#[but my god this has been bothering me for so long]

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

How can I make it OK?

Arthur Morgan x reader

Summary : you're homesick.

gender neutral reader, no use of y/n, not explicitly romantic unless you wanna read it that way, 3K words

Warnings : swearing, mentions of suicide, panic attack described in semi detail, not the jolliest thing i've ever written

A/N : first post that's actually writing in 2025 ! wrote most of this on the train while listening to house in nebraska by ethel cain and more than this by wolf alice so yeah. also this isn't arthur heavy in the sense that it's reader rambling about being homesick mostly. to be read in a southern accent as god intended

Of all the places I have travelled with the Van Der Linde gang, I think this is my least favourite. 

Living- or rather, camping- in the ruins of some plantation, bodies of the former owners stagnating in the pond. Sometimes I hear ‘em- the ghosts, in the walls, screamin’. I know it’s my mind, playing tricks on me; but it’s harder to have that rational thought when you’re lying alone in the middle of the night, wind whistling through broken windows. It’s not that I don’t like having a roof over my head. Shit, everyone in this godforsaken gang is happy to have a real shelter from the weather, even one as flimsy as this house. So I shut my mouth, hunt as I’m expected-which is what I am doing now, borrowed bow over my shoulder, quiver resting comfortingly between my shoulder blades. 

Hunting is familiar. Back in the Grizzlies, where my daddy raised me, we’d go out any time of day, in any weather, hunt for the coming storms. I’d do everything the way he taught me to- lay out traps, wait behind a boulder, bow in hand. It builds patience, he told me when I asked why the hell we didn’t just track the damn animal, instead of waitin’ in the cold for it to find us. 

Now, it’s not cold, and dear old daddy ain’t here to help. 

I left my horse hitched by a lake, with enough grass for him to be fed and well until I bring back something worthy of Pearson. It’s near sunrise; already, the heat is uncomfortable; my skin is sticky, my clothes uncomfortable. It’s moments like these that I long for the snow. 

I wipe my forehead with the back of my head. I’ve been walking for a little while now, waiting for a pack of deer to pass by. There’s something that bothers me about killing them- maybe it’s their eyes, so big and brown, caught frozen as they stare at you. Or maybe it’s their resemblance to this little girl I knew, at a local village at the base of the mountain where I grew up. 

I shake the thought of her big brown eyes and twitchy nose as I spot a herd of ‘em, grazing near a small stream. There’s enough light for me to count them- seven, big enough to feed us. 

I get on one knee, like my daddy taught me. Notch an arrow in the bow, pull it back. One of the poor animals raises its head, looks in my direction. 

Before I can hesitate, I let go, and the arrow flies; a fraction of a second later, it has notched itself in the animal’s throat. It falls; its friends, the rest of its herd (its gang, I think, almost laughing) scamper off, into the woods. I don’t go after them. Pearson will have to do with this, and whatever herbs or mushrooms I’m able to pick up. 

The doe is dead by the time I reach her. I kneel. Pull the arrow from her neck; thick, sticky blood gets on my hands. I almost reach for snow, to clean it off; curse myself when my fingertips meet grass and mud. The doe’s dead eye stares up at me, brown and empty as the sky. I resist the urge to close them. 

“Sorry, sweet.” I whisper it as I hoist her up, put her over my shoulder. She’s heavy. I must be getting blood on my shirt- it’s a shame, because it’s my favourite colour, and I’ve just bought it. 

I swallow any regrets I feel as I walk back to my horse, the weight of the doe uncomfortable against my bow and quiver. 

You’re the reason she won’t come home, a little voice whispers in my head. I stop, then, because my chest is tightening and I can’t really breathe. I say something incoherent. The fields around me are empty- it’s just me and this doe. 

I drop her into the mud and loosen my shirt, gasping for air. I want cold, I want crisp mountain air; not this thick, humid, barely-air that clogs my throat and makes my lungs heavy. 

I dig my fingers into the mud and grass, as I would have done in the snow, back home. Home. What a weird thought. I catch the dead doe’s eye again, and that’s when the tears come, thick and hot and nasty, blurring my vision. So stupid, I think, as I force myself to stare at her. She- no, it- is just an animal. She doesn’t have a home, not the way I did. Do. 

I think of crying out for help, but that’s pathetic, and I’m a lot of things, but pathetic ain’t one of them. 

I think I stay there, on my knees, fingers deep in the mud, for a long time- when my vision clears again and I’ve stopped gasping for air, the sky is clear, clear blue, no traces of sunrise left. If I focus hard enough on it, I can almost pretend I’m back in the mountains. 

I get up, teeth digging into my tongue to prevent any new feelings from resurfacing. I’m not in the goddamn mountains. All that’s left for me there is two frozen bodies deep beneath the snow, and a hut that’s probably been raided or taken over by some other gang. 

I pick the doe up, this time careful to avoid looking at her face. Its face. It’s an animal, not my goddamn sister. 

I make it back to my horse without another incident; strap the doe across his back and climb onto his saddle. His name is Coal, ‘cause of the colour o’ him- black and charcoal grey, a streak of white down his face. 

“Hey, boy,” I murmur to him as I flick the reigns. My voice is shaky, hoarse; it’s obvious that I’ve been crying. 

