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drgnflyteabox · 21 days ago

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a little kate laswell x gn!reader drabble

-> insecurity, anxiety, hurt/comfort, relationship worries, OCD, sooooo self indulgent lmao, self-hatred, therapy, compulsive behaviors, ableist language used towards self, shame, this is literally nothing and theres no real ending so mb <3

You've been working on it. You have. The anxiety; the fear of abandonment. Kate leaves so often she's probably gone almost half the year, anyway. Your relationship isn't exactly built on physical closeness, and as the years go by you feel more and more secure.

She fits, you fit, your cat Cheddar fits. The house fits, even though it sometimes feels too big when she's gone and you're still a little afraid of being home alone.

Security's tight, babe, she's assured you a dozen times. Locks, alarms, the whole nine yards. Everything works. You're usually close to sure about that.

So, you’ve worked on recognizing which feelings are rooted in reality, and which feelings sometimes come from insecurity, or jealousy.

Sometimes, it's fear. That old braying beast in your head, muddling up reality (Kate loves you) with unreality (she hates you, your life is a lie).

You know where it comes from, but that doesn't always help. On the bad days, it even makes it worse. Something is wrong with you, really really wrong. Irredeemably wrong.

Kate's been on an op three months. Longer than usual, but you've been through it a couple times. It's a serious one, so you haven't even gotten more than the odd phone call maybe once every week and a half.

Which fucking sucks normally, but its worse when you can't seem to shake the voice in your head that says she's found someone else, that she's delaying coming home because she's sick of you.

You do have a small laugh at the one that tells you she's got a secret family – even in the state you're in that's a ridiculous thought.

Still, it doesn’t break you from your worries. You begin backsliding. Your hands chafe from washing them, your water bill climbs and climbs and climbs as a result of your compulsive showering.

Am I too dirty? You think. You feel dirty. Contaminated. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t like you anymore, doesn’t love you. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be, not with your insanity.

This is the cycle.

Someone will break in. You check the locks an even number of times. But did you? Okay, shower to ‘set’ the locks now, or someone really will break in. Don’t think of Kate. She hates you. Oh, hey Cheddar. Good boy. Did you lock the doors?

You’re exhausted. You lose track of the days, working robotically at your computer, burning your nose with the scent of bleach wipes. There’s not even any real cleaning, just you compulsively wiping the same four surfaces over and over.

When the wood starts showing a little damage from the incessant wiping, you cry in the fourth shower of the day.

You lose track so badly that you’re in bed rotting when Kate gets home.

The door opens, and your heart drops with fear – fuck, it’s happening. Then you check your phone and deflate. Fuck, you think again, for a different reason.

“Baby?” Kate’s voice is clear in the empty house. It makes you think of all the dust laying around, about how you usually tidy before she arrives.

You pull the cover over your face. Shame burns your face, injects lead into your muscles.

“You home?” she calls again. Cheddar meows, probably at her feet.

That’s how she finds you. Prone, upset, eyes burning.

“Oh, baby,” she murmurs. Her weight makes you dip towards her when she crawls on the bed. “Bad day?”

You pull the blanket down.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I meant to clean the house for you, and cook you something–”

“Hey,” she puts a finger to your lips, slipping in beside you to cradle one cheek in her rough palm, body pressed to yours.

You can’t help but lean into it despite feeling wretched, despite feeling like you’ve dirtied everything around you lately.

“I don’t need any of that, honey. I appreciate it, but I’m really just excited to see you,” she presses her mouth to your jaw. Not to entice, but to breathe you in, to feel you for the first time in months.

“But it’s awful,” you mumble. “It’s dusty, dirty, disgusting–”

She stops you again.

“Hey now, it looks fine to me,” then a frown. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. It’s the truth.

“Have you called Dr. Klein?”

“No,” finally, a tear slips down your temple. You’re confused, and angry about these feelings; why now? Why when you’ve recovered?

Kate tuts, wiping at your tear with a thumb. She climbs halfway on top of you, looking down at your face. She looks tired, which makes you feel even guiltier.

“God, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with this when you’ve just gotten back.”

Her frown deepens.

“Baby,” she starts. “We take care of each other, remember? What have we talked about?”

“Asking for help is okay,” you murmur. That’s one of the worst parts about this thing you have, the obsessions. They dress themselves up as the world's worst taboos. Speak them aloud and make them not only come true, but alienate everyone around you. In high school, you’d hardly spoken for fear of accidentally revealing your anxiety.

That in and of itself had been a years-long journey to heal in therapy. With Dr. Klein, with Kate, with yourself.

“Think we better set up an appointment, huh?” she says, and there’s no judgment in her voice, no sign of hatred.

“Yeah,” you whisper. You tilt your head towards her, and feel her nose against yours.

“I missed you,” she says, breath mingling with yours.

