or that you'd magically come back to your senses and fall back into his arms. Arms that ached to hold you and a heart that missed you more than it could bare.

Aizawa would never remarry, he'd never consider it.

Aizawa would tell you how he was once married to the love of his life, and how she's long passed, but that he will always love her and couldn't wait until they’d meet again

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

(astarion / acebard!tav)

Astarion never received any gifts before - and if he did, he forgot - but he would have loved for the first giver to be his lover, although they seemed pretty occupied with Gale and an object that suspiciously looked like a present.

(not native in english. so sorry if the wording is clusmy in some parts, i wan't sure how to write this xD)

A/N: I made a few adjustments, but I think I know what you're getting at. Hopefully it still works. Also, this turned out way more than five sentences because I have no self control.

Astarion x AsexualBard!Tav Masterlist

Word Count: 921

Astarion couldn't remember the last time he received a gift. The idea of being gifted anything was down right laughable. Nobody truly gave anything without expecting something in return. Some way, some how a price would be paid. He didn't need that hanging over his head, along with everything else. So why did seeing you hand Gale a wrapped parcel sting so much?

He watched as the wizard pulled apart the paper, his brows furrowed with curiosity clearing into a bright smile.

"Oh this is perfect!" he exclaimed. "How did you get it?"

"Do you really want to know?" you challenged, grinning yourself.

Gale opened his mouth as if to say something, but stopped himself with a guilty look. "Perhaps it's best I say thank you and leave it at that."

"What do you know, intelligent and wise," you teased. "Just make sure to pace yourself. Don't read it all in one night."

"I've made a point never to make promises I can't keep."

You laughed, giving Gale a light squeeze on the arm before turning in Astarion's direction.

He schooled his features into a casual expression, trying and failing to ignore the burning in his chest. Admittedly the fond look in your eyes did quell the fires, at least a little.

"Successful day?" he asked.

"More or less," you said, taking a seat beside him. "We've got a map. No way to read it just yet, but it's a start."

Astarion humphed, nodding in Gale's direction. "And that?"

"Just some petty thief," you explained. "Gale expressed an interest in it last time we were in town. Couldn't for the life of me explain why, but the bookseller refused to sell. Terrible way to run a business if you ask me."

This was normally when he would laugh or at least grant you an approving smile. Truly, he did love your casual relationship thievery, but it only made him more frustrated. He'd almost preferred you'd paid for it. If you had, he could dismiss the whole thing as a simple errand and not something more.

You frowned slightly, clearly taking notice of his mood.

"Alright, what's got you pouting?"

"I'm not pouting," he said, indignantly. "I'm brooding. There's a difference."

"My apologizes," you said, dryly. "What's got you brooding, oh mysterious one?"

He narrowed his eyes at you, his lips pressing into a hard line.

"I'm just surprised you would go so out of your way for a book. It's not as if you'd be able to understand it anyway."

A flash of hurt struck across your face, but you pushed it down in a way that made him sick to his stomach. What in the hells was wrong with him?

"Well, it's a good thing it wasn't for me then," you said, stiffly. "Now are you done being childish or are you actually going to tell me what's going on?"

Astarion tried to maintain eye contact in some vain attempt to hold onto his pride, but it was no use. He ducked his head down, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"I...I don't see why you think Gale is worth the effort is all," he admitted. "It's just a stupid book. It's not as if it's useful to the rest of us. So...why bother?"

He chanced a glance in your direction. You just stared at him, your lips slightly parted as you took him in.

"Astarion, are you jealous?" you finally asked.

"No," he said, a little too quickly, even to his ears.

"So what else would you call being upset over the fact I stole something specifically for Gale and not you?"

"I'm not upset," Astarion objected. "I'm just..."

"Brooding?"

He very much wanted to say something devastating in that moment, that would shut you up and let him walk away from this with some kind of dignity; but, he couldn't think of a damned thing.

"Fine, I'm jealous," he spat. "Happy?"

"Not really."

He closed his eyes, letting out a short sigh. He deserved that.

"I'm sorry," he said, softly. "You're right, it's...petty and I shouldn't have said that to you. Gods know if it were anyone else I would have torn their throat out."

He looked to you then, hoping you would see the honest truth in his words.

"I wish I was better at this. I know you care about me and I don't need you to commit robbery to prove it. Although, I wouldn't be opposed to it."

To his relief, a small crack of a smile turned at the corner of your mouth.

"I'll keep that in mind," you said, some of the teasing coming back into your voice.

"Does that mean I'm forgiven?" he asked.

"Only if you mean it."

He didn't have an answer for that. At least, not right away.

With deliberate care, he slipped his hand into yours, raising it to his lips.

He watched as your eyes widened in surprise, only to soften as he pressed a gentle kiss to your fingers. His eyes never strayed from yours. He needed you to see him too.

"I mean it," he said.

A true smile came to your lips, as you nodded. "Then you are forgiven."

He returned your smile, feeling a lightness in his chest only you seemed to grant him.

Perhaps he was wrong in his assessment. He had been given many gifts since meeting you. You practically showered him with them every single day, and damn him for taking any of them for granted.

[hispg]

Safe haven

Pairings: Leon x Reader

Wc:4.0k

Summary: How Leon deals with his ptsd over the years.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, depressive thoughts, suicidal intent, Leon hating himself.

An: This one follows the cannon order, so it starts with r2 Leon, r4, r6, vendetta, ends with Death Island.

Denial

Since Leon returned from Raccoon City, nothing has been the same. You've seen the man you knew die day after day, his personality changing like water to wine. And he knew it, he knew it better than anyone.

You still remember perfectly when he arrived, covered in blood, with a bandage on his arm, a face with the most terrified expression you could imagine.

The horrors he had witnessed in that place were simply out of this world. What should have been a simple first day at work turned into a living hell. There were things he wouldn't erase from his memory, the way he had to kill all his co-workers, the way he saw everyone around him die. He felt bad, guilty, even though he had no control over it.

It was a lot for one person, a lot for him to process.

A night that would mark him for the rest of his life.

In order not to involve you too much in the subject, he never went into too much detail, just briefly saying something or other. But you could imagine, the way his fear was clear on his face, his lips trembling every time he tried to talk to you about what had happened.

You saw the way he woke up every night, covered in a layer of sweat, whimpering and almost screaming in his room. He never slept properly, always woke up in a state of sheer panic, and it only got worse as time went on. It wasn't something he could control, not even he himself could believe that he had come out of that nightmare alive.

And he often wished he hadn't.

All he forced himself to believe was that it would be something momentary, an event that he would forget or at least get better with the passage of time.

But it didn't.

He beat himself up every day, unable to forget a single second of that night. He could have helped more, he could have done more, maybe he could have saved more people.

Deep down, he knew it was impossible. A simple situation where a hundred were sacrificed to save one.

There were days when he couldn't even leave the house, and he also begged you to stay with him. A panic attack that haunted him almost daily, he needed you to be there. At least he knew you would be safe by his side, and he needed you, as if you were the air he breathed.

All this was due to the fact that he couldn't cope on his own, if you didn't sleep next to him every night, he wouldn't even try to close his eyes. Because he knew he wouldn't be able to doze off for a single moment, not that he'd ever get a good night's sleep.

He often refused, refused to believe that it was real, refused to believe that it had ever happened. But every time he closed his eyes and heard the screams of agony echoing in his head, he remembered the painful reality.

It was almost customary for him to try to recover from everything he had experienced, to lift his face, wipe away the tears and force an expression from someone who was fine.

But you and he knew it was just a lie.

Everything took a turn for the worse when he was interrogated and basically forced to work for the government. It was a 'deal', he would work for the government in exchange for the little girl safety, a little girl called Sherry, who he found and saved in the middle of the chaos that night.

Although he didn't want to, he didn't think it was fair to let a girl as young as her suffer in a laboratory, maybe it was crazy to compromise his life for someone he barely knew. But that was him, the guy who put others before himself. So he accepted the 'agreement'.

He just wanted to be someone normal, to forget about that damn trauma, to forget about the pain of that night and to put all those events behind him.

But he couldn't, and maybe he wasn't ready for that fact.

The Leon of before no longer existed, maybe a small sketch left, but he would never be able to get back on his feet and be like before.

Never.

Anger

Leon's life began to turn upside down even more, after the hell that happened in Raccoon City, he was forced to go to military training, supposedly to serve the government. Even years after what happened, the night was still incredibly vivid in his mind. Every detail was stagnant in his memory, a mark he couldn't remove.

All he felt now was anger, all hidden in that sullen face that had become his usual expression. He hid behind it, hoping you wouldn't notice how cold and indifferent he was becoming. It was the only way to protect himself that he found.

And he hated that things were this way.

What he didn't expect was that he would become an agent working for the President. Everything that had already happened to him was enough, and he still seemed to be getting worse and worse.

Like a bottomless pit, he just fell lower and lower.

At this point he no longer cared about much, he was becoming more and more stressed with work and that damn training.

You lost count of how many times he came home scratched, bruised, with some part of his body purple. One time he even arrived with a broken rib, and he didn't even try to explain to you what had happened.

He just did his bandages silently, with your help. And he didn't even say a single word about it, and you worried like crazy. You didn't even know if he would arrive in one piece the next day.

It wasn't difficult to assimilate all the abuse he was suffering in that place, you had already heard a few times the way some of his training partners spoke to him on the phone. They weren't friendly at all.

All he did was hide what he felt with that sulky face, more and more you saw him becoming closed off. It was rare that he talked about his training, or his day.

Even he had become increasingly discreet about his nightmares, or even his anxiety attacks. He always thought he could handle it on his own, it was his problem. That he had learned to cope, or at least he thought he had.

Because it was the same story as always. Just a man doing what he hated, reliving the past and charting a hateful future.

And that couldn't be avoided.

And well, nothing got better when he was called to a mission in Spain, looking for the President's daughter. He didn't feel excited about the situation at all, he didn't even want to go. However, there wasn't much of an option.

He tried to warn you, in fact he didn't warn you, he just said he was going to Spain, just like that.

It wasn't hard to imagine that this caused a small fight between you, since he could at least tell you what it was about. But he didn't say.

"Don't pressure me, don't even try to look into things that's not your business." Leon hisses at you, turning his back and leaving you behind with tears in your eyes. All you heard after was the door slamming, and he disappeared for a few days.

Surely he knew the shit he had done, and every moment that passed he felt his heart tighten. His anxiety reaching its worst peaks. As he began to understand what was happening in that old village, he felt terror wash over him once again. The fear of not being able to return terrified him, he doesn't even know how he managed to stay upright in the face of all that.

He felt trapped in a nightmare again.

Another hell, he didn't even know that he would go through a situation similar to Raccoon City again, but to his displeasure it happened. Once again he doesn't know how he came out alive, he was terrified of witnessing death several times in a row. The only thing he thought about was going home, he needed a place to call home. And he needed you, in a way he couldn't put into words. So many words he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to do, especially seeing more people around him die. After having done everything he did to survive.

He needed someone.

Everything he had planned to tell you went down the drain as soon as he got home, the first thing he saw was you lying on the sofa, wearing one of his shirts.

It didn't take long for him to take off his boots, and walk towards you, he was shabby, a complete mess. It was no surprise.

He gently gave you a gentle kiss on the cheek, so as not to wake you, and sat down on the floor next to you. He intended to spend the night there, as he certainly wouldn't be able to sleep no matter how hard he tried.

With his fists clenched, his face set, a strange feeling running through his body. Once again he felt like it was a tantrum, but it wasn't.

