#METH WOULD SAVE HER

[miraofhearts2point0]

im gonna be sick all Jinx needed was some concerta and she'd be fine

[inamindfarfaraway]

I don’t think that Duke would make fun of Jason for dying, at least not much and not if he suspects that Jason won’t brush it off. He understands that Jason’s death was not his fault or something he should be ashamed of, but heroic and unfortunate. Before Duke even joined We Are Robin, he watched one of its members get killed by a time bomb trying to save lives. Sound familiar? He wouldn’t insult Troy for good intentions and bad luck, so he won’t insult Jason either. An adult killed him because adults failed him. Duke blames them. He knows exactly what it is to be a kid, and a Robin, that everyone blames and looks down on.

He will, however, give Jason endless grief over his crime lord era. Almost to the same extent he’ll never let go of Dick betraying the entire WAR movement to the cops, and only less severe because Duke wasn’t personally affected by it. He is incredibly invested in uplifting Gotham’s impoverished communities, making them safer, healthier and fairer. What was Red Hood doing on a huge scale for at least a year or two? Not that.

Sometimes it’s playful…

Jason: Trust me, this is gonna work.

Duke: Says the guy who reinvented the Mafia and thought it would lower crime rates.

And sometimes it isn’t.

Jason: (generally being an asshole, says the wrong thing to Duke at the wrong time)

Duke: What drugs did you sell?

Jason: What?

Duke: You were the city’s number one drug dealer for a while. What did you sell?

Jason: (warily) You know, the usual. Meth, cocaine… heroin… fentanyl…

Duke: Uh-huh.

Jason: But I never sold to kids! Ever!

Duke: Did you sell to parents?

Jason:

Duke: Would your mother be proud of you? Do you want to pop back to the afterlife and ask her, or would you go the wrong way now?

Jason: (about to cry) I’m sorry.

Duke: You should be.

I also think Duke and Helena “Hates Organised Crime” Bertinelli should be friends and roast Jason to a crisp together.

[graceshouldwrite]

Writing Compelling Side Characters

**NOTE: Some of these tips don't really apply to ensemble casts, where there are multiple Main Characters (plural).

1) Agency - motivations, actions, effects

Technically, they ARE side characters in your MC's story, but don't base your writing on that fact.

Side characters need:

Their own REASONS for joining the story (because they want to, not because the PLOT wanted them to) Example: In Arcane, Caitlyn inadvertently gets involved with Vi due to her compassion and desire to help the undercity, not because the plot needs a love interest

A GOAL, on which they act INDEPENDENT of the plot, and actually affects your MC/the main plot (not the other way around) Example: In Loki, Sylvie's independent goal is to take down the TVA, and her actions reveal the TVA's corruption to Loki, influencing him to join her in fighting against the TVA instead of working for them

A STAKE in how things end (e.g. someone getting paid after agreeing to join a heist); they aren't just in it to be a "comic relief" or a "damsel in distress" Example: In Breaking Bad, Jesse joins Walt in cooking meth because he makes BANK from selling drugs, not because Walt needed a funny and traumatized sidekick

Their own RELATIONSHIPS with other characters, aside from the MC—they have their own friends, enemies, love interests, etc., and these relationships can completely change the plot Example: In the original Percy Jackson series, all of the side characters (e.g. Annabeth, Nico, Thalia, Luke, etc.) have their own relationships with each other that greatly affect the plot. Check it out: Annabeth's attachment to Luke, even after he became evil, completely changed the plot in several ways: kickstarting a journey to save her from Luke in The Titan's Curse, revealing his true evil identity as a vessel for Kronos (big bad!) in The Battle of the Labyrinth, and mainly contributing towards Luke's reversion away from evil in the last book due to him remembering his promise to take care of her a long time ago, etc.

Their own PAST that affects how they act, move forward, and how they treat the MC Example: In Avatar: The Last Airbender, Azula's pressure on herself and desire for perfection is greatly driven by her father's expectations of her as the fire-bending prodigy, resulting in a childhood of earning parental love and care AFTER she proves her worth to him. This created a mentality ceaselessly focused on her goals—which are usually her father's missions—causing her to be deadly, manipulative, and constantly causing problems for the main character.

The side character is not an extension or byproduct of the MC's plot; their own story happens to collide and intertwine with your MC's plot, but is ultimately independently driven.

2) Affecting the ending

The story can't have reached the same ending regardless of the side characters' existence. They must be necessary to the MC in helping them reach their goal faster, more prepared, etc. For example, in Avatar, Aang would not have been able to reach his goal of defeating the fire lord without the help of his friends, who each taught him valuable life lessons as well as combat skills.

Each character must have an independent impact on the MC—don't treat them like a group (e.g. "the side characters," who are one individual collective). Arcane does a great job with this, as each side character has a completely different impact on the MCs (e.g. Silco, Ekko, Caitlyn, and Vi—not a side character but for the purpose of this analysis, bear with me—all have a different impact on Jinx). It isn't just a literal impact. It's what the MC learns, and the theme of the story. They should help the MC realize things about themselves, and contextualize the MC by showing them in different situations with different people.

3) Avoid stereotypes Don't create characters from moulds and conform 100% to the trope: e.g. the "comic relief" can also be "the outlaw/rebel" or the "love interest," the "brooding antihero" can also be the "caregiver" or the "wise one," the "seductive girl" can also be the "science nerd" or the "broken optimist," etc. Mix and match. Everyone has more than 1 personality trait in real life, and probably fulfils more than 1 role to the other people in their lives. Give them intersecting personality traits to flesh them out.

4) Theme and Arc Especially compelling side characters have their own arc and embody their own theme.

Example 1: Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice is more than the brooding love interest—he develops by being less arrogant and learning to see people beyond their social status, and opens up to new ideas, people, and situations.

Example 2: Nico di Angelo from the Percy Jackson series goes on a journey of self-acceptance and embracing his identity, instead of just being the stereotypical emo kid who is constantly in a state of angst.

Example 3: In Arcane, Silco goes from a ruthless crime lord who believes that attachment is weakness, to someone who genuinely cares about his adoptive daughter, so much so that he can't give her up even in exchange for his lifelong dream.

∘₊✧────── ☾☼☽ ──────✧₊∘

instagram: @ grace_should_write

Hope this was helpful, and let me know if you have any questions by commenting, re-blogging, or DMing me on IG. Any and all engagement is appreciated :)

Happy writing, and have a great day!

- grace <3

[s-rosie]

UNHINGED INCORRECT IIG QUOTES

these are some crack incorrect tig quotes i cooked up in the meth lab which is my mind. some are spicy so read at your own discretion. enjoyyyyy 💖

avery: xander, why are you and libby fighting xander: i just asked an innocent question then she got mad avery: what was it xander: i asked where she was and she said she was riding

avery: and? xander: and she got mad at me for asking if she was riding a horse or my brother jameson: save a horse, ride a cowboy ✊🤠 …………………………………………………………………………………………… jameson: i only want to do what is important in my life avery: what is important in your life? jameson: you avery: aww that’s swee- WAIT WHAT …………………………………………………………………………………………… grayson: your hair looks pretty lyra: you know, it would look prettier with your hands in it grayson: you want me to style your hair? lyra: no, let’s try this again. do you like my dress? grayson: yes it looks really good lyra: i think it would look better on the floor grayson: why would you throw a 3000 dollar dress on the floor? hang it up nicely on a hanger lyra, under her breath: istg this bitch… …………………………………………………………………………………………… max: omg look at what came up in my photos for 3 years ago today avery: okay wait is that a picture of me and jameson making out in the hot tub max: blackmail is a better currency than all of the money you inherited …………………………………………………………………………………………… avery, rolling her eyes: why do you never have a shirt on jameson: would you prefer me to go and put a shirt on, heiress avery: now now i never said that, lets not get too ahead of ourselves- ……………………………………………………………………………………………

jameson: xander, why are you on a table xander: THERE IS A SPIDERRRRRRRR jameson, jumping in the table: WHEREEEEEE AHAHAHAHA avery, walking in the room and killing the spider: you ladies alright? ……………………………………………………………………………………………

