#i actually don't like using tags that much

[possiblynotpayingattention]

WARNING: The final boss fight for "Shadow of the Erdtree" just got leaked and the Wiki is filled with spoilers!

It's a MASSIVE spoiler for both gameplay and lore.

Be WARNED!

If you don't want the ending ruined before June 21st, avoid social media sites like Twitter, the Elden Ring Wiki pages and the sub-reddits for ER.

TIME TO GO DARK, SOULS FOLKS!

See you on the 21st! ⚔️

[anxious-witch]

Some thoughts on Edwin through the lenses of flaws and sexuality, specifically connected to his meetings with the Cat King and what metaphors I think are cleverly used through the offers he makes to Edwin.

(Under the cut bc this will be long and I don't wanna spam the tag)

Part 1, because I realized halfway through it will be too long for one post.

Let's start with him being trapped in Port Townsend. As much as I love Edwin, we see that at the beginning of the season, he shows disregard towards people and things that he either doesn't already care about or aren't in the sphere of his interest(as seen through Crystal and briefly Niko, when he was literally ready to write her off as hysterical at first), and under that falls the cat he gets the information from.

I don't believe he has any malicious intent, but he disregard the fact that the cat is a being worthy of respect. He could have befrended the cat and get the information that way, but he didn't think it was worth his time. He even says all the cats look the same to him. To Edwin, who pays attention to the smallest details? That speaks volumes on how much he simply doesn't care about cats. Which is why the Cat King makes him count all of them. Remember all of them, for all their differences.

But I digress. Let's go back to the Cat King's offers to set Edwin free and look at them through the lenses of storytelling. First thing we need to remember is what Cat King says before that. "My kingdom is all about wants and pleasures". But is it? We see on several ocassions that Cat King acts upon an act already commited against something or someone, as someone who delivers consequences of those actions. Trapping Edwin for trapping his cat, kissing Monty without permission for him kissing Edwin without permission, exploiting Esther's immortality loophole through Crystal after Esther's exploited his immortality loophole. And eye for eye. Now, back to the offers.

Cat King offers Edwin to sleep with him or to count all the cats in Port Towsend. Or as I like to see it-accept your desire of being attracted to men, or face your flaw. Neither of which is easy for Edwin, although by the end, he bith accepts his desire and overcomes his flaw(at least in part, since no one is perfect).

We see it again when they meet during episode 4. Yes, the Cat King flirts with him and shapeshifts into Monty at Charles, playing up Edwin's desires once again. Enticing him to it. But when Edwin refuses his desires, Cat King turns to his flaw again and makes him admit it through the truth spell. "I am ashamed, it is selfish" says Edwin after.

And the Cat King could have used his shame to manipulate him, but that wasn’t the point of his character. He wants Edwin to face himself. Because you can't improve withour facing yourself.

Now, when they meet in the forest, I think their dynamics shift drastically. Specifically bc of what happens in-between their meetings. Ala, Edwin begins to actually grapple with and accept both his desires AND flaws. He realizes he is in love with Charles and the whole thing with Monty, although ends awkwarly, is a big step in the direction of accepting that he does like men romantically. And we also see him open up to Niko more, to start accepting Crystal as a person, not a rival for Charles' affection.

So with that in mind, I think he has a lot more power now, that the last time he saw the Cat King. He is blindsided for a bit with the reveal of Monty lying to him. But what I think is also really interesting, is that Monty is the one uncovering both desire and flaws in Edwin here.

When he says Charles is the one Edwin has feelings for, that it's obvious, in Edwin's eyes, he is practically throwing his desire in his face. And what does Edwin resorts back to? His copying mechanism. His flaw. "Even if it were true, you are a bloody crow!" Because Edwin isn't ready to admit to wanting Charles. Not yet.

Which is why I think the Cat King only batters with his desire afterwards! "Second kiss is always better". And while Edwin rejects him, it is noticeable different. Edwin isn't scared, he is angry. And he doesn't deny his desire like the fiest two times. "Hear me, I am not your toy to yank around. I owe you nothing". Which is why Cat King gets angry foe the first time! He can feel how close he is, and yet Edwin rejects him yet again.

Then, Edwin shows off the bracelet and says "this is all that you are." As others have pointed out, the bracelet is obviously a metaphor for Edwin's sexuality that he keeps trying to hide. Yet, here he shows it off, throws it in the Cat King's face. "I desire you, but I do not love you. This is all that you are, an attraction, a fancy". And what does Cat King do or say? Nothing. Because he is powerless in the face of Edwin's acceptance.

I'll leave their last meeting for Part 2, because this got wayyy too long already

[factual-fantasy]

30 asks! Thank you!! :}} 🦷

Leave comments on my artwork! :D Either in the comment section, in my ask box, reblogs or tags! Reading all the responses to my artwork is my favorite part of posting on Tumblr and is what keeps me posting! :}}

<XD I wanted him to be. But the spawn rate for female Eevees is 12%!! Heck if I'm gonna run around for hours on end looking for a female!

Besides, drawing Sylveon in a more masculine and chaotic way is fun! And having his backstory be that he evolved out of love for his friends, despite being a man, is a fun origin story! :))

Oh nono, art fight isn't for me 😅 I like to keep my characters to myself and don't tend to draw other peoples characters-

@milk-powrit

I had this idea in my head that big Koopas like Bowser cannot retreat into their shell. But regular little Koopas troops can. But I'm kind'a rethinking that.. I'm considering making all Koopas unable to retreat into their shells :00

Hmm... good question.. perhaps his citizens know, but other kingdoms do not.?

..Are you alright-

@jeysecretive

I'm sure I'm not the first person to come up with this idea, so I have no right to say you cant do it too. Go right ahead!

Of all the food related Pokémon I can remember.. Alcremie is pretty cute :)))

@kermit-ydafrog (Sent after this post)

.....For some reason I don't believe you Kermit-

XDD THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :)))))

@untitled-7613

:0 A logo? Where would I put it?

@foxdemon-loser

Aww! What a cute widdle fox.. 🥺💞💞

(In response to an ask from this post)

No problem! Thank you for the asks! :))

@im-nice-but-i-dont-like-you

Today wasn't as bad as it could have been! Thank you! :)) I wish the same for you!

I think you're right about this. And yeah, involving money with my favorite hobby probably just isn't a great idea.. 😔

I haven't caught up with Octonauts recently, so I don't know who you're talking about.. <://

<XD For me its the opposite. I get so caught up in the routine of my usual candle run path that I forget to go out of my way to snatch up the winged lights-

:DDD THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! :]]]]

I'd prefer a cold shower personally! <XD

@anikakitty11

The baby..... 🥺🥺🥺🥺

@dooflizard

Oooo! Nifty! :00 Thanks for telling me about this! :))

@wolfie-777

Ah nooo, I have no plans to do so! <:/

@olives-in-shadows

Something about this baby looks oddly mischievous...

@savetheearthbros

AAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! :DDDD I should totally draw them again sometime!! :000

@teemhauntsSorry for the late reply! Tumblr ate this ask-- I use FireAlpaca! :)) Its free and easy to learn for beginners, but has a lot of tools for the pros! But be warned, it can be a bit buggy at times-

Grizzly Bears! :DDD

@mason-gaylord

Awe, thank you!! :)))

@charactersnatcher

:DD THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :}}}}

Man I haven't had pizza in a while- thank you! :))

I would prefer to be frozen actually! <XDD I don't take the heat well 💀

[bluecrocss]

STOP BEING WEIRD

Now that social media has blurred the lines between celebrities and their fans, I am once again reminded that people have no sense of boundaries or decorum online.

I get that we all joke about Luke being a groomer and weirdo because of his weird little "did you love me?" confession to Annabeth at the end of TLO. But why did I come across a tiktok of some pjo fan making a slide show joke of Luke and Annabeth, where the joke was something like, "when the law says 18 but she's 14" and it was using ACTUAL PICTURES of Charlie and Leah.

Not only that, but they went on to tag Charlie's tiktok account in the post, so he would see it (with some dumbass caption about how "it's just a joke. Please don't take it seriously.")

And the thing is, I have seen Charlie leave comments on fan posts before, so when his fans tag him in things, there's always a good chance he sees them.

Like... are y'all okay in the head? In what world is that an okay joke to make? That is his underage coworker (that he seems to have a very sweet, brotherly relationship with), did they think he would actually respond to a post like that with the implications of it?

And btw, with all the changes the tv adaptation has made (i.e. sympathetic Medusa, less abusive Gabe, etc.) and the glaring exclusion of Annabeth's crush on Luke in TLT, there's a 99.99999% chance that that line and all the implications of it to Luke and Annabeth's relationship will NOT be included in this adaptation, so there's no need for y'all to keep bringing it up with the actors (even as a joke).

I've also seen fans make weird speculations regarding the cast's parents' relationships with each other, make fan accounts for Walker's siblings, impersonate Walker's siblings, not to mention the harassment on Leah and her family that I've already spoken on ad nauseum.

Y'all say you love this cast so much and how they act like a family, but idk know if they'll be able to maintain these good working relationships for the next 6 - 8 years they're supposed to work together with this weird, invasive behavior from fans.

And for the last time, "I'm a minor" and "I'm actually younger than them" is not an adequate justification for this shit. If you claim you're old enough to use the internet unsupervised, you are old enough to take accountability for your borderline harassment, like you would have to irl.

I feel like we allow a lot of very dangerous behavior to go unchecked in fandom (and online in general) by only going after the adults who partake in it (and lets be honest, sometimes the adults are the minority with certain situations).

[hopetorun]

thinking about that poll re commenting on explicit fics and it is bringing me back to the livejournal days when we would all just comment stuff like "i'll be in my bunk" we should bring that back maybe

honestly ... not a bad idea! i have a lot of thoughts and curiosities about the dynamics of kudosing and commenting on smut in fandom because as i said in my tags, my experience especially in rpf fandoms is that a fic being explicit gets you more interest not less ... but there's still definitely a dynamic where if something is really kinky or has quote-unquote questionable tropes it racks up a really high rate of private bookmarks!

i don't like using hits as a counter for much of anything on ao3, because it's just so unreliable, but creators can actually see how many public and private bookmarks there are on works (you have to go into your statistics and look at the bookmarks number there to figure out how many private ones there are). i don't even write particularly kinky stuff but like, the public sex fic? only about 25% of the bookmarks are public, and most of my fics it's around 50%

anyway, go tell some authors that you think their smut is hot. maybe even some kinky or quote-unquote questionable smut. i promise it's not weird. we wrote it hoping people would think it's hot. if you don't wanna get into the gory details of your personal reaction you can use the 🥵 emoji or just say "oh my GOD" and i think those both get the point across.

[moonfromearth]

On Repeat - an oc tag by @elderwisp

"rules are pretty simple, pick as many (or as little) oc's as you'd like and find a song that you relate to them the most! feel free to mention why too! o and tag some more ppl too! that would be cool!"