A single tear wet his cheeks, followed by several others.

And then he realized, the reality of the facts caught up with him.

And the terrifying feeling returned.

Understanding

A few more painful years passed, and it was indeed optimistic to say that things had improved. It was as if everything was exhausting, he couldn't have fun with the things he liked.

As if his life was in a loop where he couldn't stop, he couldn't get out of it. It just kept going again and again, it shouldn't be like this.

But was.

It wasn't hard to notice how grumpy he had become. He was no longer someone of many words, and now he was even more closed off. If it was possible.

The grown beard that only showed how disinterested he was in his own appearance. He was at a point where he barely looked at himself in the mirror, his dark blond strands falling down his face. And he didn't even bother to trim his hair and leave it the way he liked it.

He didn't even look in the mirror, he hated every time he saw his own reflection. He learned to hate every one of his scars, every mark that remained from his missions, he hated with all of his heart. It was an otherworldly aversion, he shouldn't feel this way about himself, but that didn't matter. Not now.

He learned to hate himself.

He hated the way that even after all these years his traumas still haunted him, the way he still had those terrible nightmares. He hated the way he treated you, so cold and distant.

So different from what he once was.

Since it all started in Raccoon City, he always knew that the part of the soul he lost there he would never recover. But he didn't imagine things would be this bad.

It was as if no moment was good, as if everything revolved around his work and the problems that came with it. He became such a focused person that he would sometimes go days without showering, with his hair all messy and his face completely tired. From someone who hadn't had rest in days. And that person was exactly him.

He would often make minimal effort to talk to you, try to start a conversation and tell you how his day was going. But who said he could? The poor man got so used to keeping things to himself that sharing it was complicated.

The words tumbled in his mouth, he couldn't form a sentence that made any sense and didn't sound desperate. But he failed as soon as he said the first word, and just ended up changing the subject.

Therefore, he learned that nothing would be the same as before, even after all these years in which he hoped that things would change, for the better. But to his chagrin this didn't happen, and everything went downhill.

He tried his best to come to terms with all of this, since he was already someone who had seen a lot, and had already done a lot as well. But that didn't stop him from feeling bad, from feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

And it wasn't?

At that point he ignored what he felt, if he was called to a mission he would simply go, even though he was extremely upset about the matter. Because in those moments he realized that he was just an object of the government.

A powerful weapon that was capable of stopping the crap that happened here or there, and that was it. Just it.

Nothing more than a weapon.

What else could he expect? The turn things took only made the government's intentions clear, and he didn't approve at all. He was always against it, but who said he was listened to?

He had already accepted this, a cruel fate from which he had little option of escaping. He had already dealt with it.

He forced himself to believe those words.

All he could do was hate himself more and more, every time he came home tired and saw you, his heart broke.

How did he still have you by his side? How the hell was such a sweet person still willing to stay by his side. It wasn't fair.

He deserved to be alone.

Day after day he found himself looking for things to get rid of the bitterness that his life had become, what he found was drinking.

One of the few things that let him breathe, even if just for a few hours. It started slowly, but he needed to increase it.

It was an obligation, it was either that or get home and feel like the worst person in the world. This addiction started slowly, in a subtle way.

However, it then got out of control, and once again he found himself in his worst state.

"There's no turning back.." A whisper coming from him, drunk and completely out of his mind.

His life was a dead end, and he had no hope that it would get better.

Another day of remorse, another day living in his shoes.

Depression

The only consolation he found now was drinking, at least it helped the pain go away for a moment. Even though at some point he had to increase the doses more and more, he needed it to take effect.

If at any point he had tried to have some closeness with you back, that had ended in the last few months. He couldn't even take care of himself, let alone take care of you.

He was a different man, and not in a good way.

At that point he already accepted that he had lost himself, that he no longer had salvation, his mind was torturing him.

It was suffering just to be alive.

The fact that he always lost people around him, that he had to kill his own team because he wasn't able to save them. How the hell was he supposed to survive with this? How could he say everything was fine?

Everything around him was dying, like he had a curse around him or something. Not even he wanted to understand this. The weight of the years he lived in this torture was catching up to him.

And nothing could be done, once again.

The nightmares, the weight on his conscience, the memory of each of the missions. It was an unhealthy cycle he was trapped in.

Certainly an addiction wouldn't solve the situation, but what would? Pay nicely as always? Hold his head up and follow orders like a puppy?

"Piece of shit." That's what he mutters when he sees himself in the reflection of his cell phone, disappointed with the way everything is happening. How he was dealing with all of this. His appearance was different, hair more swept to the side, a longer beard. Clothes that not even he knew he would wear at some point.

But what would be the other way? How?

Disappointment, anger, depression, all mixed up in his head. He didn't know what he should do with these bottled up feelings that were haunting him day after day.

All the missions, all the people he lost, everything he experienced. How could someone go through so much like that?

How could he have gone through this and still somehow moved on?

This time he didn't even bother trying to hide from you the displeasure he had created for life, he rarely spent time at home, and when he did it was all day grumbling or drinking.

A great guilt invaded him when you cried because nothing you tried to do seemed to help, but this wasn't about you.

It was about him.

His mood only worsened when Chris called him to another mission, actually it wasn't really a call, more like a statement that he was going to another mission.

This was his life for the last few years, mission after mission, without even a moment for himself, not that he was going to do anything other than drink in the meantime.

What could have happened special this time? Another mission where he comes close to death several times, where he simply doesn't know if he'll return home in one piece. And he could swear he didn't care about it or not.

At least he thought so.

But perhaps the fact of working with people close to him this time made him see that things could be worth it again. Although it wasn't the friendliest place to think this, he couldn't deny that it gave him some comfort since he worked with people he knew, especially Chris, who was one of the few people he liked at work. Despite grumbling a lot.

He appreciated the fact that things ended well this time, for the first time in a long time.

There was still a little light in the good things, in the little daily things. Sometimes things didn't always have a bad ending.

The people around him wouldn't always fade away or betray him, that wouldn't always be the course of things.

Maybe now he was ready to start improving a little, maybe yes, maybe no. He would only know if he tried.

Once the madness of the mission was over, all he could think about was you, he could only think about seeing you one more time after everything that had happened. It was a desire so big that it couldn't fit in his chest.

You can bet he was counting the minutes until he got home, he needed to feel your presence again. He needed to know that he had people who were there for him.

He needed your comfort, your reassurance.

Once he got home the first thing he did was look for you, it was more than a desire, it was a need.

Without you even realizing it, you see him leaning against the kitchen counter, with an almost unremarkable smile. You even surprise yourself, since it had been a good few months since you had seen even a trace of a happy expression on his face.

"I'm back.." He says in a whisper, looking at you gently for the first time in a while.

You look at him a little hesitantly, wanting to give him a hug, not knowing if he wanted that or not.

A simple gesture but one that made your day, he opened his arms to you, waiting for you to do what you wanted.

Without a shadow of a doubt he needed this as much as you did.

Maybe there's still a way out. Maybe there is still a way.

Acceptance

Leon was trying, he was trying his best to be a better man. You could tell that, the way he was cutting back on alcohol, the way he was trying to be more attentive to you.

These little things indicated an effort on his part, he didn't want to hate himself anymore, he didn't want to feel so indifferent anymore. Maybe it was time for a change, he didn't need to be like this anymore.

He had people he could count on, and after all, he had you. That even after his coldness in recent years, you never left him, it was time to reciprocate.

And of course there were things he couldn't let go of so easily, especially his problems with trauma, and he already knew that it was a weight he would carry for the rest of his life.

He would never forget.

But he was also trying to learn not to be like that anymore, things could still have a good side. He could still have hope, even if it was a mere drop. Life had been hard on him from the beginning, but he needed to find some motivation. He couldn't live regretting forever, putting himself down every time.

It was time to rise again, time to pick up the pieces and rebuild. Little by little, and of course he would never be the same as before. But he could be a better person, and he would do everything he could to make that happen. You could notice this drastic change even more, since he came back from the last mission, he was different. So proof is that, as soon as he got home he hugged you, and spent a good ten minutes like that.

Probably feeling overwhelmed with yet another mission, duties that seemed to never end. But he wouldn't think about that now.

He wanted to try to be happy. At least one attempt.

Small efforts, for example trying to open up to you, saying few things, but it was a great start. He knew that if he continued like this he would be able to share his problems with you, it certainly wouldn't weigh so much on him if he could share them with you.

His mind was still a mess, but he was trying to organize himself, put his thoughts in order. It was a long and difficult road, but he wanted to bet that he would make it.

It was the glimmer of hope he had.

Leon now went out with you, took you for rides on his motorbike. He begins to realize that life could go beyond work, that not everything needs to be so bad.

You could see him smiling more, he had even gone back to making those corny jokes that never failed to make you laugh. Most importantly, he seemed content, sometimes even at peace with himself.

The desire he had to disappear, little by little was fading, and he began to gain a little more zest for life. Things wouldn't always go wrong, and he could relax a little, even try to let his guard down whenever possible.

Even once you caught him laughing like a fool on his cell phone, only to see him having fun watching a video of a dog, which in his eyes was incredibly funny.

Seeing this, you decide to give him a pet on his birthday. And you almost cried once you saw the joy in his eyes, that sparkle in his eyes that you missed so much.

"I love you." A shy and low voice, accompanied by the most beautiful smile you've ever seen. How long has it been since you last heard this? The sweet way the phrase slid across his lips. A moment so subtle but so sweet, and one that you hoped would be repeated more and more.

Life was worth it, he would make it worth it again.

[whohasthecards]

Random headcannon or thought.

Bradley and Jake starts dating and BOTH Iceman and Maverick gives Hangman an individual shovel talk. However, instead of being intimidated, Jake just smiles and says, "I'm glad the big chicken have you in his corner, sir, he's very lucky to have you. And from the stories he tells me? He knows that he is."

Maverick and Iceman are stunned, but just nods and dismisses him.

Throughout the next couple weeks as more people find out about their relationship, more people from the Dagger Squad gives Hangman the shovel talk. Some even implying that he's lucky to have Bradley and doesn't deserve him. Hangman simply nods and agrees.

Bradley doesn't know about the shovel talks.

Not until Coyote gives Bradley one of the harshest talks in the world. That he better not hurt Jake, again.

Bradley and Jake dated a couple years ago, but Bradley left Jake heartbroken with no explanation because he had issues. In the process, giving Jake his callsign and even isolating him from his peers. Jake did nothing to deserve that. It took Bradley a while to realize the damage he'd done, and he's spending every moment with Jake making up for it.

Javy also tells Bradley to get his friends to lay-off Jake. Bradley is confused before Javy explains how everyone has been giving Jake shovel talks and implying he doesn't deserve Bradley.

Bradley is horrified because if they knew the whole story it was him who didn't deserve Jake. He shut that down harshly.

Jake calms him down by saying, "It's good that you got a flock of birds at your wing, Roo."

But Bradley shoots back, "They're your team too Jake, they shouldn't be acting like this."

Later on, the whole team finds out the whole story and they feel conflicted about how to treat Bradley and Jake. They do feel guilty for making assumptions about they relationship.

Jake contemplates what happens and although he is happy that Bradley have people watching his back. He is bitter that his reputation made so many people doubt his commitment to Bradley, and how so many people made assumptions that weren't true.