Coal begins to trot back to camp. I think of changing direction, of going to Rhodes, clear my thoughts. But I gotta bring this back to Pearson, or he’ll skin me. 

The camp is still there when I return, which is a relief. I don’t think I’ll forget the moment when I came back after a hunt and found everyone gone, everything burned to the ground. 

I shiver at the memory and get off Coal. “I’ll come ‘nd fix your saddle later,” I say to him, scratching his neck. He grunts, in a tone I hope is affectionate. I remove the doe, put her back over my shoulder. Make it to Pearson’s stand, where he’s angrily chopping vegetables. 

“Hey,” I say, dropping the doe in front of him. I angle her head- her eyes- away from me. “Got some meat.” 

“I can see that,” is Pearson’s kind answer. 

I ignore him and walk away again, into the derelict house we’ve been callin’ home for the last few weeks. My room is on the top floor; I wish I shared it with someone, but I got lucky (Dutch’s words) and got my own, private room. 

I tug off my bloodstained shirt and drop it on the floor. There’s nothin’ to be done about my trousers- they’re the only pair I’ve got (the others have just been washed, and hang soaking wet outside) and I don’t plan on walking around bare-legged. 

I change quickly. Sit down on the bed, stare at the wall. 

I don’t know how long I stay like that; starin’ at the peeling wallpaper, trying to pretend it’s the same white as the snow I used to see out my window. Obviously, the pretendin’ don’t work, because it’s not the snow, it’s a crumbling fuckin’ wall in a crumbling fuckin’ house. I stand, take a deep breath in (of hot, hot, humid, thick air), push it out. It ain’t cleansing- I don’t feel better once I’ve tasted the surrounding bogs- but it’s enough to calm my heartbeat, and make me feel somewhat human again. 

For the rest of the day, I help around camp, doing stupid, mind-numbing tasks. I try not to think of the mountains, and how much better than this godforsaken swamp they were. People talk to me, and I answer, polite and all. I eat Pearson’s stew, listen to another grandiose speech about Dutch’s plan (or, as far as I’m concerned, concepts of a plan). I finally find a moment of quiet sitting on a log, staring out at the swamp. Not the prettiest sight; all brown and green, with hints of yellow dust. 

I’m alone for only a few minutes before I hear footsteps. I turn, and find Arthur approaching, taking his cigarette packet from his satchel. I shift on the log I’m sitting on, making the split second decision that his company is something I want right now. 

He sits next to me, silently. Offers me a cigarette (I decline with a shake of my head and a wave of my hand) then lights his own with a match. He stays quiet for a little while, blowing smoke from his mouth, tinting the world blue and grey. 

It’s strange, sitting next to him. He don’t mind being quiet; seems to like my company well enough, ‘cause he keeps coming back here to smoke. 

He’s the one who found me, all that time ago, on a solo hunt in the Grizzlies. It was at the edge of the mountains, where it starts to get warmer; where the sun melts away most of the snow. Was from Blackwater, he said- I asked if I could go back with him. Promised I’d leave ‘em all alone when I got there, I just needed a job, as far from my daddy’s corpse as I could get. He’d said yes, maybe reluctantly. 

Turns out, I’d found somethin' better than a job. Not quite a family, but a gang, people to rely on, people to distract me from the emptiness created by my father’s death. I suppose it’s these people keeping me here, in this swampy nowhere, sweating my socks off. Here, I’ve got people- back in the mountains, I’ve got two dead bodies and an empty house. 

My chest tightens again, and wordlessly, I take the cigarette from Arthur’s hand, take a long drag. I hand it back, still silent, and dig my fingernails into my knuckles. 

“You miss home?” Arthur asks me, his words marked by the smoke curling from his mouth. I take the cigarette from his fingers again, press it between my teeth, inhale ‘till I can blame the burning in my eyes on the smoking rather than whatever has grabbed hold of me; whatever old, buried feeling I’d thought long gone had chosen to make an appearance. Guess it must be more obvious than I thought, that I’m feelin’ odd, ‘cause he clearly smelled it on me. 

“I don’t know, I guess,” I say, softly, fiddling with the dirty fabric of my trousers as I hand the cigarette back; as if I don’t know the answer, as if I haven’t spent half my goddamn life thinking about this. I exhale, blowing out smoke from my nose.  “Never really thought about it.” The lie burns in my throat, so thick I can hardly breathe. 

It’s not the stability that I miss. The weather in the Grizzlies was nothin’ permanent, not in any sense- one minute it’s a blizzard, the next you’re standing staring at the bright blue sky, knee deep in snow. I guess it’s the wolves howling, it’s the comfort of a fire as wind rattles against the window panes; it’s even the way the stars look after three days holed up inside. There’s no one thing I miss or don’t miss- I just know I miss it, so much that my chest tightens at the thought. 

When my daddy got shot, three- no, four- years ago, I thought the one answer was to leave that place behind; pack up my clothes and go out into the Wild Wild West, make my own future away from the smell of his freshly dug grave, right next to my mama’s frozen bones. And when I came across Arthur, and later his gang of gung-ho outlaws, who seemed ready to take on the world, I thought that was it- my life was set. 

But I don’t like the constant moving like I used to. It don’t feel like adventure anymore; it feels like escaping, like we’re always running from something. 