[kylejsugarman]

like walt obviously never wanted to or tried to focus on his cancer as a disease, it just became a nebulous entity that was in turns an impetus to Get what he Wanted and an exit sign, and thus was never a huge component of his jesse/business-facing identity, but it’s so excruciatingly clear that the cancer as a disease WAS a big part of his identity to jesse. walt worried about people perceiving him as withered and diseased, but jesse perceived him the complete opposite way and transitioned to that “digital short about making a meth comic” hero worship state of walt partially because of his cancer. jesse not only has a well documented affinity for protecting the vulnerable (and like it or not, cancer is an inherently vulnerable disease), he has an early established personal connection with cancer thru his late aunt ginny. his and ginny’s relationship is a story told almost exclusively through offscreen events and visual or conversational cues, but that just makes it all the more wrenching because this story falls into place in near perfect tandem with the show’s deepening and softening of jesse’s character. we realize that he’s a loving, insecure, vulnerable person just as we’re also piecing together that he lived for years with this woman who loved him as he Was and who he cared for devotedly until she died. her things remain in her house untouched; when he invokes her name, there’s an unusual degree of reverence to it that we don’t typically see with jesse. he clearly still reveres ginny and those emotions transfer to walt as soon as jesse learns about his cancer diagnosis. that protective instinct emerges, that sense of urgency returns. when walt says that his cancer is stage 3a, jesse unconsciously mumbles “in ur lymph nodes”—not a fact u would expect him to just know offhand. jesse knows this from his time with ginny and in that line—the quietness of it, the impulsivity of it—we see that jesse is thinking about Time. realizing how little of it walt must have left if it’s in his lymph nodes. and so he submits. jesse submits and follows his protective instinct despite the harm it leads him to because he wants to buy walt more time. walt and ginny have become inextricably linked in his mind and when walt dispenses those rare bits of affection and approval, those links only grow stronger. we see all these newly uncovered parts of jesse—the part of him that cares deeply for the vulnerable, the part of him that needs validation from a parental figure, the part of him that is no longer there following ginny’s death—bending to accommodate a generous perspective of walt as a sort of hero who is fighting cancer and graciously allowing jesse to fight by his side for a greater good. and if jesse can reach the bar that walt has set for him, if he can just do what he’s told and chase walt’s approval, maybe he can earn them that victory and save walt from what happened to ginny. i just think that if ginny weren’t a part of this equation, we wouldn’t have gotten the walt and jesse relationship we got. in any case, we certainly wouldn’t have gotten jesse lovingly drawing and inking a literal comic book superhero version of walt and their adventures.

[eternal-love]

HOPE OF IT ALL

Pairing: Austin Butler x Younger!reader

Summary: You’ve never tasted a love that wasn’t yours, because you didn’t even know that it wasn’t yours to begin with. It was borrowed.

Warning: Slight mentions of smut. Cheating.

Note: sorry I haven’t been very active, I know I said I would be but this week has been a bit difficult for me— personally. I apologize again.

Coachella 2013, salted air and the heat of the desert under the sun. You never needed anything more, not when you had Austin by your side.You practically begged your parents to let you come all the way here with him.

“I’ll take real care of her.” He told your parents, your father trusted him a little too much. You clung to Austin’s arm tightly, as if to assure your parents.

You packed your carefully arranged outfits for the weekend, you worked on making flower crowns for each day, and packed everything you needed. You kissed your mother goodbye and you were off to go.

Firstly, you two rented a small house close to the festival— expensive as hell but you used your savings. You were so excited as you settled into the bedroom. You were eighteen and it would be your first music festival, you knew you’d sleep on the same bed, you just didn’t expect things to escalate that night.

It started with him giving you a beer, then kisses here and there, then making out on the bed. Slowly unbuttoning your denim shorts. Your hands on his biceps.

“Are you sure?” He whispered in between kisses, his plump lips pulling away from yours.

“Never have I ever done this before.” You whispered back. You were a bit shaky, nervous. He could feel it in the way you gripped his biceps tightly.

“I’ll be gentle, baby.” He whispered before his hand went inside your panties. Making you groan in ways you would consider animalistic. You just kept spreading your legs for him, he only laughed in your lips.

He laughed at how naive you were, how you sounded so lost and needy at the feeling of his skilled hands.You lost your virginity to him, he was really gentle with you, making sure you were okay— even if he wished he could be rough.

“M’gonna go all in, baby.” He warned you before slamming right inside of you, you threw your head back and your eyes rolled at the back of your head, he gripped the sheets, his knuckles turning white.

His silver chain glinting and hitting you in the face, his face scrunching due to the pleasure.

“So tight, so good for me.” He moaned, then went to kiss your neck.

It wasn’t all perfect, you giggled a lot too, nervous giggles, of insecurity, of not knowing what you were doing.

The next morning, you woke up by his side, he was already awake, checking his phone. “Well, good morning.” His voice was hoarse, from sleep. “Get ready, gotta get going.”

You got ready quickly, took a shower, dried your hair, put on a shit ton of sunscreen, a shit ton of blush. Wore your overpriced clothes from Urban Outfitters and thrift stores.

The air was salty at Coachella, crisp and hot, very hot. But you had Austin by your side. He got a lot of stares, those biceps took away all the attention.

“Now, don’t get too far away from me. Hold on tight. I don’t want to have to fill out a missing person report.” He warned you, tugging at your braids.

“I promise. I don’t want to get lost—“ you looked around, everyone either looked stoned or way too on their world, “here.”

It was filled to the brim with people, but you never left his side not even a second. It was a bliss from then. Listening to the sets, dancing around with him, smoking weed— because yes, he had to give you a try at least once in your life.

“Want to try?” He asked as you sat down together in a blanket.

“Weed?” You asked, whispering, as if he had brought meth or something.

“No, I meant fighting lions.” Austin said sarcastically, lowkey playfully annoyed. “Yes, weed.”

You bit your lip, you’ve seen people do LSD here, no one cared to say the least, there were too many people packed here for anyone to notice.

At first you coughed, he laughed at you, then he proceeded to teach you how to smoke, thirty minutes later— you were in the clouds.

Your brain acting as if you were in Woodstock ‘69, twirling around with him, him trying to make you sit down as the sun wore down.

“So fucking pretty.” He muttered against your ear as he kissed down your jaw.

“Austin—“ you chuckled, looking at all the people around you. “The people—“

“Back at the hotel you were moaning all pretty. Didn’t care if someone heard ya, right?” He caught your lips in a very passionate kiss. The kind of kiss that would get dirty looks.

The three days Coachella lasted, you felt enamored, that kind of feeling you only get with very special people. The kind of feeling that only ever replayed in certain memories.

Like staring at him as he danced to some artist he only knew, it happened in slow motion. He was yours, or so you thought.

Or those moments in which a bottle of wine that was sipped away carelessly and swiftly laid on the floor, long forgotten because you were twisted in bedsheets by his side.

But it all happened rather quickly, it sure did. Because on the last day, you woke up by his side. His back beneath the sun, you wished you could write your name on it. You dreaded this day because you didn’t want this escapade to end.

Packing bags while Led Zeppelin played in the background. He grabbed one of the wine bottles from the floor and took one last sip from it, then tossed it to the trash can without a care in the world.

He found one last good use for it and then tossed it away.

“Will you call once I go back to school?” You asked him, a freshman in college. The highlight of your day was your favorite subject and him remembering to call or text you.

He was— different. A bit more distant.

“I’ll try to.” He answered, biting the inside of his cheek. “If I don’t get too busy.”

“It’s okay. I’ll wait.” You answered, pressing your lips together.

Once he dropped you off, he kissed you one last time, then basically shoved you off his car.

You only told your mom what was convenient— yes, we slept in separate beds, yes, we didn’t drink, yes, he didn’t touch me.

She didn’t know you still expected him to call you over to his house so you could feel him again. How you were so hopeful that he’d take you out on another date.

You were changing for the better. Hopeful. Hopeful. Hopeful. People would think you were naive, any normal girl would have caught the hint and understood that he didn’t want anything to do with you anymore.

But you still remembered, you did, you could see you both lost in the memories, that weekend slipped away into a moment in time. You had him, or at least you remembered thinking you had him.

You started cancelling plans, hoping he’d call, he always called you on fridays before Coachella. He didn’t anymore. But you were still hopeful. Excepting to hear his voice on the other side, saying: “meet me behind the mall’’

Meet me behind the mall.

Meet me behind them all.

It all started with your friend showing you a pic of Austin and Vanessa, very clearly together, all over each other.

“This your man?”

You wanted the earth to swallow you whole, because yes, you had been proudly showing them photos of you two since you basically started hooking up with him. He was easily recognizable.

“We’re not together anymore. Broke up after Coachella.” You tried to deny it. You did it out of humiliation. You didn’t want to feel played even though you did.

“Really? Well that was quick. Guess pretty boys move on pretty fast.”

You pressed your lips together and nodded.

Maybe you hadn’t been enough. Maybe you wanting it wasn’t enough. But for you it was enough.

You were mad at him, at her, at yourself. You weren’t even sure what to feel. You texted him a thousand times, demanding an explanation. Not a single response until you saw him again.