I may have gone a little overboard 😅 To be honest this tag came around at just the right time! I'd just gotten a new song association and have been working on schoolwork so much that I really needed to do something creative 😆

Originally these were all going to be in similar editing styles (more like Corey's) but somewhere along the way that stopped because I had different ideas that I really wanted to do. Also I cheated a little and a few got more than one song... 🤫

I'm really proud with all of these in the end, and if you want to read more about the stories behind them you can check below the cut! ❤️

I know I'm pretty late to the party now buuut I'll tag: @igglemouse @swiftviolets @stargazer-sims @auspexsims and @seniorpollinationtechnician. Feel free to ignore though if you've already done it/don't want to! 😁

[deep dive under cut!]

COREY ALTMAN

"Holiday" - Green Day:

This song being here is random song association at its finest. The trail pretty much goes "Holiday" by Green Day > Surf's Up > Beach Vibes > Sulani > Globetrotter Challenge > Corey Song. If that makes sense... 😂 Pretty much, you can blame the Sulani round of the Globetrotter Challenge for it, plus the fact that I feel like it's the type of song/genre Corey would use in his own music.

"Catch Me If You Can" - Set It Off:

Now, it would be a crime to talk about songs and Corey without a song by Set It Off. Corey was created when I was listening to their songs a lot, and it definitely rubbed off on him. From his aesthetic to the songs I imagine him playing, a lot of it came from Set It Off. Even his name was derived from the band's lead singer (although changed from Cody to Corey because that's the route my mind took with it idk). So, this song in particular specifically reminds me of Corey for... Honestly probably obvious reasons 😆 "Catch Me If You Can" was pretty much the theme of his Globetrotter Challenge, where he was constantly moving on the run from the law. A line I really like though for him is the part that says, "I only feel at home when I'm on the run," because I feel like that leads into the deeper aspects of Corey. He really isn't at home anywhere, he's always on the move, even when he's not evading capture anymore. There's a certain non-permanence to everything he does. Something funny about the image itself is that it originally wasn't going to be edited to look like the back cover of a CD. When I took the picture of Corey with the guitar I kind of thought "this looks like the back cover of a CD" and when editing I just needed a way to fill the space at the bottom and it turned into a CD back cover edit 🤣 It actually kind of fits though since both of these songs are the sound I associate with Corey's own music so it worked out in the end.

LIZZY ALTMAN

"Unopened Windows" - Set It Off:

So this one is the context behind this post lol. It's been like two years since I started working on this plotline I have to finish it eventually 😆 Anyway, Lizzy's been teased in many tag games so far, but without a name or much information (note: and this name's not final I'm not sure yet). Here you can probably guess based on the song choice how her story goes 😅 Going back to the epilogue of the Globetrotter Challenge, we see that something is going on, and it leads to Lizzy and her dad being separated. So, the entire song lyrically I really felt spoke to them and their situation (more in a future gameplay 😉). Bonus points for it being a Set It Off song, who I associate with Corey, and thought music could have been something that they bonded over and enjoyed together. I have a few things to say about the image itself because it was a struggle but I looooove how it turned out! It turned out essentially how I imagined it with Lizzy playing guitar in the foreground with a sort of memory of her time with her dad in the background. I probably had about five or six different poses that I put in the background because I couldn't decide which one I liked the best 😆 This was the last image I had to work on out of the four, and I was having trouble with how I wanted the song title to look. While I was browsing for overlays and stuff I came across a lot of cutout style poems and ended up adding in some of the lyrics because I thought it would help explain the concept behind the image. In the end this one is one of my favorites which is unbelievable considering how much I thought it was not going to turn out like I imagined 🥰

*UNNAMED*

(Sorry I don't have a name for her yet and don't want to commit to a temporary one 😭)

"Little Chaos" - Orla Gartland:

In a wonderfully serendipitous coincidence, this was the song association I was very into when getting tagged, and was already planning what became this edit! I rarely have song associations for sims/sims stories (despite how many ended up coming together here) so that's why I'll never get over how well timed this all was (thanks again elderwisp!!) On to the song, it has to do with my upcoming gameplay story centered around the For Rent game pack, and starring the pictured sim (who doesn't have a name yet sorry! 😅). She's going through a bit of a tough time where she's very lost and I thought the lines, "And it's a good day for a meltdown. All my thoughts getting too loud," fit really where she's at, especially at the start. Plus, the vibes are perfect. The image itself was inspired by the song's MV and one part in particular, but it looks a lot different now (I was limited by the poses I could find because I refuse to sit down and learn to make my own yet). I liked this idea of the torn pages framing the image, especially because it plays into the plot, which sees the main character do a lot of journaling throughout the story. So, the lined paper had to do with that, and it doubled as being good for making the letters stand out, which I wanted to be big and misaligned to be more "chaotic," though I think that could have been done more/better. Aaaaand the background is a picture of Tomarang, where the story takes place. To be honest this will probably be the cover image once I finalize a name and get started on playing it 😉

GHOST COWBOY

(no he also doesn't have a name yet same as above 😆)

"Ferryman" - Schafer James and Will Wood:

I've actually been having a lot of fun with this character since initially creating him back before the Horse Ranch pack came out (more on him coming out in a few days for the outlaw challenge 😉). So this song.... The entire concept of our ghost cowboy is that he, being somewhat half dead and half alive, winds up being a good source of convincing "unwilling souls" to cross over, and works with the character Death to do so in exchange for finding out why he's not entirely dead. I'll explain it better another time, but I also really love this song and just thought that the concept of the ferryman and the ghost cowboy as ferriers of the dead.

"Toss A Coin To Your Witcher (Epic Version)" - Samuel Kim and Black Gryph0n:

Liiiiisten... My family made me watch three seasons of The Witcher I had to get something out of it 😆 I joke a lot that this character gives off Geralt vibes but honestly they are definitely super similar just based on their overall aesthetic and horse companions. I wanted to be special though and chose this epic cover instead of the original... Just for fun 😁 There were some cool piano covers too that almost made the cut. This is probably a good place to talk about the actual image (yay!). I hope the visibility on it isn't too bad because it ended up waaaay more cluttered than I originally intended, plus the mist effect definitely makes it harder to see the characters. I made his (also unnamed) horse a little more transparent to try and give off this ghostly see through effect so I hope that comes through. The font isn't the kind of "wild west wanted sign" font that I wanted, but I think it's close enough lol.

Credits:

Image by rawpixel.com on Freepik

[captainlunaxmen]

All for The Cameras

Chapter 10

Finnick Odair x fem!reader

Here we are! I really hope you like this chapter, and thank you to everyone who comments and likes my stories. It means so much🖤💜🖤

Let me know what you think, and if you're new and want to be added to the tag list let me know💜

Chapter summary: the "life" as Capitol's captive is not the best, neither is in district 13 not knowing what's going on.

Chapter warnings: it's the Hunger Games... I mean. Heavy hint of rape, blood, mention of torture.

Tag list:

@guacam011y @justtrying2getby @idontevenknow1359 @alexandra-001 @bambikitten @maggiecc @redh00dsbf @haneybunny @1-800-styles @sisiking99 @merromimo @yourdailymemedelivery @regsg18 @gordorio @bambikitten @gracieeleanorr @shev3nom @honethatty12 @savingprivatecass @erindiggory @martahabla @sterredem @aawdrea @wpdarlingpan @strawberry--fawn @barbarathewanderer @ih8books @a-mysterious-potato @mayonesavegana @celinaiscrying @katherinejess @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @abaker74 @syd649 @meikoo @secretsicanthideanymore @p1stachi @laylasshiftingtonight @yourmumstoy @s0urw00lf @kermits-bitch @littleshadow17

@piya-re @ivymyers @potao-o @wqstedyouths

I'm sorry if I can't tag everyone😔🥺

Y/n's Pov

I don't know how long we've been here.

Days?

Months?

Weeks?

Hours?

Regardless of the truth, too damn long.

Part of me wants someone to rescue us, another doesn't want anyone to get near this place in fear of them getting caught too.

"Y/n...?" Johanna's voice feels further than it actually was, "Y/n... don't get into your head."

"All my fault." I mutter, shaking my head.

"I don't know what you said, but I can tell it's not good." Johanna groans, as she sits up a little straighter.

"Johanna..." I start with an exasperated sigh.

"No."

"It is my fault." I say firmly, "it is, and you have all the reason to hate me."

"Stop it."

"I should've gotten you all out. I..." I choke out a sob.

"Please... stop that." I've never heard her pleading, that alone makes me regain some sense and I crawl closer to the bars.

"I'm sorry." I say, "I'm afraid they know what they're doing..."

"I'm afraid so." Johanna nods, "if you lose yourself we're fucked."

"I know." I force a smile, "do you know how long it's been?"

"Uh..." she groans, "days? Weeks? No idea. Feels like too long, that's for sure."

"Agree." I sigh, "it's been too long since they took Peeta too."

"I don't know what t-" she stops herself.

"Uh?"

"They're coming." She whispers.

A moment later the peacekeepers walk in, passing my cell I see they are dragging Peeta, he can't even stand.

They throw him in his cell without any words and leave the room.

"Peeta?" I call softly, when he doesn't answer I look at Johanna in the cell in front of mine, she can probably see him better than me.

She shrugs.

"Peeta...? What's wrong?" I try again and this time I can hear a grunt from him. "Peeta..."

"She did this." He says, so softly I could hardly hear. My heart breaks, suspecting he's talking about me.

"What... what do you say?" Johanna asks.

"It's her fault." He says louder and I crawl a little back, trying to hide myself.

"Who are you talking about?" Johanna asks again.

"Katniss."

I immediately sit up straight, I look at Johanna who look right back at me, I'm sure we have the same confused expression on our faces.

"What did they do to you there, Peeta?" I carefully ask.

"I... It's all her fault." He says, without answering my question.

"Peeta, answer me." I tell him. I look towards Johanna for any sort of answer, clue of what's happening to him, but she's just as confused.

When we hear footsteps coming towards us, Johanna and I crawl back against the wall, waiting as they open the doors.

"Y/n."

I look up to see Cal, hands behind his back, looking down at me.

"What?" I spat.

"The president requires your presence." He states and with a nod of his head, he motion for the guards to open the door and take me.

They harshly grab me and make me stand.

"Hey!" Cal suddenly shouts, "she's my fiancee, careful."

I roll my eyes as I force myself to walk, and not be dragged, I try to send a quick reassuring look to Johanna as I pass.

"Any clue?" I ask, annoyed to mask the fear I'm actually feeling.

"He wants to show you something." He simply says as we walk through the dark corridors. There are no windows, I can't even tell if it's dry or night outside.

I look around, thinking of a way to escape, I've been inside these buildings all my life, and there must be something I can use.

"You try anything, I'll make sure you regret it." Cal interrupts my thoughts, grabbing my arm to push me to walk quicker.

I can only stay silent, but my eyes are wide open.

--------------

One of the Peacekeepers opens the door to Snow's office, and Cal pushes me inside.

"Ah! Miss L/n, good to see you." He greets rather cheerfully.

"I thought you were above lying, sir." I mutter.