A part of him is jealous that Bradley had a family who would stand behind him. Father-figures, uncle-figures, best friends/siblings, teammates, and more. He's happy for Bradley, but to him, watching Bradley interact with them is like watching them through a wall of water. Everything is tinted and blurred differently, and there will always be something separating him from what Bradley considers normal.

At least, no matter what happens, he always had Javy on his 6.

-----

(Eventual happy ending where they're all found family and stuff and misunderstandings are cleared, and some people who gave Jake the shovel talk gave Bradley the shovel talk.

Unexpectedly, someone who follows Javy in giving Bradley the shovel talk is Cyclone.)

[thebroccolination]

KRIST, FAME, AND WHY "YOU SIGNED UP FOR THIS" DOESN'T EXONERATE THE BEHAVIOR OF THE PUBLIC

Lindsay Ellis uploaded this video to YouTube framed around the myth that Yoko Ono broke up the Beatles. It's phenomenal, as her work often is. I'll probably watch the whole thing multiple times in the near future.

Toward the end of the video, Lindsay expands on the morbid paradox of fame. Many of us see it as this aspirational thing that famous people should be grateful to have, and yet we're also aware that the circumstances of being famous often lead to tragic ends for celebrities, either by violence or by their own self-destruction.

Over the past week, I made this thread to explain the events that led to Krist putting his foot down after months of trying to placate the segment of KristSingto fans who are vocally opposed to Krist sharing any part of his continued close friendship with Gawin, Krist's costar from his 2023 BL series "Be My Favorite."

The day he started his break from social media, Krist addressed his fans about what he'd been dealing with very clearly and characteristically sincerely. He expressed his confusion, explained the impossible situation this unreasonable portion of his fanbase had put him in, and ultimately just gave the vibe of a very tired teacher. Coupled with the reality that Krist's fanbase is on average much older than he is, it's a little absurd that a twenty-eight-year-old had to tell a fair number of middle-aged, tax-paying adults that he's allowed to have friends.

Krist concluded his TikTok Live only to be tagged in even more abuse and complaints on Twitter. I saw some of it and didn't bother saving receipts, but you can imagine it. You're hurting your comeback with Singto by posting Gawin's photos, Krist. This comeback isn't going well, Krist, and it's your fault. You're supposed to be loyal to Singto, Krist. You abandoned Singto at the outing, Krist. If you hate it here so much then just go back to Gawin, then. Don't you feel guilty for ruining Gawin's career, too? He must be good in bed for you to come to his defense like this.

Oh, wait, I did save that one.

Presumably sensing that he had done everything he possibly could, Krist addressed fans one last time on his Instagram Broadcast channel.

Let no one misinterpret this: Krist left social media mainly and specifically because some Peraya were viscerally outraged that Krist didn't cast Gawin aside and spend 100% of his time adhered to Singto. Even though Krist is the one who wanted the comeback, a significant number of Peraya seem to think he's not trying hard enough.

"Not trying hard enough" even though he was so obsessed with getting Peraya Party right that he made himself sick.

This tweet was when he admitted himself for an IV to keep himself healthy, and then he ended up getting admitted anyway for almost a week. During which time he continued working on the concert from his iPad, messaging staff and Singto who continued with rehearsals.

"Not trying hard enough" isn't something Krist knows how to do. He's a self-professed perfectionist who identified so strongly with the character of Anxiety in "Inside Out 2" that he posted about her on his Facebook seven different times. He has an Anxiety plush. He even tweeted about the anxiety attack scene when he visited Beijing for work.

Krist has spoken about his experiences with depression. He moved back home in 2022 to be with his parents at the suggestion of his psychiatrist, the fourth he'd seen.

It's widely known that Krist hates being alone. Singto recently said it's something that concerns him, that Krist has someone or other at his house most of the time because he doesn't want to be on his own. Just last year Krist said his favorite thing about his four cats is that they're with him always, whereas people eventually have to go their own homes.

Rather than close himself off, however, Krist has remained a phenomenally open and affectionate person. He treats his fans like friends. (The ones who aren't trying to control his life.) He took the time to address fans twice in text and in video.

And yet, as soon as Krist stepped away from the helm of his own narrative, some fans were horrified by the idea that Krist might be mad at them. Others began to twist his words and intentions to suit a more palatable narrative. This wasn't about Gawin, no. He did it for Singto.

And while, yes, Krist did also make it clear that he won't tolerate people trash-talking one of his favorite people, this was about Krist.

It wasn't only about Singto or Gawin. This was Krist facing down fans who have relentlessly demanded more than he could have or even should have ever reasonably done for them.

It's a special kind of horrifying to me that fans are misrepresenting Krist when Krist clearly said as recently as last October that what hurts him most is being misrepresented.

I spoke with some Peraya in DMs about this whole mess.

A few said they have no issue with Gawin, they're only envious of the closeness he has with Krist. They're both musicians and singers, and they're both people-shaped emotions who went through hell together during all the "lol who asked for this pairing" and "ew I'm not watching the homophobe show" nonsense.

Others said Krist is behaving childishly and that he should just ignore everyone.

After all, all of this comes with the territory of being famous. It's normal. He shouldn't overreact. He's taken the wife role. He should be cute and soft and sweet at all times.

When I posted my thread about this, some were underwhelmed by the informational tone and had hoped it would be more of a call-out. Thing is, I'd already criticized that portion of the Peraya fandom:

It's frankly beyond my comprehension how Krist has made it this far as stable and as kind as he is. He was bashed by homophobes for starring in SOTUS in 2016, then stalked at his university by fans who disapproved of him having a girlfriend since he belonged to Singto, harassed about his sexuality until he snapped, vilified by international fans who showed up late to the party in 2020 and made everything a thousand times worse by not bothering to fact-check anything they were seeing, tormented off social media, put through four different psychiatrists, lost the partner he'd been through all of this with, found a new one, lost him, and gained his original partner back only for fans to demand more from him.

And the thing is, I don't want to say all of this on Twitter because it's becoming more and more of a noxious hellscape with every passing day, and the people who need to embrace this aren't going to read it. But I did want to say it somewhere.

Watching Lindsay's video, I felt such a bolt of fear. He's just been pushed so far, and fame isn't what destroys: it's people.

So I'm so proud of him for handling this with composure and strength. I'm proud of him for keeping the promise he made to Gawin in October last year at his solo concert, that nothing would change between them.

One of my Gawin fan friends said it best: Krist was the first person to see Gawin's potential and then show the world. He featured Gawin in his own solo concert, he mentored him through promotion, he opened up to Gawin about his life and his thoughts. He would never cast Gawin aside, and the fact that people are still trying to hand-wave how important Gawin is to him is maddening.

He loves Singto. He also loves Gawin. One doesn't cheapen the other. He loves a lot of people. That's who Krist is.

The idea that Krist should be cute and demure and ignore constant harassment he can't avoid because he needs to use social media for work is so unimaginably cruel I can't fathom how it could even transform from an idea to a real belief. Whether you like it or not, he's standing up for himself now.

Being famous eases some things and barbs others. You'll get free stuff and fans who admire you, but you may also get a deterioration of your mental health and fans who feel entitled to your body, soul, and mind.

You tell 'em, sweetie.

[corpupine]

I've been doing a lot of thinking...and I feel like I need to scream this out somehow even though I'm sure it's been talked about before (and I'm putting it under a readmore because it gets long).

No matter what, in any playthrough you do and any timeline you create.

UNDERTALE is a game about guilt.

You have Toriel, so guiltridden she couldn't protect her own children that she devotes herself to never letting another child leave again. And then they do!! over and over again, that guilt compounds until it's the center of her life and every choice she makes!!

And obviously Asgore, so guiltridden that he couldn't protect his own children from humans that he spends the rest of his days trying to get out and get revenge on them--as if that will stop the voices in his head saying, if you had been out there with them you could have stopped it, you could have stopped those humans from killing your children, and maybe he could have!! Or maybe not!! He'll never know and it eats him from the inside out!

Alphys, oh my sweet summer child this fandom does not deserve you!! Alphys, so guiltridden from her own perceived failures as a scientist that she began to try anything, anything to make the King happy, and it seemed to be working at first, and then it was so everlastingly worse, how can you cause something worse than death?? without even trying??

And it shows up in little ways, silly ways, too! Ways you wouldn't even think about as guilt! Undyne! She feels guilty that she won't let Papyrus join the Royal Guard so she gives him cooking lessons instead! Papyrus feels guilty that he's not in love with you after one date so he'll "keep being your cool friend and act like this never happened!"

SANS MY BOI don't even get me started. His guilt isn't as physically obvious but he made a promise to toriel, he promised her he would keep the human safe, and in timelines where you save everyone he follows you pretty much all throughout the Underground (even if he doesn't do anything to help smh) because he'd feel guilty not doing it, and in timelines where you kill everyone he feels guilty for not stopping you, AND in those SAME timelines he feels guilty for stopping you because it means he's breaking his promise to Toriel to keep you safe I!!! This boy can fit so much cosmic guilt in him!!!!

Asriel! FLOWEY!! Do you ever wonder if he feels guilty about being the one to wake up again? The one to survive, when Chara had to die twice?? He sits at their grave and he will do anything, anything to drown out those thoughts so he befriends and kills and torments and it's all the same and it's all useless!!

And their guilt compounds each others'! Toriel makes Sans make that promise because of her own guilt, which increases his! Asgore's guilt is what pushes Alphys so far past the limits of ethical science, because he increases hers!

And all of this, all of this, ALL OF THIS pales in comparison to you!!!

You!! The player! You return to the Underground after maybe accidentally killing Toriel or a few others because you didn't know, you never wanted to hurt them!! You listen to Flowey and you come back and you save them all!

You! The player!!! You cry at the ending and you'd feel guilty, so guilty about letting them all go, wouldn't you? So you ignore Flowey's pleas to let it alone, and you come back again, you say hello to your dear friends but this time it isn't the same, this time you kill them all because you want to see everything this game has to offer, might as well get your money's worth, the fights are cool, right?? And then you get hit with the most unsatisfying atomic bomb of an ending and the only thing left is your own reflection staring back at you from the black screen of your computer as the horror dawns, what have you done???

YOU!!! The player! You go back again even though there is no Flowey left to tell you to, and you save them all again because I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, nobody deserves what I did to all of you, and it's all good, nobody remembers, and then you get to the end. The game knows what you did!!! It never forgot, and it'll make certain you never forget either!! Guilt!! Guilt, guilt!!! It's baked into the code of this game!!

Anyways tl;dr, maybe it actually did make sense to give this game to the pope

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 29 - Chamomile

Heyyyy guyysss. So I am FINALLY back with an update. I've had some other works get in the way *Crocodile and Hazbin Hotel ahem*

I've worked on this when I can and it's a bit longer than my usual chapters. Sorta of an introspection chapter. Our girl has to do a lot of thinking. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy! Also! I've used A LOT of the live action gifs. I'll be swapping to anime!

Warnings! None I don't think? Drinking.

Link to Ao3! -> Here

Masterlist

Being pregnant is weird. You ache in weird places, and your feet constantly hurt. You hated how emotional you'd become and how much you still longed for the familiar comfort of your boys. You missed the easy companionship and the warmth of their love for you. How they held you close whenever you wanted and went out of their way to bring you little gifts. But then you are reminded that Shanks and Mihawk are nothing but liars and are left wondering if anything that the three of you shared together meant something to them. 

It's a horrible way to think, and it makes you feel guilty, but you can't help it. What else could they have lied to you about? Shanks had told you he loved you early on, but Mihawk had never uttered the words once, preferring to show you how much you meant to him. But were you just play thing with them? A convenient source for both men to use? You didn't know, and it made you even more upset thinking about it. 