“I missed you too,” you say back.

#drgnfly writes #cw mental illness #kate come cradle my face pls #can you tell i made myself an appointment #aha #kate laswell x reader #cod x reader

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allthemeniveloved · 3 months ago

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It Will Come Back - Part 6

Summary: As the tension within the gang at Shady Belle grows heavier, you confront John about your fears for both of your safety and the dangerous path Dutch is leading everyone down.

wc: 2.9k

ao3 link

a/n: This is definitely a "bridge" chapter, so a little more fast paced and shorter, apologies if it feels rushed. I plan to write my ass off tonight and then schedule the next few chapters to be posted so I don't have to stress myself out going into the holiday weekend. Stay tuned! <3

The ride back to Clemens Point was peaceful, the calm of the weekend still lingering between you and John. The memories of quiet moments by the waterfall and the easy laughter you shared made the looming reality of camp feel distant, almost unreal. As you crossed into the clearing, the usual hum of the gang’s activity greeted you, but something felt different—tenser. John barely had time to dismount before Dutch appeared, striding toward him with purpose, his expression sharp and full of determination.

“There you are, Marston,” Dutch called, his tone brisk as his eyes flicked to you for the briefest of moments before locking onto John. “No time for rest. The Braithwaite mansion is ready to be hit, and we ride now.” Without waiting for a reply, Dutch clapped a hand on John’s shoulder, already pulling him toward the group of men gathering their weapons and mounts.

You stayed frozen for a moment, still holding Dahlia’s reins, your stomach twisting as you watched John get swept up into the chaos without so much as a chance to catch his breath. “Dutch, we just got back—” you started, but the older man waved you off with a dismissive gesture.

“This is the moment we’ve been waiting for,” he said, not even looking back at you as he continued toward his horse. “We need every man for this.”

John gave you a fleeting glance, his lips parting like he wanted to say something, but the urgency of Dutch’s call left no time. Before you could even protest, he swung back into the saddle, sparing one last look at you as he joined the others.

A heavy weight settled in your chest as you stood there, helpless, watching him ride off into the trees with the rest of the gang. Your mind swirled with worry, the image of John charging into the unknown—into danger—haunting you. The thought of losing him, of something going wrong, made your stomach churn, and though you tried to steady your breathing, the fear wouldn’t leave. You paced anxiously near the edge of camp, your heart racing with every passing minute as you waited for any sign of their return, praying silently that he’d come back to you unscathed.

The acrid stench of smoke still clung to the air as the gang rode hard away from the burning Braithwaite mansion, its roaring flames lighting up the night like a second sun. The cries of Miss Braithwaite echoed faintly in the distance, mingling with the hoofbeats pounding through the muddy roads. The job had gone south fast—what was supposed to be a final blow to the family that had crossed the Van der Linde gang turned into a fiery spectacle that left no doubt the Pinkertons would be close behind.

“Damn it, Dutch,” Arthur muttered under his breath as he rode alongside John, his revolver still drawn and his eyes scanning the treeline for trouble. “You really think this was the smart play?”

Dutch, riding ahead with Hosea, twisted in his saddle, his face lit by the faint glow of the distant fire. “Sometimes, Arthur,” he said sharply, “you have to make a statement. The Braithwaites thought they could cross us, and now they’ll think twice before anyone else does.”

Arthur scoffed, but his attention shifted back to the road as he tucked his revolver into its holster. Riding just in front of Lenny, Bill, Javier, and Micah, John’s jaw was set tight, his gaze flicking back toward the mansion every so often to reassure himself that no one was following.

“They’re gonna be after us now,” John muttered, his voice low. “Law, Raiders, whoever’s left of the Braithwaites—we can’t stay at Clemens Point.”

“Dutch knows it,” Arthur replied, though the weight of the situation settled heavily on his chest.

The sound of hoofbeats breaking through the dense evening air pulled your attention to the edge of camp, and your heart leapt at the sight of John riding in with the others. His shirt was smeared with soot and dirt, his face streaked with sweat, but he was upright, whole, and alive. Relief flooded through you as you rushed toward him, barely giving him a chance to dismount before you threw your arms around him. He held you tightly, his breath warm against your hair as he murmured, “I’m alright, darlin’. I’m alright.” His voice was steady, but you could feel the tension in his shoulders, the weight of whatever had happened still clinging to him.

He pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your arms as he looked down at you, his expression softening at your worried gaze. “It got messy,” he admitted, his voice low but firm. “The Braithwaites didn’t go down easy. They had people everywhere, fightin’ to the bitter end. We torched the place, but… there was more blood than Dutch let on.” He glanced away for a moment, his jaw tightening, before his eyes met yours again. “But I’m here, and I ain’t hurt. Just… tired.” His thumb brushed lightly against your arm as he tried to ease your concern.