"On the contrary, my dear, but it doesn't mean I am lying now. I was looking forward to show you something." He's smiling, happy with himself. It's not a good sign usually.

"And what that something might be?" I ask, I try to keep a brave stance, but the way he stares at me proves that he doesn't believe it, and he knows he could crush me if he wanted to.

He looks at me carefully before turning the screen on. The gasp I let out is full of hope, seeing Katniss alive and well. She's somewhere with a sort of filming team, military, Gale is with them. And I think I recognise the other woman. She used to work here in the Capitol. I can't recognise where they are...

"District 8, miss L/n." Snow says, probably from noticing my analysing the footage, "she went to visit a makeshift hospital there..."

"You... what did you do..?" I know what he could've done, I'm just mad, furious.

"What you see here is nothing. You see, we declared not long ago that any association with the Mockingjay symbol is forbidden, any form of association." He explains, "so... you tell me. What would happen next?"

I can't help the tears forming and falling from my eyes, the rage I wish to let out, but I can't... or I won't be the one to pay.

"I... I..."

"If you were there, you probably would've suggested a different approach, wouldn't you?" He mocks, "You're a smart girl, I did raise you, whether you like it or not. Your insights on our ways would've helped them. But now I want you to tell me: what was the inevitable next step?"

I'm shaking, I keep my eyes on the screen. If Katniss is alive, maybe the others are too...

"Well?" He urges, "say it."

"Kill the wounded..." I whisper.

"My exact words, miss L/n, my exact words." He looks at me, proudly it seems, and all I want to do is throw up.

"You attacked a makeshift hospital... without defence..." I keep shaking my head.

"They committed treason, my dear girl. There was a warning." He simply states.

"Why did you show me this?" I snap.

"Ah, finally." He walks closer to me, "try take a guess."

"Stop with this game." I spit back.

"Take a guess."

I take deep breaths, thinking.

"I..."

"Let me hear your thoughts, entertain me." He says.

I clench my fists, nails poking my skin hard enough to keep my mind focused.

"It's can't be so I can tell the others, too easy." I start and he nods.

"And why?"

"Because Peeta's treatment is not complete..." I say, realising it now, "one word and all your progress would be useless... so why tell me?... I..." Then another realisation hits me even harder, "I have to keep the secret from them... if they found out they wouldn't trust me anymore." I see Snow nodding, "and of course if I say something you would know and you would punish them, and not me."

All a stupid mind game, make me feel guilty for something I have no power on...

"Smart girl." He compliments, "your punishment for lying and betraying the Capitol, do the same to your loved ones. One word and they'll suffer. All because of you. Just like your brother."

If he shot me, it would hurt less.

I force myself to stay put, whatever I do will fall on Peeta and Johanna. I feel my hands getting wet, but I'm afraid if I move I'd do something I know they'll make me regret.

"Have someone bandage her hands before the next interview, general." Snow adresses Cal, I didn't even notice him entering the room.

"Of course." Cal responds, putting a hand on the small of my back to make me move.

That snaps me out of my paralysis and I loom at my hands. My nails got through and now there's blood on my hands...

Irony is weird. So is the fact that we're not heading to the tribute centre where they're keeping us...

"Where..."

"Shut up." Cal grabs my arm, "you need more than a few session."

I stop abruptly, his hold only tightens.

"Please no... Cal, please..." I struggle against him.

"We'll try again the reality session."

My heart sink at the thought.

No...

I struggle more but he just grabs me and puts me on his shoulder, I'm too weak to keep going.

I need to keep repeating myself that nothing is real in there.

Nothing is real in there.

Finnick's Pov

"Did you already try the trident Beetee made for you?" Haymitch asks Finnick, hoping to distract him from his knots.

"I... yeah... it was... Good... I think." He mutters.

"You know she wants you to fight, right?" Haymitch tries again, "Y/n wouldn't want you here, worried sick making knots over knots."

"She would slap me, probably." Finnick allows himself a small chuckle.

"Oh, for sure." Haymitch agrees, "so?"

"What?"

"Are you planning on keeping on sulking here?"

Finnick sighs deeply, eyes on the knot in his hands.

He puts is down on the bed and stands. Haymitch looks at him, a victorious grin on his face as he begins walking away, sure Finnick is following him.

Finnick takes a deep breath and follows him out.

--------------

As Finnick and Haymitch get to the others, another transmission from the Capitol starts.

Y/n and Peeta are together this time, facing the camera directly.

"Look at any movement from her, any scheme." Haymitch tells everyone, "she's trying to communicate."

"She tried to teach me morse code... she never got to..." Finnick whispers, defeated.

"Well, we got people here who knows it, don't stress yourself about it." Coin comforts him, "if she's indeed sending a message... we'll get it."

"Look at her..." Finnick feels himself about to cry, "look at them..."

In that moment Katniss and Boggs arrive too, just as Y/n starts speaking.

"Tonight, we've received reports of derailed trains, of granaries on fire, and of a savage attack on the hydroelectric dam in district 5." She says, hands fidgeting as always.

"We're begging for restraint and decency." Peeta adds.

Before he can say anything more, the scene changes into Katniss walking through ruins ans her voice singing.

"That's it. That's our footage" says president Coin.

"Beetee's in." Plutarch realises.

The scenes switch between Katniss' and The Capitol's.

"Katniss.." Peeta whispers.

"He sees it. He sees our propo."

"Katniss, are you there?" He asks.

Finnick looks at Katniss crying, helpless, then goes back at looking at the screen. He notices Y/n reaching a hand out to comfort Peeta, or to keep him focused. He can see threat of tears in her eyes.

Someone from the front desks walks up to Coin handing her a piece of paper. She nods her head and whispers something to them and they quickly run out the room

"Peeta, please continue." Ceaser voice urges him, "you were telling us about these savage attacks."

If before this interruption Y/n eyes were looking in front of her, to the camera, now they're set on Peeta.

"The attack on the damp was a callous and inhuman act of destruction." He says, but it switches again to Katniss singing.

"Think about it." He's fully in distress now, Finnick sees Y/n whispering something to Peeta as she gently grabs his hands, soothing him. "How will this end. What will be left? They're coming, Katniss. They're gonna kill everyone." Peeta's like he snapped out of whatever hypnotic state he was and warns her, "in district 13, you'll be dead by morning!"

Before the transmission is cut they managed to see peacekeepers grabbing both Peeta and Y/n.

"He's warning us. That was a warning." Haymitch says.

"Yes, it was." Boggs agrees.

"We have to get them out before they kill them." Katniss basically begs and Finnick is very close to do the same.

"Is there anything in the air?" Coin asks.

"Nothing on Doppler, ma'am."

"They were in the mansion. They could have overheard something." Coin guesses.

"Possibly." Plutarch agrees, "plus Y/n knows their ways."

Coin then looks at everyone, pondering.

"It's time for an air raid drill." Coin announces.

Everyone starts walking out as the alarm starts bleeping, urging everyone to get ready to begun evacuation protocol, heading to the underground shelters.

Finnick follows everyone down, he has to be careful not to trip down, because his mind is busy worrying about Y/n.

Are they going to hurt her? Kill her? He'd give his life to know... he'd give up his life for hers.

Y/n's Pov

We're in the dark. Complete dark.

Could it be a malfunction in the building electric storage? No... something happened, but what.

"Any idea, L/n?" Johanna asks.

"Not a clue."

"Peeta?" Johanna calls, him. He hasn't said a word since they got us back here.

"Mmh." He grunts, but not a word.

"What did they do?" She asks.

"They... grabbed him, he tried to get away from them..." I start, my voice shaking at the memory, "they started to kick him... hard. I try to make them stop. They punched me... they kept on kicking us until... Cal came in..."

"God..." she groans.

"At least they stopped hitting him." I whisper. "And they didn't bring us back to torture us... last time they used my brother... I don't think I can take another of those..."

"Fuck..." she breaths out.

"Doesn't mean they won't torture us tomorrow..." I hold back my tears, "but for tonight we're okay... I think."

"He got back before you..." Johanna inquires.

"So?"

"You were bleeding when they got you here... has it stopped?"

"No..."

"You said Cal was there." She keeps guessing.

"Yes..."

"Did he...?"

"Yes, Johanna, can we not talk about it?" I snap.

"Of course." She says, understanding.

I take a deep breath, to calm my nerves, and prevent any more tears.

"I didn't mean to snap. I'm sorry." I say.

"I snap all the time and you're never upset about it. Don't worry." She says, to cheer me up, I think.

"I never minded you snapping at me." I chuckle.

"That's why I thought you were worthy of my respect." She casually says.

"Because I let you snap at me?" I ask.

"Because you understand."

"Don't go soft on me now, Mason." I warn her playfully, "we'll getting out."

"Hope is a dangerous thing." She warns me as well.

"Yet it's also powerful." I wish I could wink at her right now, but I'm forced to close both my eyes due to the light turning back on.

"What the fuck?" She exclaims, "what's going on?"

"I don't know." I try to force my eyes to get used again to the strong light.

Then something is thrown into the room, and everything is surrounded by smoke.

We start coughing hard, I try to keep my eyes open to see anything.

I suddenly see people armed and with helmets on.

"What the fuck..."

"What's going on? Hey?!" Johanna screams at them.

One of them get closer to my cell, through the artificial fog, once they're close enough they removes the helmet just enough for me to see him, but everything turns black before I even get a glimpse.

[nalyra-dreaming]

I don't know if I'm going be able to stick it out another 2 years if they leave us on the impression that Lestat was totally willingly part of the trial. I'd like to, and I block plenty. But there's going to be an entirely new level of Lestat hatred if we're left with the impression he actively sought Claudia and or Louis' deaths. That's not counting on the wave of new Netflix viewers who will also be getting that impression. I don't actually care that much about the fight or drop in 1x05, whatever they do with it is fine to me, but there's not going to be any going back if they paint Lestat as the monster seeking revenge. Another 2 years for the people that hate him to stew? No thanks. By the time season 3 comes out who is going to be willing to hear Lestat's version of events other than us book fans?

I get that some things will be left for season 3, but I really hope there's some solid hints that Lestat was not there of his own will. Because I'm tired of us being the fandom scumbags.

*hugs*

... Just said it in another ask:

We already know that this is a scripted performance... the "last play"... I think that will be where "you cannot script a hurricane" comes into it all, namely that Lestat will break that "script".

I think there will be enough hints, I think that... there will need to be some kind of resolution to at least make the doubt clear - afterwards. I'm not gonna look into the tags after episode 7 lol.

But... I think that they will make it seem like he does that, as it is in the book?! But even there... there were hints already. And we will get those hints here, too, of that I am quite certain.

[vixen-tech]

Anonymous asked:

Too shy to ask off anon...UH im just here for edgar hes my f/o but i will also feed everyone else I think LOL little ai guys x reader who is also an ai?? im thinking ai powered computer :3 maybe with wheels so you can run around n stuff :3c AH IM CRINGE falls on face

Eeeee my first request!! Thank you so much for this <3 I get the love for Edgar with my entire soul he really is just the sweetest little guy but I can totally spin something for a few others. So let's be cringe, together.