Your tummy moves, and you glance down at the sight of your baby squirming. You can't help but grimace at the weird sensation. Your baby is always moving, never allowing you the rest you desperately want, and it's just one more thing to stack on top of all the rest of your woes. Sometimes, it felt like the growing bundle was punishing you for sending your boys away, especially with how much worse you've been feeling lately without their presence. 

Shanks had been so happy to find out that you were pregnant, but he was less enthusiastic about the more gross details and what came with raising a child. He had promised you over and over that he would be there to help, but that he'd definitely have to get used to it. 

The redhead drops to his knees, arms wrapping around your thighs as he presses the side of his face to your tummy. It's hardly a bump, but Shanks loves the growing bundle inside of his treasure all the same. He kisses your stomach, lips lingering there as he imagines a tiny redhead running around. 

Mihawk stands behind you, still over the moon with the news. He was worried, very much so. Even if your pregnancy and birth were smooth sailing, that meant that Mihawk would have one more person in the world that he would need to protect. It terrified him, but running was the last thing on his mind. In reality, the hawk couldn't get over how radiant you looked and planned to worship every inch of your body until you begged him to stop. 

You frown and push the memories aside. Maybe they hadn't been lying to you about everything, but both of them knew that you had no idea who you were. How could they have kept that from you? Why had they waited so long to tell you? 

You would have forgiven Mihawk if he had been truthful to you from the start. You were desperate for any kind of company then and had become spoiled on his, so you hadn't thought to question his words back then. But now that you are thinking about it, you can recall how Mihawk had hesitated the day you first told him of your “dreams”. 

You would have been upset, yes, but you didn't love Mihawk back then. it would have been much less of a betrayal, but his decision to wait had made it one of the worst things he could have done. 

You had an older brother out there who you didn't even know existed, a connection to your past, but Mihawk was too fucking selfish too see that. Damn, now you're just getting angry. But maybe that was good? Maybe you needed to let it all out. You stand from where you'd been curled up on the couch. You have the sudden urge to move. It's been days since your boys left and you've done nothing but lay around and sulk.

Hank jumps up after his human, dark eyes sparking up in excitement to see you finally up and about. He follows after you and lets out a low yip to grab his little brother's attention. Sukuna would kill him if he didn't wake him up. 

The orange fluff ball appears within moments, greeting Hank with a yowl and rubbing up against your legs. You crouch to love on him for a second before you continue on, manic energy coursing through your body. They follow their human to your bedroom, and you prop open the door, intending to start deep cleaning the room. You've let too many clothes pile up. 

Hank lays under your vanity, and Sukuna squeezes in beside the mutt, big golden eyes never leaving you. They can smell Your raging emotions, and neither want to accidentally get in your way. 

You start in the corner, lip curling up in annoyance when you immediately find a pair of Shanks’ pants that he'd left behind. You chuck them to the floor, and soon, it becomes a growing pile of clothing that both men had left behind. You pause once you reach a familiar white shirt, hesitating in tossing your favorite to the pile. 

Hank whines when he begins to smell your rising distress and crawls out from under his hiding spot to go to your side. He doesn't like that his human has been so upset lately and is curious as to why her mates haven't shown back up to take care of her. Hank knows that they had a fight. It's why he had gotten in between his human and the one armed man, even if Hank really liked him. 

You turn to your dog, a sad smile on your lips as you hold the ruffled and well-loved shirt close to your face. Hank whines again and presses his face into your side, trapping the shirt between the two of you. 

“Oh. Alright. I guess it'd be okay to keep this one, huh, buddy?” You murmur and gently shove Hank away so you can lift the shirt you're wearing now and toss it into your hamper. You shrug on Shanks’ shirt, snickering when the material grows tight around your swollen belly. You can't help but think that wearing the shirt feels like the redhead is there with you, wrapping you up in a hug. 

You blink as your vision swims and quickly stand, going to the pile of their clothes and shifting through them until you find a large overcoat with delicate designs. 

It's during a rare storm on your island that Mihawk decides to show up. His coat and hat are completely soaked through, and the warlord feels more like a wet cat than anything at that moment. This must be what Sukuna feels like when you give the poor cat a bath. Mihawk emphasizes with him. 

He barges into the cottage like he owns the place, scaring the hell out of you from where you sit in the living room putting together a puzzle that he'd brought you on a previous visit. The piece you're holding goes flying into the air, and you level a glare at the soaked warlord. 

“I'll never find that, you know!” You shout after him as he trudged to the bathroom. He ignores you, closing the door with a snap and quickly undressing. He hangs up his coat to dry and then hops into the now steaming shower to wash the cold rainwater away. 

Mihawk joins you back in the living room half an hour later, dressed in nothing but sleep pants. He settles down on the floor behind you, tugging you close to his chest and hooking his bearded chin over your shoulder. He presses an apologetic kiss to your neck. 

“I'll buy you another if we can't find the piece later,” Dracule promises. You give a satisfied nod and smile, leaning back into his chest.

“I'll hold you to it.” 

Mihawk never took that coat with him again. 

You stare down at the dark coat, licking your lips before, ultimately saying screw it and sliding your arms through the sleeves. It's massive on you, dragging the floor and swallowing you up, but it brings you that comfort that you desperately need right now. You clutch the lapels of the jacket close, sniffing pathetically as you sit in the middle of the pile of clothes. Fuck. You miss them so much. 

Sukuma meows at you and makes a show of walking on the shirts and pants that surround you, sniffing at them before making biscuits and settling in. Hank plops down beside you, and you can't help the water laugh that escapes. 

“I dunno if it's sad or not that the two of you can communicate with me better than a human being,” you quip and let yourself wallow in pity for a little while longer before you stand. You sigh and gather the clothes up and place them in the ditty laundry with everything else. You don't have the heart to get rid of them, not when you can't even decide for yourself if you want them to come back or not. 