“Oh, fuck me.” You said, your hand gripped your shopping bag. You fought yourself to approach him or not approach him. But your body moved in autopilot, it was your only chance.

He saw you, from the distance. He started walking away. He heard you calling out his name.

“Nope, not doing this.” He said, loud enough so you could hear him. Until he decided to fucking man up. Why was he running away from a girl? Coward.

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. That smugness in his face. Biting his cheek as you spoke.

“You’ve been ignoring me for weeks! And I found out you have a girlfriend? How long have you been seeing her while we were together? What about us?” You yelled, rage coming from within you.

He almost laughed in your face, and he did laugh, it just didn’t come out the way he wanted it to. It just came out as an incredulous laugh.

“You haven’t understood it, have you?” He looked around, biting the inside of his cheek again. “There was never an us! We, what we had, never existed. We just hooked up.”

It hit you like a thousand bricks. “What do you mean?” You asked, stuttering. He didn’t even answer, he just looked down at his shoes.

The silence was deafening.

So it meant nothing? Like, nothing at all? Those two months, the festival weekend?

It was everything to you.

Maybe it had been so much to call it a summer love. Or too little to say ‘us’.

“So you weren’t mine?” You stuttered, looking at him as you held back tears. “The memories. The bottles of wine. The twisted sheets. That wasn’t—?”

“Of course not! Are you stupid?” He interrupted you, his words harsher than intended. He rubbed his face and ran his hand through his hair. “Look, you’re nice. You live with the hope of it all, alright? That’s good.”

You wanted to cry your eyes out at that very moment.

“But it was never serious between us, alright? I’m with another girl. She’s mine, I’m hers, not yours. As simple as that. Just— don’t call, don’t text. And don’t make these scenes again. I’m sorry.”

His apology was half-assed, you wanted to smack or slap him hard enough to make him respect you. But you were shaking. You didn’t understand. What? He looked so in love. The way he stared at you. It was all fake.

But what he said was true.

You lived for the hope of it all.

He was never yours to begin with.

He wasn’t yours to lose. No.

[fatkish]

Hi! I'm a big fan of the work you do, and I was hoping that I could make a request! Headcanons for Midnight, Mt Lady, Ryukyu, and the Wild Wild Pussycats (Sorry if this is a lot! Please feel free to take as much time as you need if you choose to do this! Also I think that the Wild Wild Pussycats deserve more love from the MHA community) with their adopted son or daughter who suffered from abuse by their previous family and now has a hard time dealing with their trauma.

I'd really appreciate it! Hope you're having an awesome day!

(Sorry for not including Mt. Lady, Pixie Bob, Tiger or Ragdoll. I tried to look up their character profiles but I just couldn’t come up with anything for them or I just couldn’t picture them actually looking after and taking care of a child, sorry)

Midnight, Ryukyu and Mandalay x Adopted, Abused Child Reader

The story here is that your parents were drug addicts or criminals that basically ignored you. You were 8 when you were saved. Each of these guys have different scenarios on how they found you as well as how your life is with them. (Sorry if it’s a little redundant)

Midnight:

Your parents were drug addicts that cooked meth and barely ever paid you any attention

You had gotten used to constant hunger and had learned to live off of dumpster diving

You’d go to the dumpsters behind stores and collect whatever goods/food you could find

Places you often went to were beauty stores since you learned that there was money to be made by selling the products that the stores dump

You were quirkless which is why you were constantly on your own. You’re parents had no idea where you were half of the time and didn’t care

One day when Nemuri had the day off she saw the dirty and malnourished child walk into the alley behind the makeup store

She followed you and saw you climb into the dumpster and start filling up a small backpack with items from the dumpster such as lotions, lipsticks, foundations, perfumes, etc.

When you had finished, you climbed out only to see Nemuri staring down at you

When she asked what you were doing, you immediately tried to run away but she quickly used her quirk to put you to sleep

After finding out about your situation when she brought you to the hospital, your parents were arrested and charged with child neglect and endangerment

Nemuri noticed that you would rarely ask for things and had a hard time advocating for yourself

If she didn’t bring something up first, then you’d likely ignore it or wouldn’t say anything

You felt immense guilt in simply asking for a snack or a hug or things like that

So she started having you use a journal to help you understand and validate your feelings. She’d leave a notepad with a box for you to write down your thoughts and feelings so that you guys can read them together when she has the time

Ryukyu:

You had been another child who was used by the Shei Hassaikai. Your quirk allowed for your blood to cure all types of illnesses

Your parents sold you to Chisaki due to them being in debt and needing the money

Chisaki was using you to create vaccines

When the Raid took place, you managed to escape but were terrified of men

Since Ryukyu was one of the few females involved, she decided to adopt you

You originally hated touch but learned to love it after awhile

Your favorite thing is cuddling with Ryukyu

Ryukyu brings you to her agency and has you do your homeschooling there. If you want to go to public school then that’s fine, but while you’re healing, you get to stay with her

She tells people to let you come to them instead of walking up to you

Nejire is like a big sister to you

Wild Wild Pussycats, Mandalay:

In this case, your parents weren’t as bad, but they weren’t the best. They struggled to understand you and how your mind worked which ultimately led them to unintentionally neglecting you

You were a very quiet child and had a hard time with talking, not that you couldn’t talk, it’s just that speaking was very difficult for you

Your parents lived in a cabin in the woods and you loved it, until a forest fire broke out, you see, your quirk is fire manipulation, basically fire bending, you were playing outside at night when you accidentally set fire to the forest

It quickly spread and ended up consuming your home at night, your parents tried to drive away but they realized you weren’t with them which led them to suffocate from the thick smoke whilst they searched for you

You thought your parents abandoned you so you stayed put in your little tent in the woods. Your quirk allowed to keep the fire at bay but the panic and fear caused the flames to out of control

When the Wild Wild Pussycats got the call, Ragdoll reported your location and quirk. Pixie-Bob used her earth manipulation to smother the flames. While Tiger searched the area, Mandalay tried talking to you telepathically

She helped you breathe and calm down, as you breathed, the flames seemed to grow and shrink with your breathes. After you calmed down, Mandalay eventually reached you and brought you to their place in the woods

Originally you were terrified of fire due to the trauma of accidentally killing your parents, even though they ignored you often

Mandalay introduced you to her nephew Kota, Kota saw how terrified of fire you were and showed you his water quirk

Together with therapy and the joined help of Mandalay and Kota, you slowly learned to accept your quirk and lost your fear of it

Kota also helped you with speech therapy and you slowly learned to speak

Every step of progress you made, no matter how small, was celebrated and praised, even when you relapsed your were congratulated for your effort

[all-pacas]

CAMERON HAD A THING FOR CHASE ALL ALONG: THE PROPAGANDA

I've talked before about how you can make a fairly decent case for Chase having a tiny crush on Cameron since S1: I'd never go so far as to say he was in love and pining this whole time, but the man was attracted and made it pretty clear. It's admittedly harder to see this from Cameron's POV, since the show is not very good at illustrating her feelings generally (her crush for House is blatant, but also arrives from on high out of the blue), but… I think you can make an interesting case that Cameron had been lightly interested in Chase for just about as long.

The thing is: in S1, the two are clearly friends. As early as episode two, we see them joking around together (Chase also takes a moment to sexually objectify her), and Chase is actually the most likely of the team to stick up for Cameron or defend her: he makes something of a habit of telling House her good ideas, and there are a few differential scenes where he takes her side over House's. Cameron, in turn, is both the only one to doubt/refuse to believe Chase would rat to Vogler, and is openly worried about Chase in Cursed. It's useful to compare Foreman's relationships with them both here: Foreman and Cameron clash surprisingly often about patient care and ethics, and both immediately (correctly, mind you) assumes Chase ratted to Vogler and doesn't show the faintest interest in the Rowan Chase drama. Cameron and Chase joke around, stick up for one another, and get along. The one exception is in Heavy, when House intentionally pits them against one another to save their respective jobs: I'd argue that Chase turning on Cameron so fast is meant to be surprising in part because they're usually so aligned.

Chase is also someone Cameron confides in. He is the one she talks to about her crush on House, and the scene in which she first addresses it is fairly telling:

Cameron: Did House seem weird to you? Chase: Are you expecting him to be weird? Cameron: We spoke about how we felt. Chase: You told him you liked him? Cameron: No, of course not. Chase: What are you talking about, then? Cameron: I asked him if he liked me. Chase: Why would you do that? Cameron: Because I like him. Chase: You like him, like him? Cameron: Doesn’t matter, he doesn’t like me. Chase: Hey, he doesn’t like anybody. And nobody likes him.