“I don’t…” I hesitate, reach up to dig my nails into the dip of my collarbone, try to dig the feeling out, hold it up to the light to examine it. “I guess it’s different.” A veiled confession. Away from the Grizzlies (away from home) it’s hot, stiflingly so; I can’t climb onto my horse without breaking a sweat. It’s already too warm by the time the sun rises- clothes sticking to your skin uncomfortably, flies buzzing above, drowning in the smell of swampy nothingness as soon as your eyes open. I don’t hate it- it has become familiar, but familiar in the way the weight of a revolver at my hip has become familiar; the way the constant paranoia that clogs my throat has become familiar. 

“Different how?” 

Another pause, as I scuff the yellow dust ground with the toe of my boot. Different in a whole lotta ways, I want to tell him; even the colour of the sky isn’t quite the same back home. 

Home. I think of the snow as I stare at the yellowed leather of my shoes. Where there’s snow and wolves and no people to shoot at you unless you really look for it. 

“I don’t know,” I say, even though my whole body knows; it courses through me, the knowledge that a few days ride away is the mountains, and the snow. “It just is.”

The answer dissatisfies him, I think. “C’mon,” he says in that gruff voice of his. “You gotta be able to find one difference between here and the goddamn Grizzlies.” 

“’S warmer,” I say, the words followed by a short, slightly forced laugh. “Don’t snow as much.” 

He snorts, shaking his head. “Alright,” he responds, maybe a little condescendingly. “Think o’ anything else?” 

“You got less wolves down here,” I add, after a few moments. I don’t say that I miss the sound of them howling; that when I close my eyes, I try to picture it, try to pretend I’m back there instead of here. 

“Alright.” He says it kinder this time, like we’re getting somewhere. 

“The sky looks different.” I dig my fingers in deeper. He offers me the cigarette; I take it, repurpose the burning in my throat. The smoke flickers around me as I exhale. “It’s- clearer, up there. More blue.” Here, the sky is tinted almost yellow. It ain’t ugly, but it ain’t home. 

He doesn’t answer, now, staring out at the swamps. I don’t know how he feels about this place- about Rhodes, and the foreignness of Saint Denis, with its factories and smoke and cobbled roads. I wonder if he misses home- if he ever had one to begin with. “I guess I do miss it,” I say, to fill the silence more than anything. “But… I don’t know, I don’t think I wanna go back.” Alone is the word I don’t add. I think- maybe- if I had the gang, my new family, I’d go back to the Grizzlies. After we escaped Blackwater, and hid out in that abandoned town up in the mountains; that was the happiest I’d been for a long time. 

But alone isn’t something I want to be. Not the way I was alone, the few weeks after my father passed- just me and the freshly dug grave, me and the wolves, me and the gun that killed him, sittin’ on the table, an unwanted temptation. 

“I don’t wanna be alone again.” It comes out soft, hoarse, pathetic, the words grating in my throat, like sandpaper on my tongue. 

It’s true. Yes, home is in the mountains; I know that now, when my chest clenches at the simple thought of the snow. But home is also with these people- with Arthur, and Mary-Beth, and Pearson, and the rest of them. Hell, even Kieran, the O’Driscoll boy, has become home, in a way. Home is not just the place where I grew up (the place where my daddy now lies); home is also the people that have become my family; who have embraced me so kindly and warmly. I know deep in my stomach that if I were to leave now, take a horse back to the hut, I’d end up like my daddy, a bullet in my head and a gun in my hand. 

He did it ‘cause he was lonely. So lonely that even I wasn’t enough to stop him from pulling the trigger. Lived in the mountains his whole life, but he had my mama then, and his parents. I guess fifty years of snow and not much else can drive you insane. 

My hand goes to my temple; I dig my fingers into the skin, right where I found the bullet in his head. 

“Y’won’t be,” he responds gruffly. He’s finished his cigarette, and yet he’s not made any attempt to get up, leave me with my thoughts. I snort, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. 

“Don’t know that,” I say. “With the Pinkertons on our asses, ‘nd all.” It’s meant to be lighthearted, but it comes out quiet, rough. 

“Yeah, but they’ve always been on our asses.” He puts a hand on my leg; it engulfs my entire knee. “Tell you what.” He hesitates, clearin’ his throat a little. Squeezes my knee. “I’ll take you huntin’, once a week- or twice, or less, if you want.” 

“I go huntin’ anyway,” I answer. “Not in the mountains, y’don’t.” My chest both tightens and loosens at the same time. I swallow; my heart is thumping in my chest. I put my hand to my collarbone again, digging my nails in. “C’mon, it’ll do you good. Cold air and all that.” 

I know there’s a deeper meaning to that. Cold air- he’s giving me the chance to go home, and not by myself. Even if it’s not for long, it’s enough- to feel the snow again, to hear the wolves. Maybe once I’ll camp overnight, ride back to camp in the morning. The idea fills me with hope- a feeling we’re all starved of, these days. 

“Really?” Is all I manage to croak out. 

“What, you don’t wanna?”

I laugh, and it’s genuine this time. “No, I- I wanna.”

“Alright then.” He gives my knee a last squeeze, then stands. I stand with him, smooth my shirt with the flat of my hand. “Tomorrow then?” Tomorrow. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. I’d sing, if my throat weren’t so damn tight. My eyes sting, and I wipe at my nose with my hand. 