Sukuna and Hank share a look as they follow you around for the rest of the day. They don't dare leave you alone, not when you reek of sadness and self-pity. Hank does his best to make his human feel a bit better, bringing you his favorite toys and being a big goof when you toss his ball. Sukuna made sure to keep close, his purring, a constant, thunderous roar that drowned out the sad little voice in your head. 

~~~~~~~

Their company makes you feel better, but you are still down and miserable a couple of days later. It's been just over two weeks since you sent your boys away, and you've had a lot of time to think during that time. You aren't nearly as upset with Shanks as you are with Mihawk. The redhead had only gone along with Dracule's dumb ass decision at Mihawk's discretion, so you didn't think it was very fair to be so upset with the Emperor. 

You were still angry with him, but you could forgive the redhead. 

You still hadn't found a good enough excuse for Mihawk, however. His lying to you had been nothing but selfish desire to keep you his. You don't understand how keeping such information from you could be considered keeping you safe, but then you think back to what Shanks had told you the morning before everything had gone to shit. 

“Sometimes Mihawk thinks he knows what's best for us, even if he goes about it the wrong way.” 

Well, wrong he was, but in a weird way, you could almost see his logic. 

Your family, your home, your kingdom, it was all gone - destroyed by Big Mom and her family. You'd been so young, six years old, when it happened, that other than the same memories that plague you nightly, you hardly remember your family or your home. Aside from Tomura, and even then, the memories were vague at best. 

Did it make you a bad person if you stayed with the man who had killed the people who lived on your island? Your apparent subjects, because you're some long lost princess? Not that you being royalty mattered, not to you at least. Why would you want all that responsibility when you've lived such a free life away from the rest of the world? How can you grieve for something you've never known?

You hated all these new questions and doubts that his confession had brought on. You almost wish that he'd just kept his mouth shut, but then you think about the brother that is still a mystery to you. Tomura had been your only friend as a child, and you wish you could ask him what he thought about all this.

A sudden pounding on your front door has you jumping out of your skin, and fury rushing up your spine. Really? They couldn't even stay away for a week? 

You stomp over to the door, a curse on your lips that sputters out the moment you see who exactly is at your door. 

“Perona?” You demand, brows shooting up. 

The pink girl barges in like her father figure, strutting into your home like she owns the place. 

“Wh-what are you doing here?” 

“Coming to see you, duh,” Perona quips like she busts into your life on the daily. Which she does not. She plops on the couch, sighing dramatically, “I couldn't stand another day being around Mihawk. He's not stopped moping since you made them leave.” 

Her words catch you off guard. Perona had come here to complain about Mihawk to you of all people? Was she crazy? Perona opens her mouth and spouts off before you can get a word in. 

“I'm surprised he even got inside the castle as drunk as he was! The humandrals probably stayed away because of how badly he reeked!” 

Your mouth grows dry. You didn't think that Mihawk would be the one to go off into a drinking stupor, and despite yourself, you still felt concerned for the older man. Mihawk was such a recluse, and it had taken months for him to open up to you, and who knew where Shanks was. You had expected the men to at least find comfort in each other. 

“Shanks isn't there?” You ask her and take a seat in Mihawk's armchair. You haven't been able to bring yourself to call it yours again, even in your head. 

Perona shakes her head, sending her bouncy pig tails flying, “Nope. Not that I saw anyway. But enough about him. How are you doing? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” 

You smile at her concern and push down the emotions that threaten to swell up like the ocean and pull you under. 

“I'm okay. The baby is okay. A lot more squirmy than usual, actually.” You assure the other woman and smooth your hand over your stomach. You are wearing one of Mihawk's shirts today, a brilliant red in color styled in his usual fashion. 

Perona squeals in happiness and claps her hand, “Oh good! Can I feel it?”

You nod and watch with a soft smile as the younger girl kneels by your seat and gently rests her hand atop your coveted belly. She giggles when the little one kicks her hand almost immediately. 

It's quiet for a while, and that concern for Mihawk resurfaces with a vengeance. You lick your lips, and Perona seems to feel the shift in the air, for she sits back and plops back on the couch. She watches her friend, feeling guilty and sorry for the other woman. It wasn't fair. 

“Mihawk told me what happened. Well, more like he drunkenly yelled about it and threw a lot of things, but still. I wanted to come see you. Are you seriously okay?” 

Her big eyes are full of nothing but worry for you, and you feel the walls crack and break under her kind gaze. 

“Ah-no not really,” you admit quietly and sweep your hand through your hair, “I guess I didn't realize how much they were picking up my slack around here. Being pregnant fucking sucks, and I feel horrible for missing two men who betrayed my trust.” 

You sniff and force the tears back. You are so sick of crying. Sick of feeling like crap, and you just want everything to go back to the way it was. 

Perona stands and gathers you in for a hug, and you gladly bury your face in her shoulder and cry. It feels like it's been forever since you've had any kind of human interaction, and having Perona here has broken you. She holds you until you've stopped crying, and then when you let go, the ghost girl lopes to the kitchen to fix the two of you hot cups of tea. The warm drink does wonders for your sore throat, and you let yourself relax back into Mihawk's chair. 

“I think you sending them away was the right thing to do. For now, at least,” Perona begins, and you glance up at her from over the rim of your mug. She sits criss cross on the couch, and you smile when you see that Sukuna has curled up in her lap. Big fluff ball only liked girls. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that this alone time gave you some time to think, right? I know Mihawk did bad, and I told him more than once that it wasn't okay that he was keeping that from you, but, _.” 

You look at Perona when she says your name, and you frown at the insurge of wrongfulness that swims in your chest. You don't know if you want to hear this. 

“He's a disaster. I've never seen him like this before, and maybe you could give him a second chance? Maybe give him a call to know that you're okay?” 

Mihawk had become Perona’s guardian and father figure all rolled up into one big surly warlord. She loved him and hated that Dracule was wasting away alone in the castle at Gloom Island. He deserved to be happy, and the ghost girl knew that you and Shanks were the only two for him. 

You stay quiet. Could you do what Perona asks? The more you think about it, the more you come to the conclusion that yes, you could definitely do this. You wanted to talk to Mihawk. You needed to see how the older man was doing. 

“Is he really that bad?” You ask softly, and Hank seems to notice the stress that coats your tone. He rises from in front of the fireplace and lays his big head on your lap. You slid your fingers into his fur and found that easy comfort. 

“He won't stop drinking and yelled at me when I tried to take his booze away. He won't eat, won't shower, and hasn't trained since he got to Gloom.” 

It's one nail in the coffin after the other, and you find yourself up out of the chair and to the snail transponder that you've intentionally forgotten about. Your hands shake as you dial the familiar number, and you glance to the living room to see Perona giving you a double thumbs up. 

CA-LICK

“Who the fuck thinks that they can call this number.” 

Gods. Perona really wasn't joking when she said that Mihawk was a mess. He sounded sloshed, voice thick with alcohol and lack of sleep. 

“Mihawk? It's me,” you say quietly, and the silence is loud even over the phone. You close your eyes and picture the look of shock that the warlord no doubt has. 

“Angel? You called?” His voice is full of disbelief and aching hope. 

“Perona asked me to call you. She said you aren't…doing very well.” You finish lamely. It's never been this awkward between the two of you before, and you do not like it. 

“Oh, so that's where she ran off to. You shouldn't worry about me, Darling. I'm perfectly fine- oh!” 

You jump when you hear a loud crash over the receiver, “Mihawk? Are you okay?” 

“I'm fine my dear. Only tripped. I'm quite clumsy today,” Mihawk slurs and you crack a smile at his uncharacteristic behavior. You hear him shuffle about and settle down in a chair, voice sobering up just a bit as he focuses on speaking. 

“It's good to hear your voice, sweetheart. I missed you something terrible, you know? Are you doing well? Is the baby okay?” 

You can hear his voice catch a frantic edge, and you are quick to reassure the warlord. You dont want him sailing across the Grand Line sloshed. 

“We're both fine. She's been a little more rowdy than usual,” you say quietly and bite your lip, a tiny sigh leaving you. You rub your tummy, eyes sliding shut, “She misses her daddies. So do I.” 

It's quiet on the other end of the line, just the sound of Dracule breathing. It's honesty nice to hear, and you find yourself relaxing again the wall, head thunking against it. 

“...I'm so sorry, Angel. What I've done to you is irreversible. I wish that I could take it all back.” 

His apology hurts. You want to forgive him for his sins, assure Mihawk that nothing had changed and that he could come back home. But you couldn't, even if he had saved you and your brother at the end of the day. 

“You can't, Mihawk, and I don't know if I can ever forgive you,” you hear his lungs hitch on the other end, a sharp intake of breath that sounds near painful. You look down at your growing belly, tears spriouting, “But it isn’t fair to you to keep you away from her, and- and I don't think I can do this without you.” 

“Her? You think the baby is a girl?” 

A smile plays your lips. Of course, that is what he picked up on right now. 

“I just have a feeling, is all,” you admit to him. You hum quietly, and thousands of miles away, Mihawk relaxes in his armchair for the first time in weeks at the sweet sound. 

“ …You would trust me around her? Around you again?” He asks you, and Gods, how were you suppose to answer that? 

“Did you ever lie to me about anything else?” You ask instead of answering that. You needed to know if anything you had shared with Dracule had been fake. 

“No. I've always been truthful to you, Angel. You’ve become my whole world, and I wanted to do anything I could to protect that.” 

Even over the snail transponder, you can tell that Mihawk is telling the truth. You only have one last question, one that makes you almost nauseous to ask. 

“Do you love me, Mihawk?” 

On Gloom Island, the warlord looks stricken, face growing pale and falling at the mention of that four letter word. Did he not show you how much he cared for you? Did his actions not speak of how much you meant to him? 

No, it didn't. His lack of action that had cost him everything. Mihawk wouldn't let that happen again. 

“I don't think I should answer that over the phone, Angel.” 

He hears your breath hitch, and do he plows on, shoving away the unease that wants to settle like a deadly cloak. 

“I want to see you, again. Will you permit me that?” 

Before you can answer, you hear a commotion on the other end of the line. Curious, you listen in. 

Mihawk cocks an unimpressed brow when the door to his study flies open, banging against the wall and sending a couple of books falling from the shelves. Shanks gives him an unapologetic grin and shut the door softly behind himself. 

“Sorry about that, Baby,” the redhead slurs. He is drunk as a skunk, and Mihawk curls his lips at the stench that clings to Shanks, “I wanted to come see you, you've been avoiding me.” 

“It's not avoiding if you aren't seeking. I've been here this whole time,” Mihawk grumbles at the younger man and points to a chair on the other side of his desk. Shanks ignores him, loping around the desk to instead drape himself across Mihawk's shoulders instead. 

“Who're you talking to?” Shanks demands when he catches sight of the snail on Dracule's desk. 

“Hi Shanks,” the redhead zeros in when he hears your voice, dark eyes going wide and he makes grabby hands for the receiver. 

“Treasure! I miss you!” Shanks whines into the phone, and your chest tightens at the forlorn tone that coats his words, “When can we come home?” 

You can't help but giggle at his request, though that guilt still eats at you, you want to see them again. Maybe Perona was right about that second chance. It felt so good to speak to both of your boys, even if they hadn't been taking care of themselves, but you still didn't think you could have them here. Not yet. 

“Not yet, Shanks. I need some more time,” you murmur and wish you were there with them when you hear the sound of flesh meeting flesh. 

“Don't bother her with questions like that. She'll take all the time she needs,” Mihawk snaps and glares at the redhead who now lays sprawled on the floor. 

You listen to Shanks whine like a child in the background, and the sound of your two boys together makes you long to be there with them. 

“He's fine, Mihawk. How about you let him stay there with you, and I'll call you again soon?” You suggest softly. You know that Mihawk won't willingly ask Shanks to stay with him, but you didn't want either of them to be without the other right now. 

Dracule sighs heavily but nods all the same, golden eyes landing on the redhead who looks seconds away from passing out, “Only because you asked, Angel.” 

“Don't act like you don't love him,” you admonish quietly, and his next words shock you to the core. 

“You're right, Darling. I do love him.” 

You can hear the quiet astonishment in Dracule’s voice, and this time, it's happy tears that will up and threaten to fall. You sniff harshly, “See, that wasn't that bad, was it?” 

A fond smile plays on his lips, golden eyes soft, “No, no it wasn't.” 

A stilted silence settles over the connection, and the two of you speak up at the same time. 

“I should go-” 

“I should go-”

You huff a soft laugh and continue, “you should make sure Shanks hasn't drunk himself into a coma. I'll um, I'll keep in touch, okay?” 

“Alright, Darling, call again soon, okay?” Mihawk, please and grips the receiver harshly, voice turning desperate, “We miss you.” 

You swallow harshly, eyes clenched shut, “I will. I miss you too.” 

You hang up the transmitter, taking a deep breath before going back to Mihawk's chair and plopping down with a world weary sigh. Perona cocks a brow at you.

“Did it go okay?” 

You shrug, “Yeah, it was good hearing from them. Shanks will probably still be there when you go home, by the way.” 

You snicker at the sneer that ghosts across Perona’s face, finding amusement in her disgusted reaction, “Fantastic.”

@writingmysanity @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @anastasiyax @jaguarthecat @atricksterwithwings @black-swan-blog27

[skyartworkzzz]

what do the bishops do in the cult? Are they happy or plotting revenge?