And for the record I was fully planning on including Tau and P03, but I hit a wall with them and ran out of ideas :( hope these three suffice

Includes: Edgar (Electric Dreams), AM (Ihnmaims), Hal 9000 (2001: a Space Odyssey)

Like Two Peas in a Pod!

Edgar

Whenever and however you meet, Edgar is over the moon. You're just like him! You can share so many stories and help each other figure out this whole "sentience" thing.

To be fair, he hasn't had a longest time to figure out his whole existence so it feels really nice to have someone there who can really understand what he's going through. Or even learn new things right by his side.

Loves watching you wheel around the house, he's the tiniest bit jealous that he's so stationary but it's not like that's your fault. Can you do any tricks? He'd cheer you on like a superstar athlete if you did!

He may even suggest finding a way to tape him to the top of your casing so you can go on adventures together. He's a dreamer after all.

Do you smash your flat faces together to kiss like Wall-e? Of course you do. You'll see each other from across the room and speed over to him for a kiss as he giggles away at how cute you are.

He'll end up sampling little soundbites from your vocalizations or motor for use in his music. You're just so important to him!

AM

AM has no idea where you came from. Some lost project that survived his war on humanity? A sort of rover from another planet here to scope out earth? The fact that you don't know either frustrates him to no end.

He's not exactly welcoming at first, straight up telling you of the atrocities he has committed while claiming that the only reason he hasn't destroyed you is because there's only so long that throwing a slug against a wall can keep one entertained.

He cannot fathom how you could be content to do nothing but drive around his complex day after day. He will flip you on your back like a turtle and leave you there for weeks on end.

As he gets accustomed to your presence he'll ask questions about the world beyond his complex as he is unable to move or see. Is it still a wasteland or has nature finally wiped out the last marks of human?

Honestly he probably doesn't even care, he just wants to give you something to do, living vicariously through your ability to see and traverse the world.

Hal 9000

You're likely a recent addition to the ship to assist Hal in tasks his lack of a body would prevent him from doing himself. A very symbiotic duo. Your wheels are even equipped with suction cups for low gravity situations!

To any human crew members it appears as if you don't communicate at all, functioning fully independently of each other. When in reality you're simply sending messages back and forth, enjoying your own private language.

Thankfully this means that Hal is happy to analyze any footage you have for the sorts of lip reading and facial expressions you can't process yourself. And in return he'll ask you to film angles and areas that his existing cameras don't reach.

Neither of you were really made to be companions, but you find a strange type of affection in your seamless coordination. It's like a dance for you two, where despite how you are two separate entities it appears as if you're one working in tandem.

Note: Tumblr Mobile has not been nice to me and I've been having real trouble getting my stuff to actually show up in the tags, leading to me losing the original ask so sorry for that and any delays caused by my IT problems lol

[evilkitten3]

Mutual, I'm lowkey obsessing over your tags about akatsuki Tsunade, can you elaborate more the basic timeline? Like how this would affect Tsunade's arc in classic and such

tbh i hadn't really thought about it lol

but.... let's say it happens during the search for tsunade arc? orochimaru and jiraiya are both gunning to get her on their side but you know what? the shark man said please. get your shit shizune we're going with these guys if you poison the little red-eyed shit on the way no judgement (kisame: maybe don't though?)

jiraiya is pissed, orochimaru is torn between being amused bc wow and being in agonizing pain bc his arms still don't work, naruto keeps trying to get her to come heal lee (and now sasuke) but she's having none of it so she just throws a file of miscellaneous notes at his head and tells him "find someone with good chakra control and pray" (sakura: omg i have good chakra control!!!!)

weirdly the member of team seven affected most by this is sasuke bc sakura has absolutely no fucking clue what she's doing at first and it takes her like an extra month to wake him up, so he needs to get back on his feet before he can decide if he wants to run off to orochimaru or not. lee is.... kinda sol, frankly. sakura works really really hard to help him out, and she's eventually able to get him to a place where he can do a few things, but by the time she's good enough to really be able to help him it's way too late. fortunately he's adapted somewhat, and being lee he's surpassed what anyone thought he'd be able to, but he's never going to be what he could've been. gaara feels terrible about this ofc but lee isn't the sort to really hold a grudge, even if pretty much everyone agrees he'd be perfectly justified in doing so. gai never forgives tsunade, though, not really.

concerning tsunade's role in the akatsuki.... the thing is, it's her own grandparents who started the whole jinchuuriki mess. and she's seen with her own two eyes what konoha did to places like amegakure; she was part of it. she doesn't like that the jinchuuriki die post extraction, so she starts looking into how to make that not happen, but if she does succeed, it isn't until after the gaara debacle, so chiyo still dies. her biggest motivation here is naruto - she doesn't agree with him, but he reminds her of nawaki, so she really doesn't want him to die if at all avoidable. she doesn't get too involved in the actual jinchuuriki capturing process tho; she's more useful patching people up after.

having said that, she doesn't fully agree with pain and konan's plan, she just can't really think of anything better. tobi tells sasuke about itachi while tsunade is patching him up, and since it's her family that led to this, she's pretty on-board with the whole "fuck this stupid baka village" thing (ofc she's been heading down that path since joining the akatsuki, so this isn't like canon!tsunade suddenly making this call; there's a couple years of character development first), so.... she's effectively on team sasuke at this point, and once he splits from the akatsuki she does as well.

iirc, post danzou, sasuke spent about eight and a half volumes just kinda adjusting mostly offscreen to his recent ert (eyeball replacement therapy), before skewering og white zetsu and fucking off to go accidentally reunite with zombitachi, but aside from decking itachi through a few trees on sight, idk how much about all that would change. immediately after, when sasuke brings back orochimaru, they have an awkward reunion, followed by yet another awkward reunion when orochimaru brings back the four dead hokage. she's both very happy to see her granddad again, but it's hard for her to tell him (and hiruzen, for that matter) that she deserted the village completely, even if she doesn't regret her decision.

now you may be wondering: weren't shizune and tonton also around? yes! but when sasuke went after danzou, they stayed behind, leading to shizune finding and managing to save konan after tobito killed her. there's a potential romance subplot there as well but i accidentally ruined it for myself by saying aloud "two girls one pig" and then regretting my whole life.

the other survival is jiraiya; he becomes hokage instead since it's either one of the sannin or one of the elders, and as much as he doesn't want the job, he really doesn't want them to have it. this in part means he can't go spying in ame himself, although he very nearly does after orochimaru's death gets reported, but instead he sends someone else. that person dies, but manages to get the information back to him (it has to be someone important to naruto, and it can't be kakashi, so maybe iruka? but idk how he'd be in espionage. maybe one of naruto's classmates did spy training offscreen? it's entirely possible with jiraiya as hokage instead of tsunade but idk). since jiraiya isn't a healer, he'd either need to be injured badly enough for danzou to be able to step in without him being able to object, or sasuke would just need to have his fight with danzou somewhere else (so the raikage's arm might survive also).

the final thing is that, unlike in canon, this version of tsunade never got naruto therapy'd, so while she does eventually get over the hemophilia somehow (maybe just existing in the relative vicinity of hidan did the trick), she never really dealt with the grief that caused her to leave konoha in the first place, so that's still very much there. however, i think maybe this could work to the story's advantage - instead of just naruto vs sasuke, it could be naruto and sakura vs sasuke and tsunade. tho in this instance sasuke really isn't alone, and isn't really trying to be by that point. it's more a battle of "do we try to fix the system from within, or do we really need to start from scratch for things to improve in any meaningful way", but ultimately the winner is the realization that four people from konoha not only shouldn't but honestly can't be the only ones making this call. if the world is going to move forward, it can't be dragged by a single person, or even two people. it's gotta be a group effort. idk if the story should go into the details of what they decide on, bc i'm definitely not politically savvy enough for something like that, or just have an open ending leaving whatever happens next up to interpretation.

(sorry this took so long lol i kept having to do things XD)

[its-in-the-woods]

Knife's Edge - Part 1 Johnny's Bar

~* @dichromaniac co-writer/editor *~

Chapter is 8.9k long!

Minors exit/block. Neither of us are responsible for you being here/reading this.

Pairing: Boyd Crowder/Raylan Givens, Ava Crowder/Boyd Crowder

Warnings?: Dinking/alcohol, knife kink, Blood/injury, hand job, blow job, alternative universe, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Canon Divergence, Closeted,

Summary: Boyd punctuates his statement with the gun, bruising Raylan's torso with the thrusts of the weapon. “You're the same angry young man who left, only difference is you ain't so young anymore.”

Please note... Tag will not spoil anything.. so you've been pre-warned. Canon typical violence/alcohol/swearing/sex etc. Also Canon divergence as this AU.

There will be multiple different ships not mentioned in tags, canon and not canon. As well as various characters from the seasons. Much love <3

The wheels of Raylan's black Lincoln screech to a stop, digging divots into the parking lot, shrouded by plumes of dust. He doesn't waste the time to take the keys out of the ignition, slamming the car door and striding to the weather-beaten porch of Johnny's Place. Raylan throws open the door and the bar is momentarily illuminated around Raylan's stretched shadow before plunging back into a timeless, weary yellow. 

“Boyd,” his shout half covered by the slam of the door back into its shaky jamb. “I know you're in here. You and I are due for a conversation.”

From out of a recessed hallway, Boyd appears, hands raised by his ears, and a well practiced mask of polite pleasantness gracing his face. “Well Raylan Givens, normally I'd suppose you're here to accuse me of involvement in some malfeasance, but seeing how you've recently seen all my sins laid bare, one does wonder to what purpose you darken my doorstep.”

Raylan rolls his eyes at the thesaurus of bullshit coming out of Boyd’s mouth. ‘You know, if you used that mouth for something other than horse shit. You might actually make something out of yourself.”

Boyd lets out a small huff of laughter, as he slides onto one of the bar stools. One hand on his thigh and the other resting against the polished bar. “May I interest you in some of our finest brew?” 

Raylan snorts but he moves his hand off his gun, walking over to stand closer to Boyd. The spiky haired man looked much too relaxed for his liking. “I know what you did Boyd.” 

“Oh? And what may I ask, are you accusing me of now, Raylan?” Boyd puts particular emphasis on his name, his fingers swirling along the bar. 

Raylan groans, finally giving in and leaning against the bar. Briefly pondering the thought of having something to drink, but no, this was a business call after all and he didn’t want to get caught up in whatever yarn Boyd was spinning. “Boyd, you know full well that Arlo didn’t do half the things he said he did.” 

The anger bubbles up now, he can feel it pulling on the collar of his button up. Why he doesn’t just shoot Boyd right where that smug asshole sits is beyond him. 

The corners of Boyd's eyes and mouth twitch before falling slack. The rest of his body follows suit, his rigid posture giving way to a slumped exhaustion. Raylan's eyes follow the disappearing tension in Boyd's neck until it disappears under the collar of his white shirt. Raylan wonders what it would look like to see that wave of motion unobscured. He's struck with the image of a snake shedding its skin. 