“Thank you,” I say, quietly. He don’t respond, but he nods, and I think maybe he smiles a little. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll get to take a piece of my new home to the place I grew up- someone I love, to the place that holds my heart. 

I watch him walk away; and suddenly, the humidity don’t feel so bad anymore. 

[writhyv]

⋆｡°✩ your domestic boyfriend ignored you

fairy of shampoo | park jongseong x male!reader

pairing: jay x male!reader genre: fluff (itz not zat zeep) word count: 1.8k notes: soft jay hours

Lately, something has been bothering you.

"Ugh..." You scrunched your forehead as you sat in your corner of the office, lost in your thoughts. Your mind was full of worries, and you couldn’t shake off the confusing feelings that weighed on your heart.

"What's wrong with him?" One of your co-workers passed by your desk, curious about your mood.

"He's just thinking too much," your quirky office friend jumped in, excited for some office gossip.

"About what?"

"He'll be fine. He’s just being dramatic," your other co-worker said, leaning back in his chair. "He’s been like this since he got here—"

"I'm not being dramatic!" You protested, your voice rising a bit.

"See?" Your co-worker pointed at you with a teasing look.

Frustration filled you, and you scratched your head quickly, feeling stuck with this problem. It wasn’t just any small issue; it felt really important.

"Totally," your quirky friend agreed, tapping her pen on your desk playfully. "Veins popping, eyes turning red... He’s really in his head."

"But it’s Jay!" You whined, spinning your office chair around.

Your colleagues groaned collectively at the mention of your boyfriend’s name. Of course, it had to do with your sweet love life.

"Let me guess, he wanted to see that new musical movie?" Your laid-back co-worker chimed in without missing a beat. You turned to him and nodded eagerly.

"Yes! Yes!" You stomped your feet like a child. "But now I feel like I messed up!"

"It’s not the end of the world if you don’t go to the movies. The film will still be there," he pointed out, trying to be practical.

"But still! He really wanted to take me out since this is all the time he has before going back to his gigs!" You squeezed your face in frustration. "And this morning, he just ignored me."

A chorus of mock gasps filled the air.

"Come on!"

"You do realize he’s still a person, right? He probably didn’t notice he was ignoring you," your co-worker patted your back, trying to comfort you.

"But..."

"But?"

"He didn’t give me cuddles... I miss his cuddles when he’s all tired and sleepy..."

Your quirky friend let out a dramatic sigh, moving closer to you.

"You know what you should do?" she suggested, her eyes sparkling with ideas. "Surprise him tonight."

You looked at her, confused. "With what?"

"You know."

"Huh?"

Your other co-worker facepalmed at her suggestion, while you raised an eyebrow in realization.

"It’s not that easy!"

"What? You said he gives in easily!" Your friend insisted, pushing the idea.

"You really need to stop sharing so much about your boyfriend at work," your laid-back co-worker sighed, shaking his head.

"But he can’t be that down right now! He hates being upset..."

"Okay, I’ve heard enough," your closest co-worker stood up and walked away from the conversation.

Your quirky friend leaned in closer, her expression softening. "Just try to stay calm and talk to him before the day ends," she said sincerely. "I’m sure he’s not mad."

You thought about her words. Even though Jay could get mad at his friends, he had never gotten mad at you, even during playful teasing.

"I hope so..." You rubbed your forehead, trying to ease your stress.

"It’s just not like him to ignore me..." You mumbled, feeling down.

"Oh come on, you sometimes forget to text him back when you’re here," your friend reminded you.

You looked at her, realization hitting you. "Oh my god... I'm a hypocrite, aren’t I?" You sighed, feeling embarrassed, but your quirky friend just laughed.

"Don’t worry," she said, trying to cheer you up. "He still loves you, I’m sure."

As the long workday finally ended, you packed your things and got ready to head down the elevator. With your phone in hand, you scrolled through your contacts, searching for that one sweet photo of your boyfriend.

I should call him like I usually do, you thought. Maybe he’ll be okay and reply like nothing happened.

With a light tap, you dialed Jay's number, his nickname decorated with two hearts on your screen. You gazed at the cute photo you took of him on one of your dates. His smile was unforgettable.

"Hello?" He answered, his voice warm and familiar.

"Hi, honey..." You said softly.

"Hi? What's up?"

".... I'm sorry." You mentally kicked yourself as you said those words. You were supposed to hold back, but it just slipped out.

"You're cutting in and out..." He tried to speak clearly, but the call was breaking up. All you could hear were garbled sounds like "ksher ksher" and "zzh zzhh."

"Hello? Honey? You’re breaking up—"

"Let me call you later." He hung up before you could check if the problem was on your end. You sighed, watching the call end, the wallpaper of him smiling back at you.

So you just have this saved pic as your wallpaper, huh? WHIPPED.

All you could think about was how much you loved this man.

As you let out another heavy sigh, you stepped out of the elevator, fixing your hair and scarf as you walked outside.

As you passed through the rotating doors, you noticed a crowd gathering outside your office building. People were piling up, excitement buzzing in the air. You felt the urge to see what was happening.

"They're definitely a band. I saw them on TV."