Cameron feels vulnerable here, and yet she goes to Chase and is pretty up front with him. He doesn't seem that surprised by her crush, and even tries to reassure her about it. She does not have this conversation with Foreman, nor is it the only time she and Chase talk about this sort of thing: they have a very similar conversation in S2's TB or Not TB, where she tells him about the patient asking her out.

(*As an aside, Cameron's habit of using Chase as a sounding board for her crushes on other men is probably a big reason he ends up so insecure and worried about House as a romantic rival later on, lol.)

In S2, we actually see this friendship continue: Chase is openly worried about her in Hunting before the Meth Hookup, asking her to drinks, checking up on her, and even offering to work overtime on her behalf; this is again fairly different compared to Foreman and House's more muted reactions (and his own later apathy towards Foreman in Euphoria, lol). She is somewhat understandably more muted in supporting him in The Mistake, considering they'd just had sex — but she unilaterally tells Stacy Chase did nothing wrong, and doesn't deny her bias towards him. They're friends! They've always been friends!

But there's no denying there's always been a sexual/attraction aspect, too. Cameron is actually the main instigator of this: in Occam's Razor, she hears that Chase might be interested in her and sexually harasses the hell out of him; this isn't a sincere sign of attraction, exactly, but… Chase makes a surprisingly number of comments that make it clear he's attracted to her, and it actually is requited. She makes jokes about his sexual prowess in Safe, she enjoys teasing him in Occam's Razor, she is consistently amused instead of annoyed when he jokes about patients wanting to ask her out or drawing attention to her necklace and therefore breasts. It's not flirting, exactly, but the sexual edge is always there: in a cut line in Occam's Razor, Cameron confirms she does find Chase attractive and want to 'jump' him, but is resisting these impulses because she can control herself.

She is told repeatedly in Hunting to be selfish, to do something she wants, to have fun for a change. And she calls Chase over for sex. (This, in an episode where she also had a major health scare and he was the only one to show open worry for her well being.) We can't pretend that oh, the thing she always secretly wanted to do was meth: the episode pretty clearly implies she's been wanting to fuck Chase for a while. When he tells her it can't happen again, she doesn't argue or seem upset… but tellingly, she never says it was a mistake, or a bad idea. She calls out the patient for lying about how happy he is, but never actually seems to regret her actions. She did something she wanted, and that could have just been having casual sex, having fun for once… but she called Chase.

This is something she repeats in S3, in an even more telling way. Cameron doesn't just decide to start a FWB relationship out of the blue, because she's bored: she claims it's convenient and simple, but you absolutely should not forget that earlier in the episode she and Foreman had a discussion about commitment, that relationships are on her mind. Foreman told her she's afraid of commitment, and so she turns around and… propositions Chase? She's trying to prove Foreman wrong here, prove herself wrong. And it's clear right away that Cameron doesn't believe any of her words about convenience and practicality: by the next episode, she and Chase are spending all their time together at and out of work; by Top Secret and Fetal Position they're not just having sex all over the hospital but eating meals together after work; by Airborne she's calling it a relationship and being corrected by Chase. Even if she's insisting it's a casual relationship, she spends two months glued to him and kind of treating him like they're dating.

And again — it's Chase. She doesn't proposition Foreman, she never tries again with House after S1 (the Half Wit makeout session being clearly driven by her lingering crush but not at all an attempt at a relationship with him), she hesitates but rejects TB Guy, she doesn't try to date anyone else. She keeps singling out Chase, someone she already likes and cares about and who she knows cares about her (even just as a friend). She keeps propositioning him. Chase, too, seems to believe there's more to this than she insists: he is honestly surprised and hurt when she rejects him in Airborne ("You can't tell me that you—", he starts), and in Act Your Age reads her dead to rights by pointing out how wildly out of character her stoic act is. Implicitly — and explicitly, according to the show — he is correct.

In Lockdown, Cameron is nice enough to tell us how she (at least retrospectively, in her head) views the relationship. She is trying to stand up to Chase's accusations, but it also does read as a statement of intent, and it does match up fairly well with all of this:

CHASE: The first time you slept with me was because you were on crystal meth. CAMERON: I was on the drugs because I was emotional. It was the emotions that led to the sex, not the drugs. CHASE: Not true. After that, you refused to let it go further than just sex. CAMERON: Because I knew I was falling for you and I didn't want to.

She slept with Chase not because she wanted the sex, but because it was Chase, because she was emotional and scared and he was her friend. She rejected him in Airborne because she was scared of falling for him, not because she didn't care. She has cared about Chase since S1; Cameron runs and avoids her feelings whenever she can as a rule, and this is no different. But she's cared the whole time. She keeps singling out Chase because she likes him, not because she doesn't.

[nightlyrequiem]

Be Still My Heart

Chapter 3- Trials and Tribulations

Masterlist AO3 Next Previous

New Chapter Every Saturday

You're the best in the meth industry but a new product suddenly pops up. You and your boss, Valeria, must figure out who is making it so you can take back the market. All the while tension is building between the two of you.

A/N: I have a job interview on Monday! Hope I get the job, but also the idea of working is filling me with dread! But also, I need to start saving up for university! And I need to get my application ready by early October! The only stress relieving activity I have is my writing now.

Tags/Warnings: Illegal Substances, Boss Employee Relationship, Angst, Some Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Manipulation, Suggestive Themes, Smut (But Only in CH19.), Dual POV

The incessant buzzing of the obnoxious florescent lights rarely bothers you, but tonight they're giving you a terrible headache. One that started at the back of your neck and slowly migrated to behind your eyes. A steady, painful throb. Your back is growing sore from how long you've been hunched over your desk, one hand holding up your head, the other lazily scribbling down words and numbers. A growing pile of discarded papers ripped from your notebook mock you from the red tiled floor. A physical reminder of your inability to come up with something satisfactory. You should take a break, you know this, but you fear stopping will disrupt your flow.

And what a great flow it is. It has more in common with a trickle of rainwater beside a sidewalk than it does with a roaring river. You didn't think it would be so hard to add more sugar to a meth recipe, but you're unsure if it will even mix correctly with some of the other ingredients. There's also the matter of its state. Should you melt it? Just pour it in the mix as is? You sit straight and stretch. Raising your arms and twisting your back. There's a dull crack and a slight pinch in your lower spin but the stiffness is alleviated for the time being.

You're feeling stressed about this. What happens if you can't figure out a way to correctly mix the sugar in? You frown, which only worsens your headache. Everything was so simple when all you had to worry about was making the meth high quality. Now you have to contend with new mixtures. You're not even a real chemist, you just took a natural shine to it in high school and didn't do anything more with it. Now instead of honing in on your natural understanding of the chemical world and working with scientists on vaccine or medicine or literally anything actually important, you're hidden away down in an underground lab cooking meth for a drug lord.

The metal door creaks open, and you hear light footsteps approaching. Turning to look you see Corra and her full head of curls approaching you. She smiles easily, full lips pulled back to reveal slightly uneven teeth. It's one of those contagious smiles that make you smile back despite your mood. 

"You've been down here for hours." She remarks, leaning against the wall. Corra looks around, surveying the space. "Do you even have a bathroom down here?"

"I pee in a cup." You deadpan. Corra just looks at you, brows furrowing. You feel the need to clarify. "I'm joking."

"Oh." She huffs, breaking out into a small, relieved grin.

Corra leans over your shoulder to peer at your mess of notes.

"What's all that?" She asks you.

"I'm trying to come up with a different recipe for my meth." You sigh. "There's something new going around the streets and it's sweeping through our customers like a disease." You feel a fresh wave of bitterness. At first you marveled at the creation of the orange substance but now you're just pissed off. You're sure it's not originating from Las Almas which means it's big enough to hop cities, states, maybe even the border.

"Looks complicated." She frowns. "You must be so smart to be able to do all that."

You don't feel very smart. If you were, maybe you wouldn't be down here still trying to properly form ratios. "Thank you, Corra." You respond politely. You've learned to just accept compliments even if you don't really believe them. It makes conversations so much easier.

Corra walks up to the large metal cooking contraption and lifts a finger up, caressing the cool surface. You can make out her distorted image on the side. The curving metal dulling her colours.

"How does it work?" Corra inquires. Turning to look at you.

"Uh.. well." You stand up. "I have to measure out the ingredients carefully then mix them together in a certain order." You explain. "Then I pour the liquid solution into this-" You tap two fingers against the metal container. A dull thudding ringing out in the room. "-It heats it and after a couple of minutes travels through those pipes were it slowly drips into the pan. The crystals grow from the dripping liquid."