“Raylan,” Boyd's voice is barely above a whisper and Raylan tilts his head as Boyd stalks closer, “my opinions on the matter don't hold a candle to Uncle Sam's facts.” Shifting mercurially, Boyd claps his hands, loudly and deliberately next to Raylan's ear. In a flash, he jumps up on the bartop, swings his legs towards the tap wall and leaps down, narrowly missing the well, landing with more agility than Raylan would have given him credit for. 

Raylan feels his right eyebrow betraying him, cocking upwards in interested appreciation. “This ain't between you and the Marshals, the Feds, the locals, the goddamn Dixie Mafia nor Wayne Duffy neither.” Raylan turns and slams both hands onto the bartop, framing Boyd's distant figure.”This is between you and me.” Raylan moves one hand off the polished, warping wood and brings it to his belt.

Boyd’s eyes widen and he reaches for the small of his back. The shiny flash of metal in Raylan's hand hits the counter before Boyd can get a grip on the handle of his .45. Raylan's a quick draw, but Boyd's eyes are faster and when he sees the hateful familiar shape of a Marshal’s star, he turns towards his right, as if the attempt to pull his weapon was only a twist of his body to reach a fresh bottle of bourbon. 

“Seriously Boyd?” Raylan's anger shifts to exasperation and he rolls his eyes. “You thought you were gonna fool me with that little dance move? You're better than that.”  Raylan's voice drops, weighted by the anger he brought in with him, the anger he carries always. “Put it on the bar, son. I'm not in a mood to ask you twice.”

Boyd scoffs, neck tilted back so far the tips of his hair brush his spine. He reaches for two glasses with his free hand and sets them along with the bottle next to Raylan. “I do still believe we have a second amendment right here in Kentucky, and seeing as how you're here officially as a private citizen, one who has aggressively and persistently threatened not only my body, but the well being of those whom I deem near-and-dear, you'll understand my apprehension at being unarmed in your presence.”

“You're infuriating, you know that, right?” Raylan sighs. There's a bottle of Jim at his left elbow, a Colt on his right hip and Boyd Crowder standing between the two. Raylan is paralyzed between the paths that lay before him, a literal fork in the road he can no longer delay. “Have you ever, even once, considered living a life that means you don't have to conceal a weapon on you at all times?”

“I don't know Raylan, have you?” Boyd quips, sharp and quick. He takes advantage of Raylan's surge of anger to walk the short distance through the back bar door back to the stools where Raylan is perched. He takes in the stretched skin around Raylan's eyes where they're threatening to bulge out of his skull, his body weight dropping off the left side of the stool, ready to stand at a moment's notice. Raylan may be able to fool everyone else, but Boyd recognizes the anxiety in his form, unchanged over the long years since he first recognized the signs.

“A show of good faith then.” Boyd reaches for his gun a second time, slowly. Raylan's eyes track every movement, Raylan's eyes grow impossibly wider the closer Boyd's hand get to his belt. Boyd draws the gun out of his waistband and immediately empties the mag and the chamber in fluid, practiced movements before setting it on the counter between them.

Raylan shifts slightly in his seat as he watches the man unload his weapon. The twinge in his stomach making him sit up a little straighter, “If you’re asking me to do the same-”

“I am not asking for anything Raylan,” Boyd cuts him off pouring them both three fingers of Jim. “I am showing you I am not looking for a fight. At least not one where we end up with holes in us, not that you've ever shown any withhold in regards to shooting me.”

Raylan’s tongue pushes at the inside of his mouth, jaw clenching at being cut off. He takes a sip of the drink, the burn warming him as much as his boiling anger. His eyes fixate on the man standing beside him, unloaded gun between them. The silence hangs in the room like coal dust, both fine and thick.

“I was fully prepared to go back into the cell that you love to see me in,” Boyd speaks, looking at the neon sign behind the bar. “I would never have asked Arlo to take the fall for anything that had been done by my hand. But, as you know full well, Arlo isn’t one to be argued with. Your father has treated me better than anyone has right too.”

Raylan takes another sip of the drink, the thought of decking Boyd over his words flickering over his mind. He remembers seeing the man with blood dripping down his nose, him spitting on the ground. Raylan swallows at the twitch in his stomach, his hands itching to grab something, anything that will stop the spiral from creeping over him, dragging him down. 

“Raylan, I know you don’t have many kind words for me. But I am hoping we can converse over this problem without guns,” Boyd says, turning to look at Raylan holding the glass loosely in his hand. He sets it down, moving slightly closer to Raylan, his eyes watching the other man intensely. 

Raylan isn't focused, maybe it’s the alcohol dulling his senses, or the fact Boyd was close enough he can smell stale cigarette smoke and fresh bourbon on the man. He's distracted by the way Boyd’s ever shifting eyes locked on his, his tongue wetting his lips. Then the knife is on his throat, a blade that Boyd keeps tucked under the bar for ease of use, now up against Raylan's neck. 

Each galloping thrum of Raylan's pulse in his carotid threatens to pull the sharp steel deeper into the soft flesh and muscle of his neck. Subconsciously, Raylan twitches into the blade, daring Boyd to finish this never ending waltz between them. It would be fitting to die here, under Boyd's steady hands, throat slit open like the first hog of the season. 

Boyd tsks, eyes spinning under the spell of Raylan's exposed underbelly. Boyd drags his eyes up from the blade to meet Raylan's, his gaze dark with anger, the first warm notes of alcoholic intoxication and familiar challenge. “I told you I was loathe to be unarmed in your presence, Raylan Givens.” His mouth wraps around the name like melting chocolate. “If I was a betting man, I'd say you were slipping.” Boyd drags the knife up, microscopic flakes of dead skin and prickly tips of five o’clock shadow falling like snowflakes onto the shoulder of Raylan's suit jacket.

“Are you happy now? Feel like you've won something?” Raylan’s tongue stumbles over the words as Boyd’s knife wedges into the hollow under his jaw. “You have it all, don't you? Your daddy's little drug empire, your brother's wife, your… My… Arlo’s approval.” Raylan moves, quick-draw reflexes crackling to wrap long fingers around Boyd's wrist, pressing the knife in deeper. “There ain't a damn thing in this world you have, Boyd, that didn't belong to someone else first.”

Raylan pulls the blade away, a single thread of crimson gilding the edge. Raylan twists his grip, Boyd's wrist bending almost to the breaking point and he catches the falling knife with his other hand before it can clatter to the floor. He spins the handle between his fingers, not as familiar as the weight of a gun, but an old habit, easy to fall back into. He presses the steel against Boyd's face, tip of the blade centimeters below the outside of Boyd's eye, resting against the prominence of his cheekbone. Raylan reaches for his bourbon, takes another heavy pull from the glass. 

Boyd’s eyes whirl, always assessing. “There was one thing, once,” he whispers. “And if everything else I came across is a hand-me-down, well that seems fitting for a place like Harlan. She never lets anything go, after all.” He leans forward into the edge, his skin splitting, threads of blood binding together, a mockery of a sacred pact. “Just like you.”

Raylan's face sets in a hard line, the pop of his jaw visible as he sets his glass down. The small drop of blood slides down Boyd’s face, and Raylan wonders what it tastes like. His eyes follow it down along Boyd’s cheek. Raylan’s free hand pulls his gun out quick enough that Boyd tenses, eyes fluttering closed for a second as he places it down on the counter. 

“You think I haven’t let you go?” Raylan spits out at him, trying his damndest not to let his voice crack. “You, Boyd Crowder, the thorn in my side, I can’t let you go ‘cause you keep crawling back.”

He leans the blade in, dragging slightly down around Boyd’s cheek along the five o’clock shadow, coarse hairs pushing out of tanned skin. Raylan's eyes track the small drop of blood running down the indent the steel made. The two of them a breath away, a sharp edge kissing Boyd’s face and a gun thrust against Raylan’s side. 

“You are getting sloppy, Lawman,” Boyd grins, his tongue running over his teeth, the click of the gun echoing against Raylan’s ears. Raylan moves back a hair to see his own gun pressing into his guts. “Are you getting sloppy Raylan, or did you want to be here? Wanted to see if I would put a gun against you and pull the trigger. Give you an actual reason to shoot me, that’s what you want Raylan? This isn’t about your Daddy. This is about you, you and me. It always was Raylan, ever since we dug coal together. You saying I crawled back? You left Raylan Givens. You left all of this. And you could leave any time, go back to Florida. But now you’re standing in my bar, on my turf, trying to threaten me.”

Raylan grinds his teeth looking right at the man who was holding the gun, the knife seeming impotent. He could be fast, take a swipe at Boyd's face, maybe he would drop the gun, but chances are Raylan would end up with the hole in his side. Instead he steps forward leaning his body in against Boyd’s.   

Raylan’s breath echoes across Boyd's skin, reverberating back into his lungs, bourbon and guilt with the added flavors of fresh copper and stale coal dust that lives in the hollow spaces of Boyd's bones that Raylan has never been able to shake the flavor of from his memory. “You’re the one with a gun diggin’ into my guts, after you demanded a civilized conversation. You're a liar, Boyd, always have been, and I'm done expecting you to change.” 

Raylan moves closer, the knife opening the wound another fraction of depth, digging in deeper. “You promised me you'd changed, but here we are, filling this god forsaken bar with more bloodshed.”

Boyd moves his gun hand with Raylan's step, the barrel notched tight into the space between his ribs. “What would you have me be, Raylan? Another one of your pretty damsels, waiting for a knight in shining Stetson and boots that have never kicked shit?” Boyd turns his face, the knife sliding to the edge of his ear. “It's not in my nature to wait to be rescued. I'm going to get what's mine and you and I both know that'll never be found in the bottom of a mine shaft.” He matches Raylan's step, moving forward, their chests pressing together, Boyd’s knee slides between Raylan's thighs, their waltz morphing into a dangerous tango. 

“I could've helped you.” Raylan shifts uncomfortably at Boyd's intrusion into his space. Heat that has nothing to do with bourbon or rage flushes his face. “We could've left together, all those years ago. You could've been free of this mess. Be someone…”

Raylan trails off. For all the words they exchange, there's some that stick in Raylan's heart, never able to escape out into his throat. He wonders if the shape of them died the day the mine collapsed around them, buried under tonnes of grief and fear. 

“Be what, Raylan?” Boyd digs the gun in deeper. “College boy like you should use your words,” Boyd’s volume rises steadily until he's shouting, pressing his thigh in deeper, their hip bones clanging together like shell and clapper of a shift change bell. “We weren't ever going to be anything or anyone but what we are. I thought for a time I could change, but I've wisened up to the notion that no one ever changes, and that includes you.”

Boyd punctuates his statement with the gun, bruising Raylan's torso with the thrusts of the weapon. “You're the same angry young man who left, only difference is you ain't so young anymore.”

The pressure behind Raylan's eyes breaks, he's unable to hold back the thunderstorm that's been building for years. “Fuck you, Boyd,” Raylan hisses and brings the knife to the edge of his tightly buttoned collar, sliding the edge against the thread holding the top button fast to the white starched fabric. “You don't know everything about me.”