A band? Right outside your office building was a plaza, a usual spot for performances. But the crowd seemed too big for it to be just any local act.

"Are they famous?"

"Are you kidding? They're Enhypen! They were on that band show..."

You turned sharply to one of the people trying to see what was going on. "Enhypen? They’re here?"

"I think so? It’s just a random plaza, though. Could be cover artists."

"No, it’s them! I saw Jake and Sunghoon there!"

They’re just outside?!

"Hey, you over there!" A familiar voice boomed through the speakers, full of energy. It was a voice you knew well, one that made your heart race.

Slowly, you turned your head as other people stared at you.

"This one's for you."

Park. Jongseong. In the flesh. Pointing his damn finger right through your heart.

He adjusted the microphone on the shaky stand, his charm lighting up the crowd. Even if the equipment wasn’t the best, he looked amazing, holding the mic like it was meant for him. He began to sing your favorite song—a sweet, romantic tune.

Cheers erupted as he finished, applause ringing out from everyone, including your co-workers, who cheered for him and his bandmates.

As snow started to fall gently around you, Jay rushed toward you, concern on his face as he adjusted your scarf.

"You’re shivering," he said, worry in his voice. But all you could do was look at this wonderful man you called yours.

"It’s... fine," you replied, holding his hand. He paused, looking down at your joined hands before meeting your gaze.

In that moment, everything felt perfect as snowflakes floated around you. His eyes sparkled, reflecting the light and warmth of the moment.

You couldn’t hold back any longer.

"I'm sorry!" you both blurted out at the same time, creating a funny mix of apologies.

"Wha-what?"

"I'm sorry, why are you sorry?"

"Wait, I'm sorry. What are you trying to—"

You both laughed, the tension fading away. Jay still looked a bit confused, which only made it more charming.

"I said I'm sorry. I felt like I hurt your feelings when you wanted to watch a movie with me during your free time..." You held his hands tightly, feeling sincere.

Jay tilted his head, a smile spreading across his face. "No way! I totally get it, honey." He pinched your cheek playfully. "It’s not like I’m going far away."

"But you wanted more time with me."

"I know." Jay’s smile was real, a sign of understanding. "I thought you were mad at me for being too needy."

"What?" You exclaimed, your voice rising in surprise.

"Slow down."

"I would never! NEVER!" You declared firmly. "If anything, I want to always be close to you! I like the clingy you!"

Jay couldn’t help but laugh, and you hugged him tightly, feeling the warmth between you. At that moment, he rested his head on your shoulder.

"I was worried for nothing," he whispered softly.

"Hey, that tickles!" You booped his nose playfully. "And same here. I thought you were ignoring me."

Jay looked at you with sincerity. "Sorry. I was just in my own head this morning. I didn’t mean to tune out."

You smiled back, brushing a stray hair from his face. "It’s okay. I understand now."

Taking one last look at him, you wrapped your arms around him again. "Don’t ever feel shy with me! We’ve been a couple for years! Come on!"

Jay chuckled at your words, a mix of affection and disbelief shining in his eyes. He often felt insecure whenever you seemed upset, worrying that he could do better. But in the end, you always calmed him down, reminding him that he was enough and that you accepted him just as he was.

You fixed your clothes, pulling away slightly from Jay’s embrace. "So, are we still going to see the movie?"

Jay’s smile grew wider, his eyes filled with joy. "It’s tonight. We won’t be late if we hurry."

"Yay!" You grabbed his face and kissed him quickly, catching him off guard. He blinked in surprise as you linked your arm through his, walking side by side toward the cinema.

Meanwhile, in the distance...

"Are you seeing that? He just left us!" Jake shouted, struggling to carry amplifiers toward the van as he watched you walk away with Jay.

"You're just jealous you don’t get to use anyone as an excuse to go out," Sunghoon replied dryly, packing up other gear. He wasn’t wrong, though.

"Shut it, man!" Jake scratched his head, feeling a bit embarrassed by that comment.

| masterlist! | previous | next |

[dukeofthomas]

"Angry robin" "violent robin" "misbehaving robin" shut up and accept my alternative; spunky Robin. Determined and head strong, can out-stubborn the Batman, has a strong moral-backbone and does what he thinks is right regardless of what anybody else says, Robin. Jason who was sassy and quippy and made crude jokes with a smile on his face. Jason who hid in Bruce's cape and whispered gossip to him. Jason who, if Bruce refused him something, could keep bothering endlessly until Bruce caved. And also dramatic Jason. If Bruce tells him no, it becomes a whole theatrical show; a monologue, a narration, embellishments, and falling onto the floor in his grief upon the fact his cruel father has denied him once again.

(Jason who has suffered through abuse and homelessness and poverty and starvation, who is the Fight out of Fight or Flight, who's built up defenses and walls and when pushed and triggered responds with the thing that's always protected him; anger. He's sweet and kind and funny, and when he sees a pimp hitting a prostitute he gets furious and responds with violence.)

[calciferstims]

tiktokers be like “I am going to create the most beautiful, relaxing, aesthetically pleasing video ever, with gorgeous lighting, and deeply satisfying content”. …….. “and then I’m going to cut the video fifty thousand times in thirty seconds-”

[musical-chick-13]

I mean. I guess the good news is that I am now 100% sure I'm not in love with Her™ even a little bit at all anymore, but like. At what cost.