Corra nods but there's a pinch to her brows that tells you she's still confused. You don't blame her.

"Sounds like a lot of work." She murmurs. "Pretty impressive."

You smile at her praise. It's simple work when you do it enough times. "Thanks."

"Want to go to dinner with me on Friday?" Corra asks suddenly. Looking too casual for someone who just asked another person on a date.

"Like as a date?" You furrow your brows. Feeling nervous now.

"Yeah."

You consider Corra. It's not every day that a pretty girl shows interest in you. You don't exactly feel all that much for Corra, but you think you could. Love is supposed to come when you least expect it, and you certainly aren't expecting it.

"...Sure, yeah okay." You nod. Corra flashes you that smile again and nods, the curls along her face bouncing at the action.

"Great, see you Friday." She turns and walks out of the lab, leaving you to consider her words.

You're getting older. You're not thirty yet but it won't be too long before you are. Not that thirty is old but considering how aged and weathered you feel now... you don't want to think about it. Your dating pool is sad and dry. Not even a puddle. It could be because of how reclusive you are, or the fact that you live in a small town so the population of sapphic women is limited, but you aren't even approached by men either. Not that you want to be, but you aren't sure as to why no one seems interested. Corra is though. You've still got it. You regain your bearings and turn back to your notes. Your headache has reduced into a barely noticeable ache, making it easier for you to think.

after another few grueling hours, you finally finish up three experimental ratios to present to Valeria. You lean down and gather the heap of papers and dump them. You clean up your space, even though you're bone tired and ready to go home and sleep. You gather your notebook and other personal items and make your way to the exit.

You stop at Valeria's office, but she isn't there. You're so used to seeing her sat behind that old desk that your mind blanks at her absence. You turn around and walk down the hall with uncertainty. Unsure of where to find her. You roam around for a while before finally swallowing your nerves and asking one of the grunts. You feel uncomfortable around them. Admittedly, it's a little silly of you to be. Their tatted arms and white wife beaters and chains rouse suspicion in you, despite the fact that you both work for the same evil woman. You're told Valeria is up on the roof so that's where you go.

You walk out onto the roof and see Valeria standing at the railing. Smoke billows from the lit cigarette between her fingers. You approach and begin to speak but stop when she startles.

"Jesus!" Valeria eyes you. 

"Sorry." You reply absently. Valeria shakes her head in response.

"We need to put a bell on you." She remarks. "You're disturbingly quiet."

You like the way those words make you feel. "I finished a few recipes for the sugar meth." The sky is darkening. The last of the sun's rays spill over the tops of the mountains in the distance. Lighting up the dusty, orange desert. Not much can survive out here. Besides thorny bushes and tall, spindly cacti. Of which their shadows stretch over the landscape.

Valeria nods. She's relaxed tonight. There's no rigid tension in her shoulders, even her usual scowl has been smoothed away into a resting frown.

"That's good." Valeria says appraisingly. "I appreciate how quick you are with things. I wish the other idiots here would share your work ethic."

Her words amuse you. The corners of your eyes crinkle ever so slightly to show it. "If only."

"I want you to stay late on Friday." She says. "I want you to walk me through the process."

You're about to agree out of habit because you usually don't have anything else going on. Then you remember you have a date.

"Oh. I can't actually..." You say awkwardly. Valeria fixes you with a frown. Dark brows pulled together.

"Why not?" She more so demands an answer than asks for it.

"Well I have a date." You reply. Feeling a little proud. See? You're desirable.

You almost expect Valeria to be dismissive or just not care at all, but she goes quiet. She looks surprised and a little something else you can't quite name.

"Oh." She finally says, her voice sounding oddly pitched, like she's attempting to be nonchalant and failing. "Stay late on Saturday then." She drops her cigarette and snubs it out with her boot just a little too roughly.

"Okay, thank you Valeria." You say. Assuming she's pissed because you're choosing your personal life over work. Well, she'll just have to deal with it.

"Mhm." She turns away, disinterested. "Have a good night."

You offer your own farewell and leave. Feeling a little ruffled by her sudden coldness.

[strawberrysnoopy]

PROLOGUE/TEASER

summary: for months, leon has been writhing in his bed dreaming of his friend's wife (you). he's been fighting the desperation for months until that one night you bring up a lingerie shoot you've done for a prestigious brand.

part one

**BASED ON THE CHARACTER.AI BOT BY WESKER420. Please follow them, jesus christ, their bots are like crystal meth: they are so good.**

warnings: this is an OOC. I am a firm believer that Leon is an honest and very respectful man and would never do anything to hurt another person to the best of his ability. leon x model!fem! reader, series, SMUT!! SMUT!! SMUT!! they will fuck and that is a promise! infidelity (obvs, babes, look at the title), fem! reader, reader has a vagina, descriptions of masturbation, brief mention of a fleshlight, lube, tissues. leon's kind of a perv if you squint, vaginal sex, anal sex, smoking, language, drinking, weed smoking (mention and act), some texts, lingerie mention, photoshoots, jealousy and possessiveness (the hot kind), ada slander at times, leon is married to ada, no use of y/n or (name) because it gives me the ickity ick, angst at times becos i'm a sad gorl, sorry if grammar sucks but im a slut, also i promise there's dialogue i just ❤️ context and description, slowburn, mutual pining, eventual smut, pov switching from time to time (but not like you pronouns changing to she/her, just like the majority of a chapter would be told in Leon or your point of view,)

For months, Leon had been writhing in his silk sheets at night. He was no stranger to these encounters, considering his career as an agent. Nightmares were a usual guest in his home of dreams, but this time was different. They weren't the usual nightmares of losing his team, no. They were...wet dreams. About you.

Dreams of fucking you so hard he'd break the bed. Dreams of your goddamn perfect tits bouncing in unison with his violent thrusts. Dreams of your whines, constantly praising him on how good he fucked you, how good he felt with the tip of his cock kissing your cervix like they had just had their first kiss on their front porch after a first date. He was fiendish in those fantasies. He'd gotten desperate to the point of going online and buying a fleshlight with his own adult money. He had felt so shameful. Leon went out and fought a bioweapon (saving the world) with a fat paycheck handed to him. A paycheck he would spend on a sex toy because he couldn't stop dreaming of fucking you.

But that's all they were to him. Dreams. Wet dreams, at that, but just dreams. He did feel guilty, there was no denying that: he felt like a teenager going through puberty all over again, having to jerk his cock multiple times past the point of overstimulation to have the fleeting moment of you pass his mind and regulate back onto the normal, time-to-time sexual thoughts of his wife. He knew he probably wasn't alone in this. Besides, he wouldn't ever act on it. True, Leon was in an unstable and semi-toxic relationship with his wife, Ada, but the mere thought of cheating on her made him feel violently ill. He was loyal. He was kind. He was honest. He was the type of man you brought home to your parents and they'd clamor over him like a newborn baby Jesus. At least that's what he'd try to convince himself of. But tonight, Leon Kennedy would be a different man. He'd diligently play the part of a loving and caring husband, one who could never dream of cheating on his wife with another woman. Tonight would be the night that he would have dinner with his friends he hadn't seen in a while, chat, have a good laugh and a good meal until he eventually went home and spent the rest of the night with Ada. Leon knew this wouldn't be the most perfect night ever, of course not: he's never been a lucky man in his life, and that certainly won't be changing tonight. Why? Because you're there. You're there to haunt him like some horny odd ghost: almost as if you're taunting and teasing him with your mere presence. Like you're telling him: "I know you want to fuck me."

He's torn from his thoughts with the sultry palm of Ada's hand surfacing upon his shoulder. Yet, her hand feels cold. He remembers the warmth he felt at the beginning of their marriage, she felt sweaty at some points, but she felt as cold as freezing air in a Colorado Winter. He realized he had been standing in front of their bathroom mirror for ten minutes, doing the same motion of moving his tie back and forth like he was masking the way he thought about changing it.

"Ready?" Leon nodded in response, finally stopping the long game of toying with the elongated piece of fabric. He pats his wife's hip, to which he's met with a curt smile, concealing a plethora of disgust. He wants to be sad. Say something snarky. Be angry even. But all he feels is disappointed in himself. Leon knew that Ada had betrayed him ages ago during the Raccoon City incident but had put it upon himself to trust her again. That's what love is right? He would tell himself every time he felt a doubt begin to creep inside his hollow mind. Trusting someone even when they hurt you in the past.