At first their reactions varied from plotting revenge to escaping or overtaking the cult, I think all of them have tried to kill the Lamb at some point xD

But with enough time and the right companies, they eventually learned to like their new home! And even find themselves guilty for what theyve done in the past, each at their own pace and manner

Long texts under the cut for more details! :D

Leshy was probably the less-management one, when he joined he'd break a lot of things and purposefully make the Lamb's life harder, like a kid throwing a tantrum It was only when he was assigned under Beau's care that he chilled out. Beau has always been good with people, so it was no problem for him to figure Leshy out and help him to eventually come to terms with his new home After the getting-used-to's, Leshy became pretty much the chillest out of all the other Bishops. He's fine with living in the cult and honestly enjoys it to an extent, but will obviously never say it aloud xD once threatening people and the Lamb, now befriending / getting acquainted with some of them! He works as a farmer or bartender most of the time

Heket was surprisingly along the same lines of chill. She was definitely unhappy with her situation, but was the most relieved one to be free from the Crowns influence Now able to genuinely experience the taste of food and feel that emptiness inside of her being filled in at last, she quickly learned to like her new home Ofc tho, she never said it, and in fact became much quieter compared to before, since she no longer had the Crowns power to easen up her throat. Now it hurts a lot more to talk, she has to take meds in order to soothe it up and tends to communicate mostly in gestures, stares or acts of service depending on her mood. She also knows sign language! :D She mostly works at the mines or lumberyards, seemingly enjoying to break things apart. The Lamb thinks its her way of "coping" with not being a Bishop anymore lol Out of all the Bishops, shes probably the loneliest, not many have the guts to approach her and Heket tends to like being by herself usually. Sometimes she can be found sulking about with Narinder, the second loneliest out of all the others

Kallamar was likely the most outraged one, since hes been stripped away from the luxuries of being a Bishop like clothings, weapons, jewelries, a nice fancy home. He thought that getting the Crowns back could bring his old life back, not for the sake of power, but the comfort and safety it gave him. Hes definitely the one who has tried scheming against the Lamb many times, still holding his knowledge of weapons and magic in general. But to no surprise, he always failed LOL Kallamar only started calming down once seeing his spouses/disciples in the cult, whom he had tried to get to work with him against the Lamb, but refused or failed still After everything, he'd become depressed, desperately missing when he was taken seriously as an authority figure, but with time his spouses will teach him to like his new life Nowadays he still misses his old life, but is more at peace with being in the cult, especially knowing those he loves and cares about the most are with him (aka his spouses and siblings). Hes the one who will break the most sweat to truly get used to the cult Sometimes he works as a tailor or at the refinery, crafting tends to calm him down and distract him from his thoughts. However, he mostly prefers to be a medic at the Healing Bay, since its one of the few things that remind him of what he once was

Shamura would likely jump from chill to disturbed depending on their mood. Although they believe to be deserving of their punishment, a part of their mind which was considerably overtaken by the Crowns' ideals will sometimes force them to look for a way out or relinquish back the eldritch power, usually against Shamura's will, like voices they'd hear from time to time telling them what to do All in all tho, theyd be the one to try their best to like their new home and even purposefully make themselves miserable out of guilt for their past mistakes, something which the Lamb is either compassionate for or allows them to do due to their own hatred for the Bishops still There'd be many times where Shamura seemed to "sleepwalk" around or found themselves outside the cult without memory of how they got there. Itd be only when they ask the Lamb to become their Disciple that the voices in their head start to quiet down, now being overpowered by the Red Crowns influence Eventually, they become an official Disciple and scribe for the Lamb. Their psychotic episodes will significantly reduce, but still happen from time to time with minor consequences The Lamb often finds themselves questioning whether Shamura is being genuine on what theyve chosen, but is very much compelled to forgive them one day

[amourtoken]

Hiiiii I don't typically write for Oli Sykes however Kool aid has adjusted my brain chemistry and I have to put these thoughts out there lmao

I offer: cult leader Oli x a gullible, malleable reader who doesn't know any better than to follow him <3

*NSFW below the cut, MDNI*

cw: triggering themes possibly, cult ideology, toxic Oli, manipulation, corruption, dubcon, spanking, general torment lmao, edging, oral, raw sex, dacryphilia, hair pulling, throat fucking, coercion, guilt tripping, thigh riding, nipple play, light bondage, there may be more but this is already rlly long.

♡ he's fucking horrible, and he knows it. But you don't.

♡ he couldn't help himself but to drag you in, you were just so fucking easy. All you needed to hear was someone was "there for you" and you were in. Oli had hundreds if not thousands of followers by now as well but he never treated any of them like he treats you.

♡ you'll follow everything he says on a whim and if you question him, he'll pull you close, hold your hands, run his fingers through your hair, say "when have I ever been wrong?", kiss your forehead and send you on your way. When it comes to the more toxic sexual side of the "favors" you perform for him, he defends himself saying you're supposed to follow his order without question, he's always right, do you not trust him?

♡ everyone's used to seeing you at his side by now and you always get the most pitiful looks from people. They see someone being manipulated that's too dumb to realize and fight it but you're confused, Oli would never hurt you, why do people keep saying be careful? When you bring this up to him, he just tugs you in his lap and trails kisses up your neck and jaw while stroking your hair and telling you not to worry about it.

"They're just jealous I spend so much time with you, love. Stop thinking."

♡ he's a massive sadist, and loves seeing you cry. He'll achieve it one way or another. Either fucking your throat until you're gagging around him and crying for him to be more gentle or fucking you to tears while he's pulling your hair to add to the sting. He fucking loves seeing his mark on you too, whether it's the hundreds of dark hickeys he drowns your soft skin in or the endless handprints littered over your body be it from spanking, slapping, choking, it doesn't matter. He wants to brand you.

♡ he's a cunt, and will humiliate you to tears then wipe them away while you're sitting on his cock. He knows if he breaks you down enough, he can build himself up as your savior. The only one you can trust, the only one you can crawl back to. You're so pliant for him it's almost funny to watch.

"Bad day, princess? C'mere. I'll make it better."

"You know I love you, right? I'm only harsh when I have to be."

"You always follow directions so well, love. I wanna reward you for that."

♡ at first you were really against anything sexual but he's coerced you. He'd plead for hours, claiming you must not trust him if you won't do what he wants. Do you not love him? He's done so much for you, given you a place to stay, given you affection, you're not gonna pay him back? Eventually you felt guilty and ended up folded in half under him nearly in tears while he fucked into you like he was trying to split you in half. He praises you so fucking heavily in the moment you can't help but enjoy it now. You crave that attention and affection so much it has you needy for him. He's trained you well.

♡ you're constantly crawling into his lap, kissing all over his neck and begging him to touch you nowadays. Of course, he "gives in". His big tattooed hands running all over your body, tugging your shirt off to play with your nipples while you grind yourself against his thigh and get all teary for him cause you wish he'd just stop teasing.

"So impatient. Haven't I taught you better? Or do you just need me that bad."

♡ he figured that'd be a good chance to teach you some extra manners and by teach you he means tying you up and leaving you on his bed with a vibrator pressed right against your clit indefinitely. No squirming is gonna help, if anything it'll make it worse. He'll sit on the edge of the bed near you and coo about how if you weren't so needy and impatient you would've gotten what you wanted without being overstimulated for hours. And he does in fact mean hours.

"I'll touch you when I feel like it, you don't need to be a whiny slut to get what you want. Could've just waited and you wouldn't be here right now."

"Aw, want it to stop? I'm not sure. I think you still haven't learned your lesson."

"Maybe if you keep begging in that pretty little voice, I'll turn it down."

♡ if you're being needy and he's in a mood. He'll give you what you're whining for, just not how you wanted. He'll fuck you with one of the seemingly endless toys he has for you and drag you through what feels like endless orgasms until you're pleading for a break.

"What? Wanna stop? You were so fucking needy before, where'd that attitude go?"

"So needy you don't even need my cock, you'll get off on whatever fills this pussy up. Right?"

♡ he has the biggest breeding kink as well. Loves the idea of carrying on his whole lineage and it's a bonus you'd look pretty all round with his babies. He never let's you off without pumping you completely full of his cum. Even then, once he pulls out he's gathering excess with his long fingers and fucking it back into your sensitive pussy so you don't waste any. If you do get pregnant, he's still planning on enjoying you, just maybe a tad more gently.

♡ god forbid one of the other cultists finds some interest in you. He'd notice eyes lingering on you just a little too long for his taste and it'd end with said cultist tied to a chair across the room while Oli plays with your pussy in front of him. He's shit talking and reminding the man you're spoken for, property of your leader, no one could possibly make you feel as good as he does. Oli makes sure you're moaning his name and whimpering about how good he feels and how much you love him just to get the point across. He'll make sure no other name sends a swarm of butterflies to your stomach like his ever again.

♡ he'd be lying if he said he didn't have *some* feelings for you, but he'd never show anything other than his prior torment. On rare occasions, when you're tucked against his chest dead asleep after he's fucked you in every position imaginable, he'll press kisses to your forehead and trace circles on your back while almost admiring you. He'd never let anyone else see him so unguarded but you're just so soft and malleable, so cute. He feels lucky to have found someone who's too soft to say anything out of line against him.

[thedemonscrawler]

I'm just gonna do this to Ruin

LIKE. YES I KNOW HE DID EVERYTHING WRONG. BUT HAVE YOU CONSIDERED HOW SAD HE MIGHT BE ABOUT IT

Like aaaaa I'm cursed to only like characters when they're losing I guess, and a Pyrrhic victory counts as a loss. I didn't CARE about this guy when he was the main antagonist, and then Eclipse 3.0 chucked him in the back of a car and kidnapped him and I was suddenly interested. And NOW, when everyone is very much upset about Solar, I'm off to the side shaking this bastard around because we finally got some concrete answers to what's going on in his head.

Just! This whole thing-- this is an exceptionally Moon thing for him to have done. To go 'I'm going to completely and totally remove this possible threat from ever occurring, and I'm fine with being the bad guy to do it'? That's some Old Moon kind of thinking. This wasn't a plan he came up with in the past few months, this took him years.

And speaking of years! Fifty years of playing pretend! Of acting like you enjoy hurting people, that you don't care as your body literally falls apart around you. I'm not a fan of the idea that he was never infected, I like the perspective better that he was infected, it just wasn't as responsible for his behavior as he made it out to be-- but still. At some point he had to have gone numb to it for the sake of his own survival.

What does that do to your mentality? Your outlook? What's it like knowing that your whole world was brought to its knees by your creator? What's it like being the only semi-stable person you know for half a century? What's it like realizing that you're also changing, and not for the better?

He's just... so painfully isolated, in a way that Eclipse doesn't even come close to touching.

And! And even after being 'cured'! He's still isolated! Like it was a good thing he WAS up to something-- can you imagine how crushing it would be if he'd been genuinely not doing anything, and he was still treated with suspicion for a solid like 4 months? By probably the most consistent group of animatronics he's had to talk to that weren't infected with a weird virus?

Like, the man didn't get repaired until 3 months after being cured, after Solar made a blueprint in his spare time. He didn't get a bed until Moon felt guilty about rummaging around inside his head-- and tbh I don't know if he ever got to actually use that bed. He let them call him Ruin.

Ruin never had a home in 'our' dimension.

And hhhhngh like I'm not even sure he cares, because he's past the point of caring. He's got one of Sun's worst traits as well, "There's no point in sharing what I'm thinking because no one is listening". He could have approached Moon and Solar with like "Hey okay so I started on this plan to do this thing like 10 years ago, I would like some input" and maybe an alternative could have been found!

But he didn't, because he's alone. He came up with the best plan he could, weighed the risks, and acted on it, all by himself. A single weird Eclipse against 5,000 Creators, because he felt like that was the greatest threat.

And like, lets be real-- Solar's death was 100% a narrative necessity. Otherwise we the audience wouldn't really care that Ruin had wiped so many dimensions from existing, it'd just be a number. That thing of like, you gotta make it personal to have impact. Very good storytelling right there.

(Though from a in-universe perspective, man it must have been an unpleasant shock to learn that of course the only other dimensional refugee was from one of the worlds you had to destroy. Like, come on, what are the odds)

He did something horrible. A multi-dimensional catastrophe to prevent a multi-dimensional catastrophe. He probably accepted the ramifications of it ages ago. He just... utterly lacks any hope, you know? No hope of forgiveness, no hope of improvement. He survived his world long enough to do this thing, and he has nothing else going for him.

He's just waiting for them to finally kill off his body, because he already died years ago.

Anyway I'm desperately trying to find an angle that can be used to maybe pull him out of his coffin here and so far I'm not seeing one qq but maybe future eps will give me something to work off of.