You hesitated, your voice soft but firm as you looked at him, worry etched across your face. “John, I don’t like the things Dutch has been askin’ y'all to do lately—it feels like we’re crossin’ lines we shouldn’t be. Inserting ourselves where we don't belong."

John sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at you, his voice low but steady. “I get it, darlin’, but Dutch—he’s got a plan, a way outta all this mess, and we just gotta trust him a little longer.”

You nodded slowly, the tension in your chest tightening as you tried to meet John’s earnest gaze. “Alright,” you murmured, your voice softer than you intended. “If that's what you think, I’ll follow your lead.” But even as the words left your lips, doubt crept into your mind, twisting uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach. Something about Dutch’s plans had been unsettling you for weeks—the way his schemes seemed to grow riskier, more reckless, as if he were chasing something he couldn’t quite catch. You wanted to trust John, to believe in his unwavering faith, but deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this path was leading you both somewhere you might not come back from.

By the time the gang reached the swamp, the adrenaline from the night had worn thin, replaced by exhaustion and unease. The route was slow and winding, the horses uneasy as they picked their way through the misty bog. It wasn’t until the broken silhouette of Shady Belle appeared through the haze that Dutch finally signaled for everyone to stop.

“There it is,” he announced, his voice carrying through the night. “Our new home.”

You stared at the crumbling mansion, its windows broken and vines creeping up its sagging walls. The place reeked of abandonment and decay, its shadow looming over the swamp like a ghost of better days.

Arthur rode up beside Dutch, shaking his head. “This is what you had in mind? Looks more like a tomb than a camp.”

Dutch turned to him, a sharp glint in his eye. “It’s hidden, Arthur. Out of the way, quiet. We’ll make it work.”

John sighed heavily as he dismounted, helping you down before tying up the horses. “Don’t look like we’ve got much of a choice,” he muttered under his breath, his hand brushing against yours briefly as you both turned to assess the place.

Arthur pushed open a door, his revolver raised as he scanned the dim room.

“Squatters,” he muttered, his gaze falling on the scattered belongings and rotting food on the floor.

“Least they’re gone,” John said, nudging a broken chair aside with his boot.

“They didn’t leave it like this on their own,” you said quietly, pointing to the bloodstains smeared on the walls.

The group exchanged uneasy glances, but there was no time to dwell. Room by room, the gang secured the mansion, dragging debris outside and clearing a space for the camp.

By the time the sun began to rise, the worst of the mess had been dealt with, though the place still felt far from safe.

As everyone gathered near the front of the mansion, Dutch stood on the steps, his figure framed by the foggy dawn.

“This,” he said, his voice carrying over the group, “is not what I’d call ideal. But it’s what we have—for now. We’ll rebuild here, lay low, and plan our next move. They may think they’ve pushed us to the edge, but they’ll see… the Van der Linde gang isn’t so easily broken.”

The gang murmured their agreement, though the unease was palpable. Arthur stood off to the side, muttering something under his breath, while John lingered near you, his presence steady. As the others scattered to unpack and settle in, John turned to you, his eyes searching yours. “You alright?” he asked quietly, his tone softer now that the chaos had died down.

You nodded, though the exhaustion of the night weighed heavily on you. “I’ll be fine,” you said, offering a small smile.

His hand brushed against yours, a fleeting but reassuring touch. “We’ll make it work,” he said, echoing the sentiment Dutch had tried to inspire—but his words carried more weight, because they were for you alone.

This wasn’t home, but for now, it was all the gang had. And as you looked out at the dense swamp surrounding the mansion, the reality of the road ahead began to set in.

The move to Shady Belle brought no relief, only a deeper sense of unease that seemed to cling to the gang like the swamp’s heavy mist. The decaying mansion, with its creaking floors and eerie silence, felt more like a tomb than a refuge. Everyone was on edge, the relentless pressure of the Pinkertons and the gang’s dwindling fortunes gnawing at whatever unity remained. The turning point came with the grisly death of Kieran Duffy. When his mutilated body was dragged into camp, tied to his horse, it shattered what little sense of security anyone still clung to. The haunting image of Kieran’s lifeless form, a brutal message from the O’Driscolls, left the gang shaken. Even the usual bravado from the likes of Bill and Micah faltered in the face of such savagery, and for a brief moment, the infighting paused as the gang mourned one of their own, however quietly. But the fear lingered—if Kieran wasn’t safe, who was?