Eventually they arrive at the dinner party, being greeted with hugs and the usual: "Leon, Ada, it's been so long. So nice to see you!"'s and so and so forth. On one hand, he's grateful. How lucky is he to have the opportunity to come together with his friends and have a nice evening that quells the dark thoughts of breaking his wife's trust or the fact their marriage was breaking at the seams and there was nothing he could do to fix it anymore. Then there's his other hand. The hand that's caked in filth and gut-wrenching horniness that tells him to cheat on his wife with you. The devil on his shoulder, if you will. The small malevolent voice was awoken as soon as his eyes settle upon your body. The one he dreamt about for the past few months.

You're wearing cute little pearlescent earrings upon your lobes, a necklace to match and finished off with a very lovely black slip dress that hugs your body just right. The fabric lovingly stretches across your tits like the dress was ripped straight from every man's dream. There was a slit upon the side: revealing enough until... There was a stirring in his jeans. His cock suddenly leaps to life as if it were unconscious and been resuscitated back to life via CPR. The phallic shaft ached against the gusset and fly of his cotton Calvin Klein brand boxers: tip sweeping against his waistband in a way that felt so familiar now, so normal. And for one of the first times in Leon Scott Kennedy's life, he truly realizes how fucked he is.

credits: snoopy divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more heart divider by @saradika-graphics

[dreamwritesimagines]

Okay. Here me out. A headcannon:

Logan getting surprise gifts for Sunshine. Logan would buy something he knows Sunshine wants or something she mentioned liking one time but would send Theo in to give it to her. Like, he'd pump him up about it too

"Your mom really wants this but she'll only accept it if you give it to her, okay bub?"

Theo insists he understands but manages to tattle on himself every single time 

- "Oh my goodness! Thank you, Bean! I was just thinking about how much I wanted this. You sure you can't read minds?" 

"No but maybe Mr. Logan can! Cause he's the one who bought it."

"Maybe. But you gave it to me. And that's the most important part of giving a gift." Sunshine would say, booping Theo on the nose and giving him a tight hug with a million kisses. "Cause the one who gives the gift gets all the thanks! Thank you, Bean!"

"You're welcome, Mommy!" 

- Later Sunshine corners Logan about it

"Theo gave me the most gorgeous bracelet earlier today."

"Mhmm, he's a good kid."

"Yeah, the best. But I guess I'm gonna have to keep a closer eye on him to figure out what he's been selling to be able to afford 14k gold." 

Sunshine would pause to give Logan the opportunity to confess. He never does. 

"I should start by double checking my secret marijuana plant under the bed to see if he's clipping that. Or the communal meth lab in the basement, I would hate for him to hurt himself down there. Janice does NOT clean her station even though we've all asked her to a thousand times. Or maybe I'll just pull him out of school to make sure he has no one to sell to anymore."

"Alright, ya got me," Logan would turn around with folded arms

"No shit. That was an insane gift, Lo." Logan would mumble something about not worrying about it and would go back to whatever he was busying himself with

I LOVE THIS HEADCANON SO MUCH OH MY GOOOOD! 😍 HONEYYYY!😍 You're so talented, thank you so so much! ❤️

First of all, this is so like Logan! 😂 Like, he knows Sunshine won't accept it from him, he knows he should get Theo to get it to her but doesn't see that Sunshine would maybe question how exactly her little son got her an expensive af bracelet??? LIKE SIR? THAT'S A CHILD?? SUNSHINE KNOWS HIS ALLOWANCE, SHE IS THE ONE WHO GIVES IT TO HIM??? 😂

Theo insists he understands but manages to tattle on himself every single time Theo is a precious cinnamon roll who cannot lie even when he wants to 🥰

"Maybe. But you gave it to me. And that's the most important part of giving a gift." Sunshine would say, booping Theo on the nose and giving him a tight hug with a million kisses. "Cause the one who gives the gift gets all the thanks! Thank you, Bean!" HELP, SUNSHINE AND THEO ARE SO CUTE❤️

"Mhmm, he's a good kid."

"Yeah, the best. But I guess I'm gonna have to keep a closer eye on him to figure out what he's been selling to be able to afford 14k gold."  THAT IS THEO'S MOM AND DAD❤️

"I should start by double checking my secret marijuana plant under the bed to see if he's clipping that. Or the communal meth lab in the basement, I would hate for him to hurt himself down there. Janice does NOT clean her station even though we've all asked her to a thousand times." asdfdghjkl I can't stop giggling😂 Sunshine would be saying all that with a completely straight face until Logan turned around 😂❤️

I feel like Logan would definitely try to play it off and Sunshine would legit go around the table to look him in the eye and go like,

"You could've told me, you know?"

"You wouldn't have accepted it if it didn't come from Theo."

"Okay but to repeat, I know how much money he has. He has a jar he puts his savings into, and it's like twenty dollars."

"Okay but-"

"The jar is made of glass."

"Noted."

"But that was incredibly sweet of you."

"Yeah it's...it's nothing."

"It's not nothing. I'll wear it forever so, sorry I'm not giving it back."

[nardo-headcanons]

Hey my dear mutual! Another super stupid and weird request coming, so, please, feel totally free to ignore completely if you want, really. So, let's say instead of a criminal organization, the Akatsuki are actually a lab team. Which would be their roles, their work focus or their research topics? How would they behave at work with each other or, I don't know, whatever you can think of. Inspired by your agar plates post, by the way, hahahaha

Hello Sasuke, my dear. Don't call your asks weird, I love how creative they are! If anyone wants to write a fic about this please TAG me!

Big thanks to @the-real-sasuke-uchiha for requesting!

The Akatsuki in a modern research lab AU

Akatsuki Labs, Inc. No one knows what they're actually researching, and how they get their funding, however everyone hires them, they're incredibly popular with institutions and businesses alike...

Deidara is a lab rookie who is still at the beginning of his study. He went to a scientific high school and an absolute ace at chemistry. Besides studying chemistry, his other major is pyrotechnical engineering. He blows shit up on the regular and even adds copper sulphate to fires when he is the one supposed to put them out. He frequently steals minerals from the lab to use them for his pottery projects. And yes, he knows how to make meth.

Hidan is on his way to become a neurologist. He is fascinated by the way the nervous system works (especially while processing pain) and has the ego of a neurosurgeon twice his age. However he is regularly asked for a second opinion because he knows his shit. He's pretty popular with the ladies due to his confidence, however many of them are freaked out when they find out what a huge masochist he is.

I've never seen Itachi as a huge stem guy, but I've actually had a discussion about this with my dear moots @pet-plasma-bubble and @suki91 and came to the conclusion that he's either a plant biologist or studies medicine because he's one of these kids with a chronic and/or underdiagnosed illness going into medicine to make a change. Plant biologist!Itachi regularly talks to his plants when no one is looking and he gives them names as well. He doesn't really care much for the actual lab work and prefers to take care of the plants in the different lab greenhouses. Med student!Itachi is one of these anatomy girlies who draw their stuff in fancy colors and actually enjoy studying human anatomy.

Kakuzu is a senior scientist/professor who initially studied pharmacology/pharmacy to save many lives and prolong the lives of millions, but eventually got disillusioned and sold his soul to the pharma industry. He should technically be retired now, but he joined the Akatsuki labs inc to make some money on the side.

Kisame started out as a marine biologist specializing in shark research, however, seeing these beautiful, innocent creatures get bastardized by Hollywood and pollution made him apply to Akatsuki labs inc to help find solutions to the current crises caused by humanity. During his free time, he volunteers in a dolphin rehabilitation center.

Konan is the cofounder of Akatsuki labs inc, everyone respects her and even looks up to her. Once a brilliant scientist in the field of engineering, she got tired of how male dominated it was and how her male colleagues kept getting the credit for her ideas. She frequently holds lab courses for young girls interested going into the scientific field.

Nagato is the Akatsuki labs founder, and rarely seen in the lab. He has made himself a name in the field of robotics by inventing the Shurado robotics system which helps millions of automated machines run to this day. Rarely seen in the lab, he communicated with his employees via his Pain Alias Email. though to be fair, Konan writes most of these emails for him; she's the only one regularly talking to him face-to-face.

Orochimaru is a geneticist and biochemist, his focus being finding ways to avoid cellular decay, as well as the human genome and anti aging research. His parents are academics as well and he lived up to their expectations to the fullest. He has his own skincare formula which keeps him looking snatched at all times. Given the rumors about several scientific ethical code violations, everyone is kinda scared of him except for his personal lab tech, Kabuto.

Sasori is a renowed mortician who's also very interested in histology. His preparation techniques are unmatched and he even invented new preparation- and histological staining methods, which are called "Red Sand" and "Red Technique", respectively. He often gets into fights with Kakuzu about his microtome collection being unnecessarily expensive.