[1427]

dirge

Boyd Crowder X OFC (Beatle)

Setting: in the WoOoOods (Justified Season 1, with Boyd’s militia)

Summary: Boyd is sick of being full of shit. When one of the recruits for his new flock seems to see him for who he really is, he decides it might not be so bad to let her.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: CHARACTER DEATH, Boyd Crowder is Boyd Crowder, mentions of white nationalism, mentions of methamphetamine, religious imagery and references, mentions of militias, cults, and Boyd comparing himself to Christ (see above). NSFW WARNINGS; poooooooorly written smut, somno, rough fucking, unprotected piv, references to oral, jerking off, mentions of religion being used in sexual roleplay. mentions of other truly questionable roleplay scenarios, free-use dynamics

A/n: I started watching Justified a few days ago and Boyd Crowder really is one of the characters of all time, isn't he? Beatle is my OC who likes speed and sometimes sells it and sometimes strips but I obviously couldn't stop thinking about what would happen if Beatle had been in one of those trailers he’d held looking for people to follow his cause. Especially since she's just absolutely fucking dazzled by charm and confidence and she'd love him in a way he'd probably never been loved before. Couldn't not write it & I broke my own heart.

Inb4 I disappear for 3 months again

18+ mdni 

✞

Boyd didn't think his daddy would hang her up there with the rest of them. 

She was special, didn't he know that? Couldn't he tell? 

Her hair’s never smelled like gunpowder before. It's more a feeling than a smell, and it stings but he's grateful that it hurts. He deserves it. 

Boyd didn't think his daddy would do any of this. But he wasn't thinking, was he? He should have seen it coming, should have known. Not ‘should have’ in the way that hindsight is 20/20 and you can make wanton wishes about the past; no Boyd should have because he does know better. He's smarter than to let something like this happen.

✞

When he got out of prison he knew he was full of shit. Same shit he'd always been full of. He figures it ain't really like lyin’ so much if everyone knows you're never showing your real face. Talking is more like a game. Trying to spit the words out around the secret biting between his teeth. Secrets? He figures he's allowed to have those. Like what his intentions might have really been when he'd started recruiting junkies to be saved. Be his flock. 

Different vocabulary, same game, same moves, same outcome. 

Boyd did think that there would be a different outcome this time. Everyone always ends up dead, but how could that happen this time? He knows that putting a gun to someone's head and mocking them into sobriety ain't exactly safe and its definitely not legal but it's what works. Who could rightly question his methodologies if he was getting such socially acceptable results? 

The point (as the point of things usually is for Boyd) is that there are enough qualifiers for him to feign confusion and innocence at any question of his motivations. Like he was so damn good at. Boyd had a reply for anything. A defense for everything he'd ever done. Everything he'd ever do. Else he wouldn't be caught doing it. 

This time was easier. This time actually felt like it could be something more. That even though he was using his knowledge of the human condition, and its drive to follow a strong and confident leader, that this time he was doing it for something good at least.

How could getting rid of meth in Harlan county be bad? Boyd asks himself that a lot these days. Whenever he starts wondering how full of shit he is again. And he tells himself it doesn't matter if he's lying about every damn thing, even to himself, if he's getting people clean and following the Lord. 

He doesn't feel that guilty, though. Not enough to really do anything different. His flock is his flock, and when he talks about God he makes sure to word it just right. So they hear it and they think of him. Boyd’s teachings are their gospels, and sometimes Boyd quotes scripture so he can call on God like he's name-dropping a celebrity. It's what works. It's what always worked.

If you’re good at saying the right thing to the right person you can get just about anything you want. If you're good at finding the perfect time to say it, you can keep it. Gettin’ stuff is no good if you can't keep it. That's what all these Dixie boys always got wrong about business. Hell, what everyone got wrong about everything - getting people to just give you what you want always feels so much better than taking it. Usually ends better to.

Before prison, for most of his life, it was skin-heads. He'd already known the slurs and the on-the-surface racial epithets from growing up but it only took a few weekends at the library and a couple eavesdropped Klan meetings to understand what these men were searching for. Only took a few well timed bible verses and an encouraging nod or two to get them to listen. The hardest thing of the whole operation was keeping them from being stupid when he wasn't around.

“Can't plan for everything.” “Sometimes shit just happens.” and “It is what it is.” Are just some bullshit excuses people tell themselves. Because Boyd knows that anything can be planned for. It's just a matter of looking. It's just a matter of knowing. He knows that you don't enter a room without knowing there's an exit and that you don't open your mouth unless you know exactly what could be said back to you. 

Boyd knows how to get what he wants.

But since he's been out of prison he doesn't know what the fuck he wants. So he does what he always does but this time it's with words like shepherd, divine calling, and manifesting righteous love. It feels nice to be leading through positive affirmations instead of bigotry. If only because Boyd really resented how objectively moronic white supremacy was - anything ‘supremacy’ was a fucking joke. And those boys in the brotherhood thinking they were God's gift to the genepool? Hard not to see it when you're lookin’, how ridiculous the whole damn thing is.

That's why it didn't feel all that bad talking down to them. Manipulating them into whatever the fuck he felt like. Boyd wonders about it when he feels this tugging in his gut sometimes when he talks to his flock. It doesn't bother him enough to stop, but just enough to wonder why he hadn’t felt it before.

Maybe it's because she's watching and she knows he's full of shit. 

That doesn't usually make any difference to Boyd and his ability to believably speak lies but every time he meets her eyes he feels like she can see his soul, the things behind what he's saying, and it makes him want to stop. Like he's embarrassed. Just a little. Just barely. It's so foreign to Boyd that if he didn't know just about every physical tell a person's body could have, he wouldn't have been able to place it. 

If Boyd had to find the words to explain it he might have said it felt like he wanted her to see him. That his body and his mind have, as most humans have, the desire to be vulnerable with another human being. That he was meeting something in her that his inner self craved. These were words he'd use. But actually feeling them was harder. His list of wants in life is small and it's been the same things for as long as he's been playing snake in the grass. She's not on it. She never was before. 

✞

She isn't anymore. 

For a few weeks, Boyd let himself have something he didn't think he was allowed. Something he'd told himself he didn't deserve. 

He wonders now if he was full of shit that whole time too. If letting her hold him and kiss him and fall in love with who he really was - if he wasn't just doing it to see if he could.

Her hair never burned his nostrils before.

It's not meant to do that. 

Kissing her forehead never tasted like blood either.  Maybe it should have. Maybe if he'd tasted blood the first time he'd kissed her none of this would have happened. 

Boyd doesn't understand how his daddy couldn't tell she was special. Not when he’d seen it the second she opened her mouth down the barrel of his own gun. Boyd knows she didn't go quiet and he knows if she could open her mouth and talk right now her throat would be sore and raw and ruined. 

He tries not think about how he couldn't hear her. He’s not sure if he wishes he had. 

✞

Beatle didn't get it at first but it didn't take her long. Faster than he'd expected. And maybe if he'd met her on a college campus he wouldn't have been so impressed with her. But what was Boyd ever gonna be doing on a college campus? No, as far as he was concerned it was like lookin’ at himself. 

Almost.

She didn't want the same things, and that didn't lead her to be the same type of person Boyd was. But it didn't stop him from seeing himself in her. All her big words and sweet banter. Even with a damn gun to her head she knew how to be cool. He thought he might be in love with her. 

She'd told him later that it was because she'd seen the way he'd looked at her and knew he wasn't going to shoot her. He told her he still would have shot her if she didn't agree to quit using. She tells him she loves him for the first time. 

It had only been a few days since that had happened, them meeting, and after she’d said it she tried to explain it away. It's the first time he sees her not being so cool. It’s the first time he sees the potential for something more.

Not because she'd slipped up and been vulnerable or given him something to use against her. No, it was the feeling in his chest when she'd professed such genuine admiration for what would generally be considered something he should have kept to himself.

The quiet part he's gotten so good at not saying out loud. The secret between his teeth. She can see it.

✞

Days go by and he's certain she can see it. The way Raylan can see some of it. She starts calling him ‘the prince' around camp and she thinks he doesn't understand why. No one else does, and he supposes that's probably why he's letting her get away with it. He's amused by it. By her. Always saying something that ends up surprising him. 

Just some gaunt addict he found in a shitty trailer in children's pajamas, but she's making observations about him in comparison to Italian philosophy. She can't keep herself from pointing out when he ‘mistakenly’ attributes some quote from a book or movie to himself instead. She uses words he doesn't know.

Those aren't the things that impress Boyd. What catches his attention is that she never uses the words like manipulate or Machiavelli or cult. If she ever does call him out on some misattributed quote she won't call him a liar, and she won't do it in earshot of anyone else. And when she uses her big girl words she looks at him like she's teasing him instead of trying to impress him. She knows when he's wrong about the obscure ass Bible stories too and he has no idea how she knows this shit. 

Going out of her way to call him on being full of shit - without ever actually saying it at all.

She's good. She keeps being better at it than he'd thought someone could be. Someone like her. Someone who wasn't really anyone.

Maybe that's why Boyd felt like he could let her in on it. Just a little bit. Because she could see it and he knew she could and she never called him a liar or a bastard or a psycho or anything like that. She didn't even try to leave. If anything, she seemed charmed by it. 

He didn't think too much about how it might feel to let someone in like that. What it could be like to show your real face and still be wanted. 

✞

Their first kiss doesn't taste anything like blood. 

It tasted like tobacco and dirt and her.

She'd been trying to figure a way to sleep closer to him during the nights. Boyd figures this out after she finally ‘confesses’ that she hasn't been sleeping well,  she's ‘scared of the dark’.

He asks her how long it took her to come up with that bullshit.

She says two days.

He asks why she didn't come up with something better and can't argue when she says there really wasn't anything that didn't sound obvious.

It takes about an hour for her to be pressed up against him. They'd started with their sleeping bags a few feet away from each other, but as they talk the distance gets smaller. Boyd isn't sure if it's her or him that's moving in. Isn't he supposed to pay attention to stuff like that? Shouldn't he be at least a little aware of what she says and what she doesn't say and how she's moving and speaking and staring? 

He's in the middle of a story about one of the banks, talking at her about some really ‘cool’ shit he'd said and never gotten to tell anyone (he never thought he'd wanted to) - and without a word she unzips her sleeping bag, unzips his sleeping bag, and rearranges. Making enough room for her to fit right up against him.

And she does.

Boyd keeps talking the whole time. Finishing his story. She listens, and replies, and neither one of them comment on what she's doing. Neither one of them say anything when she's nestled up against him.

He thinks it through… what to do in this situation. What outcome did he want? His dick is hard but it's not aching. He could sleep. He figures making her wait won't hurt his chances if he decides he wants them. 

So he tells her politely goodnight and he's surprised when she doesn't protest. 

Beatle rolls over and he pulls her close. No harm in being close. Really there was no harm in fucking her either, but it didn't feel like the right moment. Everything has its right moment.

He keeps thinking about fucking her and once again he isn't sure who started moving first but he's pulling her over his cock like her body was his to move how he wanted. It was definitely her who started it, he reasons, arching her back into him and wiggling around - but he could've dealt with it. Could've told her to stop, told her no, told her anything that he knew would shut her down.  But just as he was about to say something she turned her head to look back at him. 

She didn't twist her neck and meet his gaze romantically - pressing her hips delicately into his. No, she folded her body at her hips, completely arching herself against him, looking back and up at him like he was already fucking inside of her.

Boyd knows that when he grabs her hips hard enough to bruise her that she likes it that way. Even if she didn't say all the obvious shit that made him know. 

He's not gonna fuck her. Not tonight. But he uses her body to cum and he doesn't feel bad because he's never felt bad about something human like that. And anyway, she liked it. He knows because he can smell how wet her cunt is. He knows because she was a shaking mess, moaning at just the feeling of dull pressure. He knows because she begged him to cum. 

She begged him to cum instead of begging him to fuck her and Boyd thinks he might be in love again.

She turns around and kisses him and her face has dirt on it from where he'd pressed her head into the ground but he likes the way it tastes on her. 

She kisses like an apology. A real one. One that comes from your whole fucking soul because you never felt anything more. Trying to connect. Fully. Deeply. 

Tuggin’ on heart strings is a saying he's always heard and it always made sense until now when he actually feels it for the first time. Boyd, who's so keen on behavior and mannerisms and what was gonna happen next, feels everything she has.

He's been here before with women. Some of them were different but if he was honest most of them were the same. A sigh here, a disgusted look there. Knowing how a woman feels about you might be the easiest observation a man could make.