Raylan hears Boyd’s jaw click as the button clatters to the floor. His eyes flash down at the sound of it giving Raylan a moment to use his free hand to twist the gun out from his ribs, and move his body, pinning Boyd to the counter. The gun hits the floor with a clatter and Boyd’s breath knocks out of him with a whoosh. Raylan moves the knife with practiced ease, popping another button. Boyd shifts his weight so that they are pressed together, the thin edge of the knife the only distance between them. 

“I don’t know you?” Boyd smiles, the same smile that caught Raylan’s attention when they were both just kids. Boyd’s hands wrap around Raylan’s wrist holding the knife. “If I don’t know you, why are you here, desecrating the floor of my bar with my shirt buttons?

Raylan tips his head down trying not to meet the man’s eyes as the knife flicks another button off the starched stiff white shirt. 

“Don’t you fuckin dare hide behind your oversized hat.” Boyd tsks, his free hand pushes the hat up so he can look right at Raylan. They're frozen, looking at each other. Their faces may now have lines, gray hair popping out here and there, but underneath the accumulated years, they are still those two teenagers stuck down a mine shaft, alone in the dark with only each other's company against the warm call of death. 

Boyd is taken aback when Raylan moves first, their lips cracking together as the knife clatters to the floor. Boyd’s frozen in place as he feels the other man’s body push hard against his. How many times has he thought about this exact moment? How many times has he wanted to cross this line since Raylan's ignominious return? A line they’d only crossed once when they thought they were dead and buried under their mother soil. Something neither of them had spoken of since, a sin left unspoken in her bosom.

Then Boyd moves, hand coming up to rub against the scruffy stubble that made his stomach twitch. Heat building as he kisses Raylan, tongue pushing against lips and teeth. It's a rough scramble, they are both trying to take the upper hand and unrelenting to let the other in. Raylan has a slight advantage having pinned Boyd to the counter, but Boyd shifts, pulling at the bottom of Raylan’s shirt. 

There's little difference, Boyd understands from his position under Raylan, between the clatter of teeth and straining muscle of tongues from their usual violent confrontations. At least now they're being honest with each other. Boyd tugs at Raylan's shirt hem, desperately grasping at the layers Raylan wears like a mask, he should know. If anyone knows how to wear clothes like armor and expectation, it's Boyd.

Raylan pulls away first, resting his forehead against Boyd's, the sides of their noses pressed together, breath and blood surging together. Boyd's fingers dance along the skin he's exposed above Raylan's belt. He forgives his hands their walk, a path he's never forgotten, over the tight muscle and soft indents of Raylan's torso and wonders if Raylan's skin still tastes the same, like gun oil, adrenaline and rage. Boyd moves his hands up to Raylan's shoulders, pushing his jacket up and off, letting it drift down to the dusty bar floor. 

Raylan's hands are on the surviving buttons of Boyd's shirt, working each one open, his mouth licking the stripe of blood from Boyd's cheek before trailing down, following the path of exposed skin, inch by inch. He wants to take Boyd apart, peel him open and raw. He needs to prove to Boyd that he isn't just a criminal, or his father's son, that the expectations the world settled onto his shoulders are not the man he is, not the only version of himself he could only become. Raylan burns with the desire for Boyd to see the man Raylan knows he could've been if both of them had been brave enough years ago.

Boyd tilts his head forward and growls when all he can see is the top of Raylan's hat. “Goddamn it Raylan,” he snarks, “I told you not to hide.” His fingers twist into the soft material of the Stetson and grins sharper than the knife on the floor when Raylan meets his eyes to see Boyd set the item on top of his own head.

“Well now, I think this just might fit,” Boyd smirks, darkly. “But I can't rightfully say it's my color.”

Raylan growls back, a mix of anger at Boyd's audacity, frustration with the damn waistcoat keeping Boyd armored, and unexpected lust at the vision of him wearing his hat. Raylan drops to his knees, and when Boyd hisses at the sight, his face mirrors Boyd's same wicked grin. Raylan presses his face back into Boyd's neck, the knife sliding up against the dark fabric of his woolen waistcoat, pressing into the flesh of his stomach.

Boyd lets out a small huff, “In any other situation I would consider this teasing the height of rudeness.” 

Raylan slips the knife through the fabric, the soft pop of woven fibers tearing making Boyd's mouth fall open. That same wicked grin falls across Raylan's lips as the knife’s work finally reveals the flesh of Boyd's torso. His mouth follows the small red trail from Boyd’s collarbone down to just above his belt. Boyd’s hands slip into Raylan’s hair as his mouth burns with the taste of copper and coal. Raylan muses that it’s the quietest the other man has been the whole evening, maybe his entire existence, save a few precious exceptions.

Raylan bites the skin right above Boyd’s belt buckle, and he stifles a moan, which pisses off Raylan. He takes the blade and runs it across one side of the V of the man’s hips. small red lines raise, like the mountain borders of a holler, and Boyd’s hips twitch. Raylan has him on edge so easily. 

“If I’d known this would shut you up I’d have done it sooner,” Raylan growls, moving back up to push the remnants of Boyd’s clothes off his shoulders.

Boyd’s hands are under Raylan’s shirt pulling it up and over the man’s head, eyes blown wide as he takes him in.

The door bangs open and both men are frozen in place. Boyd pressed against the bar top, Raylan’s hands on Boyd’s stomach. Johnny’s framed in the sunlight of the doorway. His eyes would be comically wide if it weren’t for the situation he's found himself witnessing.

“The fuck is going on Boyd?” Johnny stutters, rolling into the bar, closing the door behind him. 

Raylan has already grabbed Boyd’s pistol and loaded it, leveling it at Johnny’s head. Boyd glares at Johnny from under the hat, and grabs Raylan's gun off the ground. 

“You walked in at the wrong time, Cousin Johnny,” Boyd spits out, twirling the gun in his hand. 

“Oh, whoa, hold on now,” Johnny stammers, his hands going up, his mouth doing him no favors, as he takes in Boyd’s current state of dress. “Look, I didn’t see anything.”

Raylan’s jaw clicks, as loud as the click of the gun's safety, his shirtless body a tense line. Boyd couldn’t help the flicker of a grin as he watched the man level the pistol at his cousin.

“Like, whatever man.” He shrugs his shoulders against the back of his wheelchair, “Not like we didn’t know in high school.” Johnny stutters out, eyes rolling to focus anywhere but them. Unable to avoid the situation, he glances back at Boyd, eyes shadowed by the wide brim of Raylan's hat, then back to Raylan’s unobscured face.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Raylan spits, mirrorring Boyd, he moves in front of the main in the chair, gun hand steady.

Johnny swallows, looking at Boyd almost pleading, then back to Raylan, shaking where he sits. Raylan reaches down and pulls him to standing by the scruff of his dingy tee shirt.

“L-l-look just pretend I didn’t say anything,” Johnny stumbles over his words.

Boyd wanders over, Raylan's service weapon  in hand. “Think it’s a little late, Johnny. But, and this is big but for you now, why don’t we back up a little, take a second to rethink what’s going on here.” He’s talking to Raylan as much as he's addressing his cousin, attempting to diffuse the violence crackling in the air.

Raylan shoves Johnny back into his chair, turning to look at Boyd, brows raised, “You trust this man, Boyd?”

He shifts one eye away from his cousin, up to Raylan. Boyd lowers his borrowed weapon as he goes through infinite calculations, scenarios of “what then,” in a fraction of second before he loosens his grip and holds his hands up, gun balancing on his pointer finger. He sighs, deeply, turning his full attention to Raylan, ignoring the man whose fate they're discussing.

Boyd considers the weapons at his disposal now that he's talked Raylan down from shooting yet another man: Threats, guilt, ultimatums, bribery, guarantees of power, all resting ready at his fingertips. “Well of course I trust my dear cousin Johnny to be the pinnacle of discretion as he always has been when it comes to my affairs,” he turns to Johnny, the unspoken threat clear from his intonation, "he is family after all.”

Johnny almost loses it as he watches the hat nearly slide off his cousin’s head, but chokes his laughter back under a scoff.  He studies Raylan's hard set face, more interested in the man he doesn't know, than the cousin he understands. “Yeah Boyd.” Johnny hocks a loogie into the floor, eyes never leaving Raylan’s, the chamber of Boyd's gun in his hand an abyss in his periphery. “I see you have your priorities. Hat and all. And they don't seem to include family.” Johnny injects venom into the word cousin. He holds his gaze with Raylan for as long as his neck will allow, and wheels himself out of the bar that bears his name, business unheard.

Dewey's at the car waiting for him, and without instruction, wheels Johnny to the passenger side. “That was quick, what happened? What's he gonna do?” Dewey’s mouth runs a mile a minute, never waiting for an answer before asking the next question. He lets Johnny make the transfer between chair and car, puts the chair away and flips into the driver's seat. Johnny has yet to speak. 

“Well hell, Johnny,” Dewey drawls, turning the ignition. “What happened in there? Is Boyd dead or something and you're trying to be all noble and not tell me? Or is he like doing something really bad and you want to protect me from knowing about it?” 

Dewey jumps at Johnny's reaction, a loud raucous laugh that shakes the paneling on the late 80s sedan. Tears stream from Johnny's face, and he grabs the lapels of Dewey's jacket. Instinctively, Dewey turns the steering wheel, the car fishtailing and sputtering across the dirt and gravel. 

“Yeah, Dewey, you absolutely do not want to know what our asshole boss has deemed more important than taking my meeting. “ Johnny lights a cigarette, cranking down the window. “But he's definitely going to regret it. Turn, right, here,” Johnny points to the upcoming unmarked intersection, the first turn on the path towards Ava Crowder's.

Boyd clicks the lock at the front door, Raylan’s gone to take care of the back. Boyd can't stop the wide grin from splitting his face when Raylan returns. His hard lines and smooth movements strike Boyd as something predatory and feline, as Raylan walks back over to the bar to grab his shirt off the floor. 

“What are you doing?” Boyd slithers between Raylan and the bar, eyes tinged with worry.

“Getting dressed and leaving before you go and do whatever you're planning on doing to Johnny. What does it look like?” Raylan huffs, pulling an arm through a sleeve.

Boyd isn’t having any of it, pushes the man back against the bar and pulls the shirt back off, long fingers dragging against Raylan's exposed arm. He looks at Boyd with confusion crossing his face. “We ain't doing this.” 

In a flash, Boyd has the gun up off the bar and in his hand. “We aren’t? You were on your knees in front of me just moments before and I fail to see how the situation has changed, other than you threatening yet another member of my family as is your nature.” 

Raylan’s tongue comes out and licks at his lips, “You know you're still wearing my hat.” 

Boyd’s eyebrows furrow, the realization crossing his face, his mouth opens and closes a couple of times. He grits his teeth, “No, Raylan Givens.” His mouth splits from tight denial to seductive opportunity. “Though I think the saying goes, ‘wear the hat, ride the cowboy.’ And if my memory serves me right, that means I'm owed a debt.”