[outlawtornn]

my art looks so flat im about to lose it so im gonna go do figure studies ig..sigh

[spinnysocks]

spinny!! I’m curious, what got you into the lion guard?

EHEHEE YAY I LOVE ASKS LIKE THIS!! don't mind me rambling about how i got into it :3

i watched the lion guard originally as a young teen! my memories are foggy, so i can't say how much i liked it, but i do remember ono being my favourite and that i watched enough to remember a lot of the episodes when i revisited it a few years later. i rewatched it out of childhood nostalgia and curiosity - i wanna say around 2020 maybe? - and developed a hyperfixation on it, specifically on janja! back then, i kinda only cared about his character and a few others such as timon, pumbaa, scar and kiburi, though janja was the character who i was actually interested in. i had even bought a lion king notebook to write a snippet of an au i had for him, i still have it lmaoo

because of how my hyperfixations work, i get obsessed over one fandom for a while until it switches to another. for instance, most of last year i hyperfixated on the madagascar movies - those periods of hyperfixating would last anywhere from hours to months until shifting to, for example, the lion guard. it also wasn't my main fandom at the time, madagascar was. that changed in november last year, when i found that there was a LOT of cool lion guard content on here (especially @devilsrecreation's outlanders posts!). i began to interact a little bit which made me hyperfixate on it even more. i made my first lion guard post in december, and that's where my posting and very long hyperfixation on it began!! since then i've had like a landslide of constant thoughts about this silly show, and i've picked up a lot of new favourite characters along the way (such as kiburi and his float, beshte, goigoi, dogo, literally all of the outlanders...). i've barely shifted hyperfixations since then and the show has very swiftly become a favourite media of mine! :3

so, i guess seeing content being made AND making my own has made me hyperfixate on it endlessly (/pos btw). i've specifically hyperfixated on the outlanders as you can probably tell lol. essentially, ✨the power of hyperfixations✨ lead me to being on and posting on this site, but the show has always been for me since i was a teen c:

[dogbunni]

.

[skeletons-in-ur-closet]

i AM a violent dog i DO know why i bite

[musingmycelium]

. noncoherent but also thoughts

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

*don't go to grad school out of spite, don't go to grad school out of spite, do NOT go to GRAD SCHOOL out of SPITE!!!*

[our-lady-of-mcr]

everytime i think im done ranting i remember something else LMFAO this one is extra long i hit tag limit god mf damn

[hazmatmaid]

A simplification:

Level 1-upper 2/lower 3: "yeah i can see that happening."

Level 4: "where did that even come from? that doesn't make any goddamn sense/he would not say that."

it came to my realization that 99% of my fandom related headaches would be cured if everyone understood this

[b0mblover]

Hate, in Every Sense of the Word.

By: J

major tws for; suicide mention, domestic abuse, abuse, sexual assult mention, murder mention, (really just alot of violence tbh) self harm mention

uh, sorry? that theres so many tws, ig also minor tw for mention of sex too.

uh haha i uh, can you tell what happened tonight? it wasnt even the worst one, just, im tired of it.

talk abt living out of spite bc mannnn, thats all i been going off of for a good while now!

i uh, i really wanna make a certain food bc um. (LOOK I WANNA MAKW A LESS OILY FUCKER OKAY) but my father is awake meaning my mother will be too soon but im scared to even go out of my room bc theyre prob gonna fighttt.

hhhrbd okok ill shut up for now, go ahead and read the angry jirou bullshit ig 😭

(oh yea, if it wasn’t obvious. im talking about my mother in this.)

——————————

yknow,

you havent been a great person

or a good one even.

yet you still question as to why i dont love you

or like you,

maybe you have an idea of how much i hate you.

maybe not

i dont really care about your feelings.

at all.

not now.

i put up with this for fucking 14 years.

my entire fucking life.

ive put up with your shit.

but now?

now im done.

you have no idea how badly you fucked up.

when he said that “im sorry im a fuck up” 

yknow.

he mightve not been right for what he did.

but,

it was just a mistake.

it was a goddamn mistake.

you have any idea how many times ive uttered those words too?

how many times ive repeated them?

how many times i fucking meant it?

just because you “had it bad” doesnt mean shit to me.

you have no goddamn right to treat others the same way.

dont give me that “i dont know how else to act!”

bullshit.

bullshit you dont.

you treated your damn boyfriend just fine!

you had a goddamn kid

you had two goddamn children.

with this man that you fucking DESPISE.

you knew it back then too.

you told me you did.

you fucking told me.

almost nothing can compare to the anger i feel to you right now.

nothing.

you have no right to act like that.

no.

you have no goddamn right to hit another fucking living being.

for such a simple mistake.

i dont care if he talked about it since friday.

i dont give a fuck if he talked about it for months.

you.

you as a goddamn human.

have no right.

none.

in the slighest.

to hit another living being.

for talking about something in your eyes “too much”

or making a mistake.

youre a hypocrite.

need i remind you?

you said that after you broke up with the man you were having an affair with.

that youd be a better person.

stop the fights.

stop the beatings.

stop all of it.

and everything would be okay!