So Boyd was expecting what he'd gotten from her when he was grinding into her. All shaking and whimpering and he'd probably either have to take the lead or stop it - either was okay by him depending on what he felt like.

But she's someone else. Again. With one leg hooked around him and her hands around the back of his neck and in his hair - she takes his mouth with hers like she's evangelizing. Pushing everything she has into him and he can feel it. More than a physical something. More than her fingers pressing into the pulse at his neck. More than his cock getting hard again and this time it settles right between them.

He finally breaks the kiss only to ask her if she knows he can feel her clit every time it quivers against him. He only asks because he wants to feel it again.

Boyd’s good at talking. Beatle loves it. 

He asks her so many filthy things. Things he'd never got away with asking someone else. Boyd knows there's not much you can't get away with saying with a whisper and a southern accent, but this… this was new even for him.

He wasn't sure what came over him. Why he needed her to know that he's been pretty sure he can tell when she's thinking about giving him head. About the glazed over look in her eye and how her mouth hangs open a little wider than she probably thinks it does when she's staring.

Or why he has to tell her that his cock was hard the whole time he had his gun on her the first night they met.

And he's not going to fuck her but he sucks on her tits like they've been eucharized. He can't stop talking because he can't get enough of every little fucking reaction.

Boyd figures out what it is when he's in the middle of telling her about how he knows her pussy is pretty and pink and the same color as her lips and how, he knows it's bad, but sometimes when she's talking to him all he can think about is what his cock would look like pressed up against her teeth -  Beatle's body seizes on him a little bit different than it had been seizing before; and it all just clicks.

Getting a reaction from her was like breathing. Nothing in his life had ever come so easy. Or so fun. 

She was letting him play with her. 

All his silly little mind games everyone else hated so much. She liked it. Not in the way he’d meant for her to like it. 

She liked him. Actually. 

He's really not sure why he told her about cumming on her pajama pants before he threw them out. He was sure he'd take that one to the grave. But he tells her about it while jerking  off onto her stomach because he wasn't going to fuck her but he needed to cum again. 

And she eats the mess from her fingers from her belly and Boyd is certain he's allowed to be in love. 

✞

Boyd had reasoned himself through a lot of things. Justifying almost anything. This? This he was having a hard time with. All he had going for him is that she'd liked it.

That she asked for it again afterwards.

Because when Boyd wakes up and the sun is peaking through the trees he can finally really see what her tits look like. Half falling out of her top. And when he reaches down to touch her there, her lips part. He thinks about how her pussy is the same color as her mouth and he thinks about how he told her that and how she reacted and he can't stop his hands even if he wanted to.

That's what he tells himself. He's reading her blind like a set of runes, it's not his fault her body is calling him this way. And she's reacting. So how could he stop? He can't. 

He's not sure if she's sleeping or pretending to sleep and he'd be lying if he said he thought that hard about it. Hard enough to care. His fingers dip between her legs and even through her underwear he can feel it. Sticky and warm and hers. 

Boyds hands seem to know what to do the same way his mouth does. Working the fabric of her panties down just slowly enough to not move her. He didn't want to fuck her he just wanted to feel it. 

She spreads her legs for him a little, laying on her belly; another miracle. Another sign he shouldn't stop himself. The Lord was working through him. 

This time he knows he's full of shit but he's rubbing his cock along her soaked lips and he can feel her clit tremble again and he doesn't feel bad when he pushes into her.

Her eyes jolt open like he'd been waiting for and the look on her face is an expression he doesn't think he's ever seen before. Something like fear and trust. Something someone like Boyd could get addicted to. 

He fucks her into the ground. He wants to look at her face again so he pulls her head back by her chin. She meets his gaze like she'd been waiting for it. This. To look at him like this while he fucked her.

She bows her head and takes his fingers into her mouth. She tries to move her head and Boyd knows exactly what the fuck she wants so he gives it to her. Fishhooking his fingers into her cheek while he backs up and off her a little. Sitting her up on her knees before pushing her shoulders back down again. 

Boyd knows how to get what he wants. He wants to go watch himself disappear inside of her. 

He'd almost forgotten where they'd started this, but when he remembers he has to stop himself from finishing then…. Just barely pushing into her again and it reminds him of that first time. 5 minutes ago when she was asleep.

Boyd can't stop thinking about how she'd woken up wanting him. This desperate. This wet.

That he could make her want it even when she couldn't know anything.

She opens her fucking mouth one fucking time and it's to tell him to fuck her pussy like he fucking owns it. And it was kind of corny and it didn't quite hit as well as he thought something she could say during sex would and he's not mad or anything but she adds “because you do.” and Boyd buckles. 

Falling on top of her body like her words hit him he holds her still as he ruts up into her. It's desperate and vulnerable and yet still completely overpowering. He tells her to say it again and she says the whole thing. He tells her no just the last part and she

Starts professing just how much he fucking owns her pussy. How it's never been for anybody else, from the second she saw him she wanted him. She felt him there, she always wanted to feel him there. Deep in her fucking cunt because it fucking belonged to him. 

He asks her whenever he wants it?

She repeats him in breathless moans as he slows his pace

He asks her even if she's sleeping.

She tells him that she’s never been more turned on in her whole life.

He asks her why

Because he took it without asking.

Because he knew it was his.

Boyd cums so fucking hard he's vaguely aware that he's hurting her. Pressing her into the ground and she can't breathe but he knows she'll be okay in a second and he knows she doesn't care. He knows she prefers it this way. Even if she hadn't said it.

✞

For the next two weeks Boyd fucks her in just about every way he can think to fuck her. All the things he's ever wanted to try. Like waking her up by stretching her out. He can't believe he's never been able to wake someone up like that before.

He can't believe how much he likes it.

Responding to her body and giving it what it wants when she can't even speak. He's sure it's is favorite thing that they do.

He does things with her that he’d never actually considered before, too.

He plays pretend with her. Not in front of the others but they'll go out to the creek and he'll baptize her and they fuck in the water or on the edge or against a tree. 

Or Beatle gets down on her knees like she's really praying and pretends to be confused when his cock head pokes at her mouth asking what he's doing and he gets to play along and say it's what the good Lord itends for her.

One time he laid her down and they pretended that as her pastor it was his holy duty to impregnate her with Christ.

Boyd didn't know he would get off on this shit. He's certain he wouldn't be if it wasn't with her. Who's mouth was so believable and reactions so pure - he doesn't have to wonder anything. 

She likes it or she doesn't and she always fucking likes it. 

✞

The sky is hazy and it looks like it might rain. Beatle asks him if he has any family and Boyd doesn't really know what to say. He doesn't want to lie but he doesn't want to talk about it.

He tells her no.

She asks if he's lying because he doesn't want them to meet her.

Boyd’s heart pangs again like it did when she'd kissed him that first time. All desperate and real and alive. He shakes his head and tells her no. She was too good for them.

He can tell she doesn't believe him. But saying nothing is better than saying more. And he knows she'll let him get away with not answering this one.

He tells her it doesn't matter anyway because he's pretty sure he loves her. And it's the first time he says it but it's not the first time he's felt it. Beatle believes him. 

Boyd is pretty sure she's never believed those words in her whole life before now. 

His heart pangs again.

✞

Bo Crowder was a scary sonofabitch. That's what Beatle said under her breath as he was walking up to their camp. Boyd’s glad she said it quiet because she didn't know how right she was.

She didn't know that was his daddy.

She knew about the meth shipment he was yelling about. Something he normally wouldn't have told her, even though it wasn't a secret necessarily. Something about wanting to protect a woman from the dangers of this world. 

But Boyd needed Beatle. He trusted her. She was part of this with him. He didn't want her the way he wanted all of the rest and he wanted all of the rest to know it too. Something about making her feel like she was someone. 

He knew he was saying and doing things at just the right times to make her feel special. But it's not like he didn't mean them. She treated each one like a fucking gift. Each public display, every private whisper. Every touch of their fingers and especially every time he buried himself inside her.

✞

It occurs to him on his walk through exile, while his people were no doubt being strung up and taken away by lawmen, that he doesn't think he can live without her. Well, at least that he doesn't want to. He reasons he shouldn't have to. 

She didn't break any laws anyway and Raylan will probably hand her over personally when her record comes back clean. He'd asked her and she said she had no charges she'd known of. She'd know. 

So, be patient. Wait it out. He runs through it again, in his head, all the stuff his daddy said. That they were gonna have them dig up the guns then tie em to a tree and call the feds.

He said a lot of other stuff too. About not being a son not being a leader not being nothing. Boyd was always sure he was nothing so none of that shit felt like anything. The first few blows his daddy makes his cousin give him don't feel like much of anything either.

Seeing Beatle’s face is what does it. He's sure he's rocked a few more times but he doesn't remember anything after seeing her look at him like that. 

✞

Boyd tries not to remember Beatle for the way she looked at him then. He tries really hard to remember the few seconds he'd gotten to touch her hand before his daddy shot that gun one last time at him to get out of there. 

He wishes he remembered it better but it's so fuzzy and barely there. He wishes his cousin would have just fucking beat him to death. He wishes that one prick ass degenerate addict piece of shit good for nothing follower who snitched out where the guns were would come back to life so he could rip apart every bit of him.

Because she'd probably still be alive. Boyd’s sure of it. If he'd died instead she'd be alive and the world wouldn't fucking feel like this. 

✞

For a while he has delusions that it’s the Real Deal out and out End O’ Times. That with her went all the light and all the good because he just couldn't seem to reason why.

Couldn't his daddy see she was special?

Couldn't he see that she was divinely made for him? 

That their love could have changed the world. 

It could have changed him.

Boyd can't reason with his daddy because he's dead too.

✞

After even longer Boyd convinces himself he was full of shit the whole time. That Beatle was just some girl he stuffed his cock into to feel good about himself while he was reintegrating back into society. 

Just some junkie, and if she was still alive she'd be back to using again. They wouldn’t have been anything because Beatle wasn't anyone.

She thought she was special, but don't they all? 

Boyd doesn't think about it much anymore. When he does he only lets himself think one thing.

She couldn't have been real. Not the way he thought she was. He must have been wrong about her and he would have figured it out eventually. 

He can't let himself think about her the way she really was.

The memories of her then are remembered by no one. Not a soul on this earth. Not even the ground they fucked on or the pond he made her piss in so he could watch. Not even in the stump that she'd carved their initials into because Boyd went back and he cut it all apart so sure that wasn't real either. 

He keeps being so sure it wasn't real.

He convinces himself that some initials carved in a tree is just something childish and stupid and that's why he destroyed it. He convinces himself that it wouldn't have broken her heart.

He’ll convince himself of just about anything to keep from thinking about what it felt like to be loved. Because that's what it was, right? Love? 

So he doesn't think about her. Or then. Or what happened and what didn't. 

✞

It's the gunpowder. Every time it starts to sting up his sinuses he can feel her hair soft against his lips. And every time he closes his eyes and he remembers her. What it felt like to realize she was up there with the rest of them.

Maybe someday Boyd will let himself remember what it felt like to love her. He worries that by the time he’ll be ready he won't remember what she looked like anymore.

What she felt like.

He already forgets most of the stuff they'd talked about. He just knows she was special. He knows no one else would get it anyway. Why he wanted to let himself be stuck there forever. In those words. Dying. How three weeks could feel so much bigger.

Boyd keeps going out there despite how much he convinces himself he's not thinking about her. Everything time he smells the gunpowder. 

He keeps finding reasons to use his gun. 

Because even though in that memory she's dead it's the realest one he's got. 

He doesn't think about her dead.

If he absolutely has to, laying down in the dirt where the camp used to be, he thinks about the way she looked when he'd told her he was pretty sure he loved her.

Sometimes he thinks about her mouth or her body or the way she always seemed to know what to do with them - but mostly he just thinks about the way she looked at him. Praying to be a better man for the next time around this life because she deserved more than God would allow him to give. The choices he had made previous to loving her had tainted his soul. Turned it rotten and poisoned her before he'd barely even gotten the chance. She'd paid for his sins. So he prays next time he meets her without any. 

Boyd wishes just one time he would lay down out here and not get up. 

He leaves the woods, convincing himself he was full of shit with her the same way he was full of shit with everyone, the memories of her die again, and he forgets about her until his subconscious finds some reason for him to fire a gun.

Any reason.

Boyd remembers enough about her to know she'd have liked that.

✞

A/n; it wasn't really proofread? (Well it was but I'm not very good at it) ALSO idk about this writing style either, i know it's kind of different? And in my opinion probably more juvenile but I had fun writing it this way. 🤷🏻‍♀️

(I'll make a different post about where I'm at with my wips~)