Tobi is the Akatsuki labs CEO cosplaying as a clueless intern that always steals from the candy bowl in the waiting room. In reality, he has a PHD in physics, his thesis being about rifts in space time and interdimensional interactions, however all of his papers are published under an alias. He has a soft spot for Deidara and refuses to fire him despite the latter's frequent "accidents".

Zetsu is a biological anthropologist fascinated by human evolution and human behavior. Some think even his colleagues are subjects of his studies. Some people say he's two-faced, but he is very chatty and inquisitive most of the time. He volunteered to have Itachi's venus fly traps in his office and can sometimes be seen feeding them dead flies or mosquitoes.

[zarnzarn]

It's over.

Blitz drives home in silence, radio busted and spritzing after three different channels all seemed to be playing Verosika's dumb, annoying music.

He remembers her in a tank top in the late morning all those years ago, tongue out as she fiddled with the succubus lyre, singing fragmented nonsense under her morning breath. He remembers the glow of her skin, the raspiness of her voice, the scribble of her pencil, the glimpse of their matching tattoos in the light.

His had gotten blown out in a shootout years later, when a stray explosion caught him across the side, disintegrating his entire right shoulder and growing back white. That had been a miserable job, Blitz the only survivor of that crew after the explosion knocked him out of bounds as the rest of them were slaughtered. He'd liked that bunch. Loved them, almost.

Well. Hah. That was the problem, wasn't it?

The wipers squeak as they turn on and Blitz automatically reaches for the handle and jiggles it until they stop.

For all that he'd been fucking shocked walking into the party at the sheer fucking size of it- and proud too, duh, what the hell, twelve-year-old Blitz would have died in shock- it wasn't actually only exes and bad hookups. Just apparently everyone he'd ever pissed off, which- how the hell did Verosika even know.

He wonders if Moxxie and Millie ever got an invitation and wants to throw up. He wonders if Loona ever got one and wants to drive the van into a wall.

They'd be better off if he did, actually. Everyone would.

But as the charming graffiti on the wall stated, Blitz was a cockroach motherfucker, unable to be put down even in the face of absolute certain death for anyone else. He thinks that might have been Orella- they'd worked jobs together until he caught wind of the leader trying to betray the crew for cash and a higher up job offer and he'd joined the rival group to save his hide. He'd fucking told her, he sat her down and explained and everything- but she fucking refused to believe him until she got blown up, seconds after he'd left the building.

Survived, luckily, all of them. Unfortunately, took it fucking personally and came after him, which-

Ohh, fuck, the goddamn leader threw him under the bus, didn't he? Fucking hell. Another problem solved ten years too late.

He wonders if she was at the party. Or if Bion was. Or Lucas. Or Glenna.

He can't believe Stolas went. He can't believe that asshole said he wouldn't and then he did.

He looked good though.

Good enough that-

Blitz jerks at the steering wheel and pulls over sharply, pushing the seat back so he can put his head between his knees. His hands are shaking, breathing loud as the engine dies into silence.

He can't think about it. He can't think about it, or else he's going to drive back and slaughter everyone there, no matter what they once meant to him. Good for him, hope he gets laid worked if they were over and done with and they were not done.

He can still feel the warmth of Stolas' frame in his lap. Drunk as hell and whiny and adorable. Saying all he wanted was to be craved, loved, held close.

Sitting there in the car, hands over his eyes, Blitz sits there and needs him like opium and meth and can't shake the feeling that this might be one of his biggest fuck-ups yet.

[1427]

dirge

Boyd Crowder X OFC (Beatle)

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

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

Word count: 5.5k

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

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

Inb4 I disappear for 3 months again

18+ mdni 

✞

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

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

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

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

✞

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boyd knows how to get what he wants.

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

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

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

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

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

✞

She isn't anymore. 

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

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

Her hair never burned his nostrils before.

It's not meant to do that. 

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

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

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

✞

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

✞

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✞

Their first kiss doesn't taste anything like blood. 

It tasted like tobacco and dirt and her.

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

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

She says two days.

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

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

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

And she does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boyd’s good at talking. Beatle loves it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was letting him play with her. 

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

She liked him. Actually. 

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

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

✞

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

That she asked for it again afterwards.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He asks her whenever he wants it?

She repeats him in breathless moans as he slows his pace

He asks her even if she's sleeping.

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

He asks her why

Because he took it without asking.

Because he knew it was his.

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

✞

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

He can't believe how much he likes it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✞

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

He tells her no.

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

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

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

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

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

His heart pangs again.

✞

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

She didn't know that was his daddy.

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

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

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

✞

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

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

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

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

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

✞

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

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

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

✞

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

Couldn't his daddy see she was special?

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

That their love could have changed the world. 

It could have changed him.

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

✞

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He keeps being so sure it wasn't real.

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

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

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

✞

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

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

What she felt like.

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

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

He keeps finding reasons to use his gun. 

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

He doesn't think about her dead.

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

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

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

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

Any reason.

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

✞

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

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

[sjerzgirl]

No One REALLY Likes JD Vance.

JoJo of Jersey emailed this to her subscribers. It's long winded and I eventually tired of it, but it's got some jim-dandy smackdowns of JD Vance! Some vulgarities, yes. But, some real cold, low-blow, one-liners that're worthy of night time comedians. Enjoy!

"Yesterday, I tweeted the following:

(Let’s be honest, no one likes JD Vance. Not even the MAGAiest MAGA likes that f*cking guy.)

And boy oh boy did that trigger the cult. Every fascist asshole from Mike Lee (Utah's contribution to treason. wwv) to the Project 2025 “bloodless Revoltiin” guy came to his “defense” and that was how I knew I was directly over the f*cking target.

Because they all KNOW that J.D. Vance is the political equivalent of a wet fart in a crowded elevator—unavoidable, embarrassing, and guaranteed to ruin everyone’s day.

The guy has the charm of a truck stop urinal cake.

Nobody f*cking likes this guy. Not his colleagues, not his constituents, not his own party, not even his poor f*cking dog likes him.

The GOP only tolerates him because he’s just barely useful enough to keep around, like that one coworker who always f*cks up the coffee order but knows the Wi-Fi password. The second he stops being useful, they’ll drop him faster than he dropped his principles. J.D. Vance is not a leader. He’s a f*cking placeholder. A warm body in a cold chair. A white dude with a pulse and a willingness to sell out. That’s it. That’s the whole résumé.

He isn’t just spineless—he’s the political equivalent of a damp tissue someone tried to use as a parachute, and he sold out Appalachia faster than a meth head pawning a flat-screen TV.

He’s so f*cking weird he’d bring a karaoke machine to a baby shower and sing Nickelback like it’s a goddamn encore. He’s the type of guy who’d eat soup with his hands and then get pissed when you stare. Talking to him feels like getting stuck in an Uber with a driver who won’t stop talking about crystals—painful, endless, and it makes you want to jump out of a moving f*cking car.

This man is so soul-crushingly boring, he could make a Red Bull chugging contest feel like a meditation retreat. Honestly, he’s so f*cking dull, if he started talking at a rave, the DJ would cut the music just to tell him to shut the fuck up. Seriously, watching J.D. speak is like staring at a beige wall while someone reads you the terms and conditions of a Comcast contract. It’s not just dull—it’s an assault on your will to live.

He could read the ingredients on a cereal box and still make it sound like a eulogy.

He could walk into a room full of cocaine and make it yawn. He could host a TED Talk on surviving poverty and have people in the audience Googling “how to fake a seizure to leave early.”

He could walk into a room full of free beer and blowjobs and still have everyone wishing he’d f*ck off. He could hand out winning lottery tickets and people would say, “Keep it, asshole.”

He’s like a rash that talks—irritating, ugly, and impossible to get rid of.

This guy is so f*cking boring he could host a seminar on surviving the apocalypse and have people praying for the sweet release of death. He is such a charisma vacuum, he makes C-SPAN look like a goddamn Tarantino movie.

He thinks cargo shorts are “edgy” and oatmeal is “spicy” and refers to sparkling water as “a little too wild for me.” He’s the dude who brings a PowerPoint to a potluck to explain why he only brought napkins. The man probably thinks using a GIF in a text makes him “hip with the kids” and then ruins it by calling it a “jif” out loud.

He has the social instincts of someone who’d high-five a stranger at a funeral and then try to save it by saying, “It’s what they would’ve wanted.”