.

i didn’t believe you for a goddamn millisecond.

youre a liar.

just how you said i was.

you didnt quit.

you didnt stop.

hell two months after you hit him again!

you threatened to kill him and yourself!

cmon.

dont you get it yet?

i fucking despise you.

maybe to a degree i feel shocked.

but.

i really dont think thats it.

youre the root of my problems.

every single last fucking one.

——————

need i remind you as how i had to learn to cook, because you were too busy with your damn boyfriend to help me?

.

need i remind you how when i tried to show you that i was fucking cutting myself when i was 9 you only talked about how it looked ugly?

.

need i remind you about how many times you said that you didnt care if i hurt myself as long as no one can see it?

.

need i remind you about how you ignored the rope burn on my neck god knows how many times?

.

need i remind you how you denied fucking multiple peoples sexual assault because “it couldntve been like that”?

.

need i remind you of how many times i almost had to be hospitalized because of your neglect?

.

need i remind you of how many nights i spent alone, in the cold, in the dead of winter, just because you wanted to fuck your boyfriend?

.

need i remind you of what you yelled at me so many times?

.

need i remind you of what i seen?

.

need i remind you of how many times you blamed your abusive behaviors on medication?

.

need i fucking remind you of my entire purpose?

.

i dont care about your feelings anymore.

i gave up years ago.

but now.

i dont feel just numb for you.

i hate you.

in every sense of the word.

.

i dont care of what you or anyone else thinks of me.

.

i dont care about what you think of my appearance.

.

i dont care if you think im too thin or fat or whatever word youll use next.

.

i dont care about what you think because you’ll hate me no matter what.

.

you thought id stop being xxxx when you broke up with him.

you yelled at me.

no.

you fucking screamed at me for weeks.

im tired of even putting in the slighest effort of acting as if i fucking care.

i dont give a fuck about you.

and yknow?

if.

no.

if it would work.

if it was possible.

id fucking kill you.

id stab you.

right here.

right now.

to end my suffering.

to end his suffering.

all of it.

id end it all.

i dont care if its wrong.

because i know no one else knows about whats going on.

yknow.

only one person around here knows what youve done to him and me.

and i havent even met her in person.

yknow.

the people i used to be close with from school.

only just learned you had an affair.

i know that.

the police are do-less.

since you know them.

and hes a man.

not a woman.

it wouldnt be taken seriously.

that he should just fight back.

yknow.

youve ruined what life he has left.

his parents beat him.

his ex wife beat him, and cheated on him.

and here.

youve done the exact same thing.

yknow.

he’ll never get to see how love truely is.

because of you.

because of what youve done.

i cant say i really like him either.

but.

that doesnt give you the right to ruin his life.

.

yknow whats worse?

how i know the only reason that so far youve never dared to lay a finger on me.

is because ive proved that i won’t hesitate to beat the fuck out of you right back.

i know i joke about that night.

but.

really.

hitting you for doing that was the best decision i couldve made.

its kept me safer than i wouldve been for years. 

and even now.

if you were to as so much to touch me.

while in a fight.

id do it all over again.

you maybe 100 pounds heavier than me.

but you dont know how to fight against someone who wont just sit there and take it.

i wont forgive you for what youve done.

even if he will.

.

i want nothing to do with you.

get out of my life for good.

[sugoroo]

warnings. fem!reader, oral (f receiving), face-sitting, ruined orgasm, satoru gojo is his own warning, 18+ minors dni.

thinking about absolutely insufferable boyfriend satoru gojo who always ruins your incoming orgasms by saying the corniest, most unserious things during sex.

picture him splayed across the bed, messy white locks stuck to his forehead with sweat and uncovered cerulean eyes clouded over with lust as you slowly lower yourself onto his awaiting mouth.

"mhm, that's it, baby," he's cooing, pale hands snaking around your thighs to help you stay upright as he impatiently pulls your pliant body down quicker onto his face. "sit riiight here."

and you're letting off a surprised squeak when he barely gives you a single moment to adjust to the new position before his full, grinning lips are planting a wet, obnoxious kiss right against your sappy folds.

"toru!" you giggle involuntarily, hips wriggling against his face as he continues placing such shameless, sloppy pecks against your sensitive skin — he's acting like a horny teenager making out with a girl for the first time, except in this case the girl is your pussy.

satoru's stupidly dopey smile never fades as he takes in your reactions to his ministrations, each whine and cute laugh just encouraging him to act even more ridiculous.

so he's flicking out his freakishly long tongue, gifting you with little kitten licks that are just barely enough to make your insides tingle but not enough to give you any real sense of pleasure.

and you rock against his face in search of the friction he knows you so desperately need, brows pinched in frustration and lower lip pushed out into an unconscious pout.

"aww, is this not enough for my pretty girl?" satoru chuckles, feigning obliviousness as he watches you restlessly grind into him — he just can't help that he loves seeing you like this, all needy and annoyed with his teasing.

"y-you know it's not," you grumble out, aiming what you hope is perceived as a scolding glare down at him as your fruitless wriggling slowly comes to a halt. "come on... please, toru?"