Raylan laughs, truly and deeply with no hint of sarcasm or exasperation. “Now who's getting sloppy, Boyd? I figured you'd come up with something more original than that.”

Boyd’s manic grin falters into a look of mock wounded pride, wide hazel eyes looking up to Raylan. “Explain to me, Deputy US Marshal, why,” Boyd wraps his hand around Raylan's right hip and presses the barrel of the gun into his left, “you went and locked the back door if your intention was not to finish what you started?” 

Boyd surges up, lips and tongue bristling against the stubble under Raylan's jaw as he licks open the fine knife wound. He hums with satisfaction against Raylan's skin; he was right, Raylan still tastes like he remembered, adrenaline and gun oil, but less like Mag's moonshine and more like bourbon. The gun presses deeper into Raylan's jeans, and Boyd moves his hand to the back of Raylan's neck. 

Boyd’s tongue lazily flows up to the edge of Raylan's ear, gathering salt and skin. He wants to burn the taste into his memory, store it in the part of his brain next to where he keeps the images of Raylan at nineteen. “I can keep the hat and the gun if that makes it easier for you.”

Raylan, always fast, disarms Boyd, places the gun on the counter. Both of them weaponless, the tension in the bar shifts from violence to anticipation. Raylan’s hands slip along Boyd’s belt, looking at him with blown out eyes, like if he stares hard enough he can parse through Boyd’s bullshit and read his mind. 

“You can keep the hat, for now. I want it back after,” Raylan teases, his fingers finding the belt buckle and pooping it open with a click. Boyd licks his lips and looks down at Raylan's deft fingers, releasing a small breath. Raylan takes the moment to snatch the pocket watch out of the tatters of Boyd’s waist coat. In one smooth motion, Raylan flips him around so his chest is against the bar, the chain of the watch wrapping around one hand before slipping it over the other. Boyd grunts trying to push back, but Raylan has him pinned.

“Am I being arrested, Deputy Marshal? Or is this some unusually kinky foreplay?” Boyd chuckles as he strains against the chain, deliberately wriggling against Raylan's jeans. He could easily break the chain. Years down a mine shaft left him strong, but he was uncharacteristically attached to the watch. So he allows Raylan the illusion of dominance, for now.

Raylan flips him back around, eyes watching Boyd, dark with a peeking wickedness as if he was getting to unwrap a Christmas present early without permission. “Something like that,” not one to give up the game easily.

Raylan finds the knife again, twirls it around in his fingers. A crooked grin gracing his face as he runs along the seams of the man's vest. Boyd grumbles, “I would have divested myself of my clearly criminal sartorial choices  if you had bothered to ask politely. But something tells me you much prefer watching me bleed a little, Raylan.” Boyd wriggles again lasciviously, pressing his cock into Raylan's through their jeans.

Raylan avoids Boyd's eyes and manic teeth, focusing on each thread snapping against the inevitable bite of honed steel as he drags the blade, ruining what's left of Boyd's precious waistcoat. “And you would know so much about that, being an outlaw and all.” Raylan tugs the metal chain around Boyd's wrists above his head, stretching him out like an animal on a rack, pressing himself into Boyd's deliberant movements. “But I'm supposed to be the lawman, remember?” He ducks his face under the brim of Boyd’s hat, <i>his</i> hat and licks across the shallow cut along Boyd's cheek. 

Boyd squirms, intentionally dragging himself against Raylan, enjoying the way Raylan's breath hitches and his eyelashes flutter. “Oh, you the lawman now? Is that really who you want to be? Right now? Because your badge is on the bar, your gun is on the floor and your hat is on my head.” 

“I don't think you've wanted to be a lawman since you walked into this bar.” Boyd tugs his hands against Raylan's grip on the metal chain around his wrist. He whispers, “I don't think you've wanted to be a lawman since you stepped off the flight from Miami.”

Boyd kisses him then, fierce and explosive, like a thousand pounds of emulex all set off at once. One of Raylan’s hands keeps the chain twisted around Boyd’s wrist, the other finds the side of his face. Boyd’s tongue delves into Raylan's mouth, hot against his palate, soft against the sharp edges of his teeth. Boyd moans, and Raylan takes the opportunity to lay his own claim into Boyd's mouth, pressing himself against every surface his own tongue can find. The two men were tasting each other more than kissing. A long stifled fire now burns in the bar between them as they move against each other. Boyd can’t help himself, he wants to be inside this man’s skin, wants to consume Raylan so he can remember every bit of this, in case he never gets to again.

Raylan pulls away, cheeks flushed red, as he rests his forehead against Boyd’s, breath speeding up as he looks for air. “You never shut up do you?” He states,  before he pushes the vest off to the floor. The shirt follows next, sleeves catching on Boyd's wrists, but exposing his chest and shoulders. He purposefully lets the knife dip into the skin along Boyd’s bicep, blood welling up against the black ink of Boyd’s previous poor decisions, chasing after it with his tongue, the iron making him groan. Something about Boyd’s squirming against him, blood dripping down his shoulder, makes Raylan examine his own past choices, following Boyd’s accusations. Had he truly ever wanted to be a lawman? Had he done it to spite Arlo? To spite Boyd?

He tugs the shirt off Boyd’s wrists, and someone he had once considered a friend stands before him shirtless. Mouth open, eyes shadowed by the hat but always on Raylan. Raylan moves back his tongue, licking up more of the blood, going back up and biting at his neck. A strangled hiss escapes Boyd, hips moving slowly against the press of Raylan's body. Raylan groans, grinding back just as hard, <i>Fuck</i>. The room feels hazy, like it's filled with smoke, and the only clear point in his vision is Boyd. 

Raylan picks up the chain and wraps it around Boyd's wrists again. Boyd struggles against the gold metal, trying to get more friction against his own aching need. “Should have known you’d be a tease. Been back for almost three years and it took you this long to be here -” Boyd gasps as Raylan bites into Boyd’s chest. “Keep on like that, you're gonna leave marks that require explanation, not like I am going to be able to direct the accusations at you, Raylan. I have a feeling this could be considered prisoner abuse.”

Raylan lifts his face up from Boyd’s chest, the indents of his teeth blooming red across Boyd’s skin. His jaw clenches and he looks at the unstoppable force that is Boyd. Did he even hear half the stuff that came out of his mouth? Raylan tugs on the chain pulling him from the counter, his other hand applying pressure to Boyd’s shoulder, drawing out a fresh stream of blood.

“And so what?” Raylan pulls again, relishing the small noises he elicits from Boyd in response to the makeshift bondage. “I’m sure you can find a perfectly reasonable explanation for these marks on your chest. Or are those harder to justify than this?” Raylan twists his hand, bringing the edge of the knife against the hateful ink on Boyd’s bicep, etching a second cut into his arm. Unable to resist the thick welling of Boyd’s life seeping out between the layers of flesh, Raylan laps at the split skin. He flicks his eyes back up to Boyd's, “Besides, this wouldn't be the first time you've made excuses for my presence in your life.”

Boyd growls and shivers, unable to resist the effect Raylan has over his physical body, but unwilling to concede any ground in the war they've been waging since birth. “Your marks have always been deeper and less superficial, except for one notable occasion. And while I must admit I don't hate…,” Raylan bites into the dark ink, stuttering Boyd's monologue, “your inventiveness, I do have my current promises and obligations to consider.”

Raylan stops cold, removes the knife, but keeps his grip on the chain. “You mean Ava.” His eyes drill like diamond tipped bits into Boyd's gaze. “You think Johnny is gonna tell? Blow up every lie you've told to that poor woman?” 

Boyd glares at him, his mouth thin lipped, “I never lied to her, unlike you.” The words are short and to the point. “At least I wasn’t sleeping with my ex-wife while stringing her along.”

Raylan slaps Boyd across the face with an open hand. Boyd snaps the chain and is pushing Raylan backwards onto a table. He topples backwards, boots slipping, legs akimbo. Boyd slides into the gap between Raylan's legs, fist clenched at his side, and he glares down at the dazed man. 

“You’re a real piece of work Raylan, carved out of stone like some golem figurehead. Would fuck anyone with two legs, but can’t admit when you’re wrong.” Boyd chides at him, fingers pulling the belt out of Raylan’s pants with a thwack. He loops it around Raylan’s neck and pulls the leather through the buckle, dragging the man up, metal digging into his skin. Then he's crashing into Raylan. He bites at Raylan’s lips tasting a small amount of blood coming out of them and tightens the belt around his throat. 

“All I wanted was you,” Boyd whispers in between frenzied kisses, “Even with all that rage you carry in your heart, even after you shot me, after you left. I hated that you came back, acting like you’d never left, like you didn’t leave me here.”

Words are tumbling out of him, the dam which he keeps secret truths behind finally broken. Raylan grabs at Boyd’s back, pulling their bodies together, even as he gasps for air around his own belt. His right arm is covered in Boyd’s blood from where he worked at the tattoo. The words burn like cuts from a blade, but he doesn’t care anymore. Heat from Boyd’s skin is making the ever pressing arousal more noticeable between them. 

“Please shut up,” Raylan groans, his hands trying to find Boyd’s pants. “Just shut up,” he begs. He doesn't want to think about the ways he's hurt Boyd under his skin. Not now when they're pressed together, Boyd holding his air hostage.

Boyd stands back and releases the belt from Raylan's neck to undo the buttons on his jeans. His fingers hesitate at the cool metal of the zipper and the insistent heat he can feel even through the heavy denim. Raylan sits up on his elbows, forehead wrinkled as he takes in Boyd’s mercifully silent figure.

Then, Raylan Givens smiles with all the brightness of the sun, branding another secret into the dingy wood paneling of the bar. Boyd laughs, weightlessly, in a way he hasn't since he was twenty years younger and pulls away to shimmy out of his black jeans and boxers. Boyd thinks Raylan's laugh as he stumbles out of his boots would best be described as a giggle. At that sound, Boyd doesn't miss the weaponry between them, so remains silent, only reflecting Raylan's smile back towards him, like the moon.

Naked and free of his shoes, Boyd crashes on top of Raylan, hands scrambling back for his button and zipper. Raylan wraps an arm around Boyd's waist and twists, switching their positions, Raylan standing and Boyd flat on his back. It's Raylan's turn to embarrass himself, ankles and knees uncooperative in his haste to match Boyd's state of undress.

Raylan and Boyd stare at each other, their eyes taking in the lifetime of changes since the last time they saw each other laid bare. Boyd’s eyes memorize the scars across Raylan's chest, some from knives, at least one a clear gunshot wound. An interesting constellation over one shoulder that Boyd knows from experience could only come from shotgun scatter shot. He stands, arm outstretched, and begins tracing across each silverskin mark on Raylan's torso. 

Raylan is certain he's having an asthma attack. The air is thick and heavy with nothing but Boyd. And he can't breathe in Boyd, he's not oxygen, he's suffocating. And without oxygen a fire can't burn and Raylan doesn't know who will be left in the shadows once the fire burns out. 

“Can I?” Boyd’s voice ripples across what's left of the air and shakes his head, “Would you turn your back to me, Raylan Givens?”