He’s so f*cking useless he can’t even order a goddamn donut like a normal f*cking person. He’ll stand there holding up the line, squinting at the menu like he’s deciphering the f*cking Rosetta Stone, and then hit the cashier with, “Soooo, what donut really speaks to the human condition?” Bitch, it’s fried dough with sugar—just pick one and f*ck all the way off before someone pelts you with a Boston Cream, you pretentious donut-dumbass.

Honestly, J.D. gives off the energy of a guy who practices finger guns in the mirror and still manages to miss.

He’s about as interesting as vanilla pudding, but somehow manages to be even blander—like if f*cking pudding could apologize for existing.

He has the energy of someone who keeps a diary of every gas station bathroom he’s ever visited, ranked by “vibes,” and still calls it his “travel journal.”

If charisma were a currency, this guy would be deep in debt, begging Elon Musk for a loan in Dogecoin.

He’s the kind of weirdo who says “goodnight” to his Roomba and genuinely waits for it to respond.

If a malfunctioning AI tried to simulate a relatable human but accidentally downloaded all its personality traits from the comment section of a f*cking mayonnaise recipe, it would be JD.

JD Vance is what happens when ambition and mediocrity have a baby, and it grows up to be a professional f*cking disappointment.

Oh, and let’s not forget that this guy has changed his name more times than a scammer on Facebook Marketplace. J.D.? James? Jimmy? Whatever the f*ck he’s calling himself this week, it’s clear he has no idea who he actually is. He’s like a Build-A-Bear stuffed with bad ideas and self-loathing.

And let’s not pretend his supporters are any better. These people act like he’s some kind of backwoods messiah, but in reality, he’s just a bootlicking corporate shill with the personality of a DMV waiting room.

They’re out there screaming, “You’re just jealous of J.D.!” Bitch, jealous of what? His ability to look like an apperceptive loaf of f*cking Wonder Bread? His uncanny knack for making every room he’s in feel like a funeral for fun? The only thing I’m jealous of is the people who’ve never had to sit through his bullshit. They’re the real winners here.

And can we talk about his face for a second? Why does he always looks like he just got caught jerking off to a Sears catalog? It’s this weird mix of smug and confused, like he’s genuinely shocked people haven’t figured out he’s a fraud yet.

Not to mention the fact that he’s somehow still out there pretending to care about the working class while sucking up to billionaires like they’re handing out free blowjobs.

And as an aside, Hillbilly Elegy is a steaming pile of self-aggrandizing horseshit masquerading as literature. This man wrote an entire memoir about his family like he’s the f*cking protagonist of Appalachia, but all it really proves is that he’s a judgmental little bitch who thinks he’s better than everyone else. “Oh, look at me, I escaped poverty and now I’m here to tell you why it’s your fault you’re still poor!” Shut the f*ck up, J.D. You’re not an inspiration. You’re a walking “How To” for bootstrapping bullshit. Your book is what happens when white guilt meets a thesaurus and decides to ruin Thanksgiving dinner.

He’s about as relatable as a f*cking Fabergé egg. He’s the kind of asshole who shows up to a tailgate party with a quinoa salad and wonders why everyone hates him.

And for f*ck’s sake, can someone teach this strawberry-scented-shit-heel to hold a six-pack. It’s beer, not a live grenade. Watching him clutch it like that is like watching a toddler try to parallel park after it got into granny’s secret stash of Crème de menthe.

And let’s not gloss over the fact that he demanded a thank-you from Volodymyr Zelensky.

Imagine being so insecure, so pathetically thirsty for validation, that you’re whining about not getting a gold star from a guy who’s literally fighting a war. “But why didn’t the Ukrainian president personally thank me for my performative bullshit?” J.D., shut the f*ck up. You’re not a hero. You’re not even a sidekick. You’re the random background NPC that gets killed off in the first five minutes of the movie so the real characters can have a reason to care.

So here’s the deal, J.D.: You’re a joke. A punchline. A f*cking afterthought in the grand scheme of American politics. You’re not a leader, you’re a leech. A parasite. A bottom-feeding opportunist who latched onto the MAGA movement like a tick on a dog’s ass. And the best part? Nobody f*cking likes you, dude. Not really. Even your so-called supporters are just pretending, sticking with you like they’re babysitting a screaming toddler they can’t wait to hand off. The second someone even slightly less unbearable comes along, you’re out—ditched faster than a blind date who shows up wearing Crocs and talking about crypto.

The sad f*cks in your little cult rushed to “defend” you, but let’s be real—that’s just guilt disguised as loyalty. Sure, the MAGA incel brigade swarmed Twitter like it was a Call of Duty lobby, hurling lame memes and misspelled insults in your “defense”, but it was less a movement and more a sad group chat spilling onto the timeline.

They don’t like you; they pity you. Every forced word of support screams, "We’re stuck with this clown." Even your defenders can’t stand you. The joke’s on you. And maybe, just maybe, if you could get your stupid f*cking face outta that poor f*cking futon for a hot sec, you’d be able to figure that the f*ck out.

But now that I know just how triggering insulting you is to the cuckholds in your cult of a party, there’s no f*cking way I’m taking my foot off the gas anytime soon."

This was also in the newsletter - it starts out good, but then crashes and burns for me. Like he just went too far. There's already enough stuff to laugh about without creating stupid shit.

[slavicbeastie]

Arcane season 2 trailer

Oh wow I'm so excited by this trailer. Spiking adrenaline...I'm scurrying up walls like spider on meth 🤪

Some thoughts:

- it seems to me that Mel is alive (Yay!). Maybe hurt. Ambessa doesn't sound angry enough for death. Also fuck you Ambessa with your "wrath must be met with wrath". What about Piltover's wrath to Undercity over decades and centuries, huh? But you're a war mongering tryant (and textbook narcissist), you wouldn't recognise concepts of justice and fairness it they slapped you in the face. She's on the bottom of my Arcane's characters' likeability list for sure. I don't care that she has got impressive physique. I hate that they gave her place in the game (yes she's even below Marcus and Finn. At least they have decency to be dead).

- Cait being all decisive and competent 😎 But if she's leading attack on Undercity, what are those Noxian soldiers about? Does she work together with Ambessa? *shudder* I like Cait but I kinda want her to fail in all three objectives. Sorry pretty officer, but I'm on side of Zaun's revolution and independence from Piltover's boot. And you sending in enforcers doesn't seem in support of that.

- Vi looks terrible in enforcer uniform. Terrible. And she continues her trend from the very beginning of the series of contradicting her own words to Jinx. How long that "Nothing ever going to change that." held up, huh? A few days? A month? Normally I would give benefit of the doubt due to deceptive trailer's editing, but as I said, it's hardly the first time. When it comes to Jinx, one must take her every statement with a pound of salt. Especially positive ones... I hope I am wrong, tho. Let me be wrong, trailer is lying, and after a breather and time to think, Vi is better than in S1 act three in relating to Jinx.

- Ooh chembarons fighting directly? Yay? Singed under enforcers' gunpoint! I know he's terrible mad scientist but someone save him. Jinx? Sevika? Victor??

- I'm surprised how happy I am to see Sevika again! I always strongly disliked her attitude to Jinx (she was kinda Silco's crew Mylo) so I didn't mind when Jinx hurt her, but I really love to see her back to full strength and fighting for Zaun. Also I am excited for Warwick?!

- Ekko is there. that's it

- and last but definitely not least - JINX! Most important in fact! Every bit of/about Jinx is absolutely BRILLIANT. *rolles around in utter joy* I'm so happy to see her again! 🥰 They already managed to exceed my expectations for her in season 2 in this very trailer. Can you imagine what it'll be to see all they did through nine eps 🤯

From the top - Is that great statue head of Jinx behind chembarons!!!! Is she now their symbol/role model or maybe even some kind of leader!? is that her in hooded cape? Like in that s2 poster? I would love her in cape! She deserves cool cape!

That mural?! THE JINX MURAL!!!! 😍 It's Arcane's rendition of Liberty Leading the People, painting about French revolution! *explodes into fireworks of happiness* Our girl is so legendary that not one but two great works of art are referenced through her🥰 She is revolutionary for Zaun! Or the very least literally symbol of revolution. People behind her have all blue coloured hair. Possibility of Inxs or just sign of people's alignment/allegiance to her?

Despite all the turmoil, planning and fighting my favourite girl still has time for her art installations. Of course she has! Standing there on the pillar with Silco's face saying sarcastic line. (edit: oops it's monkey actually)That's pure theatre. She should really try hand in writing a dramatic play. I think pitch black comedy would be best bet. I wonder if she'll found out that Vi already said her name right before, when she grassed on her to Council. She looks so fierce fighting. Go Jinx go!!!

That's all for now. If we don't get anything else until November I'll be fine. This is more than enough until then😌🤗💙💙