"now there's the magic word i was waiting for!" he cheers overdramatically, like a proud parent complimenting their child for finally using their manners like they were taught.

you roll your eyes in exasperation, but the action quickly morphs into one of them rolling backwards in pleasure when satoru finally drags his tongue properly through your sticky folds.

and you're rambling out various breathless 'thank you's, pent-up body relaxing onto his mouth as he begins to eat you out like he would've been doing from the beginning if he didn't enjoy making you work for it so much.

he's so unbelievably good at it too, wet lips peppering loving kisses against your cunt before he delves that lengthy tongue inside of your fluttering hole, effortlessly reaching your sweet spot without even having to try.

and you both know it's not long before you're going to fall apart, the thrust of the wet muscle in and out of you and the frequent pauses he takes to suck your puffy clit into his hot mouth just too delicious.

but just when you begin to feel that familiar feeling rising in the depths of your stomach, the metaphorical string of pleasure coiled tight and ready to snap at any moment, satoru just has to spoil it.

"yeahh, can tell you're close, baby." he groans into your pussy, the rumbling vibrations only adding to the colourful sensations coursing through your veins. "gonna cum for me?"

and you're nodding furiously, not even bothering to attempt to speak because there's no doubt in your mind that the words would end up sounding completely incomprehensible.

"mhm? gonna cum all over the strongest's face?" satoru adds in an exaggeratedly loud and sarcastic moan, the ridiculously corny words somehow managing to break through the fragile glass of your incoming orgasm, shattering it into a million pitiful pieces right before your eyes.

"g-god. why are you like this, gojo?" you groan in frustration, the haze of pleasure slowly but surely evaporating from your mind and leaving only a pathetic feeling of emptiness lingering in its place.

satoru just smirks smugly, shrugging as if he doesn't have a single care in the world and flicking his tongue back out to clear your glistening juices away from his lips. "like what?"

scowling in annoyance, you waste no time in swatting his hands away from your thighs and lifting your shaky hips away from his soaked face, rolling off of him and searching around the bedcovers for your panties.

"w-wait, baby, where are you going?" he mutters hurriedly, his entire face draining of all its colour as he watches you preparing to leave — it would almost be laughable how quickly he can go from teasing to pathetic in mere moments if you weren't so pissed off with him right now.

"to find someone who doesn't say shit like that when i'm about to cum." you state simply, tugging your underwear back up your legs before making a show of heading towards the bedroom door.

satoru is scrambling off of the mattress in seconds, almost tripping over himself in his determination to stop you in your tracks. "no, don't go, pretty girl! i was just joking around— h-hey... i'll make you cum as many times as you want if you stay, promise!"

...and that's the story of how you finally made your insufferable boyfriend satoru gojo learn his lesson.

© 2024 SUGOROO. please don't copy or translate any of my works without my explicit permission. all rights are reserved to me.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

[beloveds-embrace]

Idgaf abt how military works sorry yall but imagine the 141 gang having to do mandatory charity and no, not even Ghost can opt out of it regardless of how he says he’s honest to god not fucking fit to be visiting sick patients. But alas.

But they end up meeting you- frail, fragile, and sick you, no visitors around you. Though you look at them with curiosity and admiration, you keep yourself away, almost as if you don’t want to bother them.

You can’t help looking at them, though. You’ve been sick all your life- born to a mother who left you on the doorsteps of an overcrowded orphanage, left alone often and long for your body to just… fail you. You don’t think you’ve seen outside the orphanage walls and then these hospital grounds since your birth. You would be dead now if it weren’t for the CEO of the hospital taking pity on you after you turned eighteen and the orphanage cleaned their hands off you.

And so, you can’t help but envy them just a little. Strong, agile people in the military, bodies fit and healthy. Despite knowing they are always putting themselves on the line, constantly in danger, you can’t help the longing you feel. Longing you don’t realize is clear as day in your eyes.

The one to approach you first is the man you thought one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. He introduces himself as Kyle, and despite your silence- your interactions with others that are not doctors or nurses are far and few, and you are painfully shy- but he is nice. Gentle. Easily keeps the conversation going despite. He is so easy-going he has you grinning and laughing in no time. It catches the attention of a the Scot with a mohawk, who joins in by sharing even wilder stories. And then the man with the scary ghost mask, so often in their stories, comes to your little crowd. He is big, scary if the nurses’ reactions are anything to go by, and yet the only thing you’ve ever truly been afraid of is dying with a life not truly lived. So you don’t flinch or cower from him, merely ask if he has anything interesting to share with you.

The last you speak with is John Price. Captain John Price. If there is a man that can embody a bear, it has to be him. You are sure of it. Especially when you witness him smacking the back of Kyle’s head lightly after a teasing comment.

Maybe your chances of a long, fulfilling life are slim but today, just for today, you allow yourself to envision a life with them. Such a strange desire, a useless and wistful one.

“Thank you, for today.” You tell them quietly, when it’s nearing time to leave. Your hands are held in Kyle and Johnny’s, frail and weak compared to theirs. You smile at them, squeezing lightly. “I think this is the most happy and content I’ve been all my life. I won’t forget today.”

And in return? Neither will they. How could they ever forget you, the sweetheart in the hospital bed, your sickness keeping you away from the joyful life you deserve?

The won’t forget you. Not at all. And when you start receiving gifts, polaroids and letters and texts, you already know who is sending them to you.

It makes things just a little easier- your life just a little brighter.

Other works + help me choose a title for this!