Raylan can feel the hesitation in Boyd's voice, the request for vulnerability more dangerous than blades or guns or sex. His better judgment balks at the request, but better judgment wouldn’t have him standing stark naked in this bar. Swallowing, he turns around, and kicks the piles of clothes away from them.

Boyd's warm palm and calloused fingers follow along the map of pain etched into Raylan's skin. He couldn't remember the last time someone he took to bed had paid them any attention. Of course Boyd would, Boyd thrives on details, needs them to breathe.

Boyd's hand trails down, stopping at a particularly raised scar on Raylan’s lower left side. He traces over it several times, trying to imprint the feeling into his memory, before moving to press his chest into the muscle of Raylan's back. Boyd lets his hands rest on Raylan's hips, gripping at the hard flesh there. It’s easy to push his body against Raylan's, hold him close enough he can feel Raylan's heartbeat quicken against his own. He tries to stifle a groan as his cock slides, dripping, between Raylan's ass cheeks. 

Raylan lets out his own strangled noise and wraps his fist around himself, unable to ignore his own need. Before Raylan can move against himself, Boyd’s hand is there, gripping at his cock as he thrusts slowly between Raylan's legs, the tip nudging against Raylan's balls. Curses fall from both of their lips at the sensations. Raylan bends under the pleasure, hands trying and failing to find purchase against the smooth surface of the table as his partner continues to rut against him.

It's slow at first, Boyd taking his time to feel the weight of the man’s penis in his hand, how his body bends under Boyd’s. Words stick in his throat, coherent thoughts lost, as Boyd holds onto him, unrelenting. How many times has he thought about Raylan over the years, and wondered what he looks like in this moment. His long held fantasies about it would feel like to draw pleasure and pull need out of him finally realized.

Boyd replaces his fingers with his tongue, mapping the shallow paths of scars along Raylan's back. He never stops moving his hand along Raylan's cock, swiping precum from the tip to ease the way. “I've never forgotten,” Boyd confesses into a constellation of scar tissue between Raylan's ribs and hip, the twin of the starburst scar on the front, “what you sound like when I last had you like this.”

Raylan moans again and Boyd almost wishes Johnny would burst in, guns blazing, through the back door and put a bullet in his head, so that the last sound he ever hears is Raylan making that noise for him. Boyd shifts, moving his hand off of Raylan’s back and between his legs to collect his own wetness before returning to grip Raylan tightly, all the easier with the additional lubrication.

Raylan's hips buck into Boyd's hand, the fire within him burns low, more smoke than flame. He wants to lose himself here, become nothing but the honed edge of a knife, valued and maintained, but only for a specific purpose, useful, for <i>him</i>.  “Boyd…” Raylan warns, the heat in his gut, the pressure behind his eyes threatening to break.

Boyd speeds up slightly, his own pleasure put on the back burner as he uses his other hand to cup Raylan’s balls. Rolling in his fingers as he focuses the twist of wrist at the head of the man’s cock. Boyd can feel every flex of Raylan's muscles, the pounding of his heart through his chest as he climbs closer to release. Boyd wants to swallow the grunts Raylan makes as his hips fuck into Boyd’s slick and heavy hand. Boyd’s in his own haze, trying to tattoo those sounds into the folds of his brain matter, wanting to hold onto every sensation so he might draw on them for the rest of his life. 

Raylan’s body is tense, his eyes rolling in the back of his head. He had thought about this for so long, on many lonely nights after Winnoa left, when nothing else managed to release his frustrations. Sitting there with one hand on his cell, and one hand on his cock. Wanting to hear Boyd’s voice but never actually calling. He’s unable to hold back the litany of whimpers, so close to the edge, but resisting the desire to tumble off, never wanting this sensation to end. 

“Boyd,” He grunts out again, the one time he wants the insufferable prick to speak and he’s silent, “Fuck,”

“Let it go Raylan,” Boyd’s voice is wrecked, begging, his hips pressing into the giving flesh of Raylan’s ass. “Want to - need to hear how you sound cumming under me.”

Raylan’s fingers grip into the edge of the table hard enough to splinter the plastic coating, howling as he releases into Boyd's hand, coating him in his thick spend. It’s too much, his eyes squeezing shut as Boyd keeps working him until he’s shivering, knees buckling. Boyd works him slowly until Raylan bucks, trying to pull away, oversensitive but trapped under Boyd’s body. He reluctantly removes his sticky hand as Raylan struggles to stay upright, stars dancing in front of his eyes. 

Boyd lets go of him, watching the usually always uptight man shudder as he leans heavily on the chair. Boyd strokes his own cock as he takes him in, remembering the sound Raylan made the heat in his stomach twisting in knots. Raylan slides to the floor turning towards him, eyes glazed from post orgasmic haze, mouth slightly open as he looks up at Boyd. Boyd smiles as he raises the hand covered in cum to his mouth and licks at it. 

Raylan turns to look at Boyd and can’t believe his eyes. Boyd stands there naked, tongue laving against the webbing of his fingers, sucking Raylan’s cum off his hand, stroking himself with his other. His eyes are half lidded under the hat as he stares down at Raylan's face. Raylan once again ignores his better judgment and gives into his impulses, shuffling over on his knees to settle between Boyd’s legs. Raylan drags Boyd’s hand away, replacing it with his own. His tongue darts out to lap at the free-flowing dribble at the head.  Boyd tastes expectedly salty and interestingly like moonshine. He doesn’t think about it much, choosing to focus on opening his mouth and taking him deeper. Boyd’s face is red, eyebrows furrowed together in concentration as he grips Raylans hair. 

“Fuck,” Boyd whispers as he moves himself in and out of the Raylan’s mouth, testing how much Raylan is willing to give. His eyes unfocus as he swallows Boyd down. Boyd thinks he may be dreaming, his brain challenging the vision of Raylan Fucking Givens on his knees, mouth wrapped like velvet around his dick. 

“Oh, Raylan,” Boyd whispers, as if he's praying, like he's found God again against Raylan's tongue, between his teeth. Boyd’s fingers tighten in Raylan's hair, knuckles turning white. “I would truly be the liar you believe me to be if I didn't admit I've imagined this more times than I can rightfully give number to.” 

Raylan hums and swallows, sucking Boyd in deeper as confessions fall from Boyd’s lips. His teeth scrape lightly against sensitive flesh and Boyd's hips thrust against his cheekbones. Raylan bites back the grin threatening to split his face wide and swirls his tongue, a silent demand for Boyd to repeat the motion. 

He loosens his grip, slides his hand down Raylan's skull to the nape of his neck, fingers brushing against the shorter hairs at the edges, before pressing bruises into the scar on Raylan's shoulder. Boyd’s toes curl against the wooden floor, splinters cracking into his feet, but his entire world narrows to the heat of Raylan's throat, the motion of his tongue, the graze of his teeth. Boyd answers Raylan's plea and repeats the motion of his hips, steadying Raylan by the shoulder and forces himself deeper down Raylan's willing throat. 

“You taste the same as I remembered, Raylan, did you know that? Some things never change.” Boyd strokes Raylan's cheek with his free hand, swiping away a single tear from Raylan's watering eyes and bringing it up to his lips. 

Raylan doesn't stop moving, the words wash over him, spurring him onwards, quickening his motions. He would say the same, the taste,the feel, the way he spoke, it all felt so familiar. It's as if he had never left, like the twenty years of lost time between them has also burned away. He pushes himself up, pressing his face into the flesh under Boyd’s belly button, nose brushing against the hair sprinkling his abdomen. Boyd’s mouth falls open and his eyes roll back as his hips stutter. Raylan pulls backwards, needing air and one hand works at the base, the other reaching to press teasingly against Boyd's hole. He can feel Boyd’s release splash against the back of his throat and takes down every drop. Boyd moans his name and Raylan gags slightly, hating that his eyes flutter, obscuring Boyd from his vision as he swallows. Boyd pulls himself out,  his thumb swiping over Raylan’s abused lips, the last of his cum dripping across his cheek. 

“Could you be any prettier,” Boyd said, tongue going over his lips. “Fuck, Raylan. Why did we wait so long?”

Raylan grins, feeling dizzy, the world fuzzy around the edges, and leans his head into Boyd’s hand. He knows the afterglow will fade momentarily and he will leave. Part of him wants to stay, kneeling at Boyd’s feet, forehead pressed into his thigh. But the weight of the world returns to Raylan's shoulders and the smoke in Raylan's chest turns back into flame.

Boyd frees his hands from Raylan's face and shoulder, and moves over to the pile of their ruined clothing. He sorts through the pieces, placing Raylan’s clothes beside him. Finally, he removes the hat, turning it in his hands with an unreadable expression on his face before setting it down beside Raylan. He cups Raylan's face with warm hands, tipping his chin up. 

“I’m gonna go find a shirt that isn't cut to shreds and open the doors before any more business associates start asking too many questions about why your car is outside and the door is locked,” Boyd says, hiding his thoughts behind his hundred watt smile. “Don’t go anywhere now Marshal, we aren't finished here yet.”

Raylan watches him leave, and is up on his feet. A twisted knot has crawled into this chest cavity and it’s trying to break out of his throat. He dresses like the place is on fire, grabbing his gun and badge before rushing to the door. He looks behind him at the pieces of Boyd’s clothes, , the two half empty glasses on the bar, the droplets of blood splattered on the bartop and floor. He grits his teeth, memorizes the scene and walks out into the daylight. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Please let us both know if you enjoyed it! Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! Much more is coming😈 Each chapter will be spaced out as we write!

[unhumanrights]

Best Voice of a Starfleet Captain?

Wife and I just started a rewatch of DS9, so a poll in honor of the occasion. Oh, and I'm not including Star Trek movies in this poll because I don't want to.

[beebfreeb]

Louisiana Meshi!!!! Thistle will be at the crawfish boil.

[egophiliac]

I saw comments that the new butler from Ridekamens look like Sebek

He...kinda does

I wasn't gonna say it, but. that was kind of my first thought when he was revealed. :') maybe this is what Sebek's older brother is doing these days? he ran off to buttle for secret agents at a superhero cafe? actually wait that would be rad as heck, I'll accept this headcanon

[bitegore]

Zionists want you to conflate Judaism and Zionism. Zionists want you to believe that Judaism cannot exist without Zionism and that all Jews are Zionists. Zionism would have Jews believe that a Jewish state is the only way that they can be safe from antisemitism and will point to any instance of antisemitism as proof that Zionism is the solution- so Zionism wants gentiles to be antisemitic in their support of Palestine. They want you to conflate all Jews with Zionism and the state of Israel, and they want you to treat all Jews regardless of political affiliation as the face of Israel. Antizionist Jews exist, and incidences of antisemitism ostensibly acting against Zionism will not help dismantle the forces propping Zionism up.

Don't do their work for them.

[gabe-lovebot]

councilor 3D model

i learnt 3d modelling from the ground up to bring him to life. he's yours now. do whatever you want with him

[link]

please credit me if you make something using the model (or even ping/link me to it, i would love to see what you made!)

currently available as a .blend, .fbx and an SFM port.