As the weeks dragged on, Dutch’s plans became more erratic, his once-charismatic confidence feeling more like desperation. Angelo Bronte’s dealings, initially promising a path to wealth and safety, proved only to deepen the gang’s entanglement with dangerous, powerful people. Bronte’s betrayal stung sharply—handing John, Arthur, and the others over to the law during a supposed “opportunity” shook Dutch’s trust in anyone outside the gang. But instead of reevaluating his approach, Dutch doubled down, spinning grandiose tales of salvation through bigger and riskier schemes. The trolley station job in Saint Denis found its way into Dutch's psyche, a chaotic, poorly executed heist that left innocent people dead and brought even more heat on the gang. Each step forward felt like walking deeper into quicksand, and the growing tension within the group became harder to ignore. Whispers of dissent began to ripple through camp, and even those loyal to Dutch couldn’t help but wonder if the man they followed was starting to lose his way.

John’s loyalty to Dutch had always been steadfast, but the cracks were beginning to show. Over the past few weeks, he’d watched Dutch grow more erratic, his plans becoming more reckless and his speeches less inspiring, more desperate. Late at night, as the swamp around Shady Belle hummed with the sounds of crickets and frogs, John found himself lying awake, staring at the ceiling, questioning everything. But even with his doubts, John clung to the idea that maybe, just maybe, Dutch could still turn it all around.

It was you who broke the silence one evening as you sat together in the quiet of your shared room upstairs. “John,” you began, your voice quiet but firm, “we can’t keep living like this. Dutch isn’t the same, and he’s draggin’ us all down with him. We need to leave—while we still can.”

He looked at you sharply, his brow furrowing as his grip tightened on the edge of his seat. “Leave?” he repeated, his voice low and hesitant. “Where the hell would we even go? You think Dutch is just gonna let us walk away?”

You reached out, your hand resting on his arm as you met his uncertain gaze. “We don’t have to tell him, we don't have to tell anybody. We just go."

John’s jaw tightened as he looked at you, his voice low but sharp. “Ain’t you just a little ungrateful for what Dutch has given you? You’d still be back in that O'Driscoll hellhole if it weren’t for him, or worse."

You shot him a glare, your tone firm as you replied, “I’m not ungrateful, John, but what he gave me back then doesn’t excuse the things he’s doing now—you know that as well as I do, and it's insulting that you'd suggest otherwise!" Your cheeks were burning up, your heart rate erratic as your frustration threatens to boil over.

John exhaled sharply, his jaw still tight as he avoided your gaze. “Alright, fine—I shouldn’t’ve said it. But damn it, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

You reached for his hand, your voice trembling but full of conviction as you whispered, “John, I love you, and I can’t keep watching this life tear you apart—we can leave, start fresh, and finally have the future we deserve.” His eyes searched yours, torn between the weight of his loyalty and the hope shining in your words, as you tightened your grip, pleading softly, “Please, come with me.”

John froze, his breath hitching as your words sank in, his usual calm unraveling into something raw and uncertain. His eyes widened slightly, flicking between yours as if searching for a hint of jest, but all he found was sincerity. “You… want that? With me?” he asked, his voice low and tinged with disbelief, like he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea. The vulnerability in his tone, so unlike his usual confidence, made your chest ache. You brought your hand up to run your fingers along his jaw, grounding truth into your answer.

He sighed, shaking his head as if trying to push away the thought, but you saw the flicker of agreement in his eyes. “I don’t know, darlin’. Leaving, it’s… dangerous.”

“Staying is dangerous,” you pressed gently, your voice softening. “And you know it.”

For a long moment, he sat there, his jaw working as he weighed your words. Finally, he nodded, though his expression remained grim. “Alright,” he said quietly. “We’ll start thinkin’ on it. But if we’re gonna do this, we gotta be smart about it. No mistakes.”

You squeezed his arm, a glimmer of hope sparking in your chest despite the risk. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

John didn’t smile, but his hand covered yours, a silent promise that he’d see this through—for you to finally be free. “And for the record,” John murmured, his voice low and filled with his usual tender warmth as his hand moved to cup your cheek, “there’s nothin’ I want more than a future with you, too."

The next morning, you awoke to the faint rustle of camp already bustling around you, the space beside you in John’s bedroll cold and empty. A sinking feeling settled in your chest as Miss Grimshaw passed by and casually mentioned that John had ridden out early on one of Dutch’s errands, his return time uncertain.

Later, you sat on a stool in Sadie’s corner of the mansion, her fingers deftly weaving your hair into a neat braid as the smell of coffee from your mug and damp wood lingered in the air. “I just don’t know what we’re doing anymore,” you said quietly, breaking the silence, your voice barely rising above the soft creak of the old floorboards. “Every plan Dutch has feels like it’s getting us deeper into trouble. It’s like he’s trying to chase something we can’t catch, and I’m scared we’re all going to pay for it.” Your hands fidgeted in your lap as you stared out at the foggy swamp, your chest tight with unease.

Sadie hummed thoughtfully, her hands pausing for a moment before she resumed braiding. “You ain’t the only one who’s worried,” she said, her tone calm but sharp, like the edge of a blade. “Dutch talks big, but it don’t feel the same anymore, does it? Here’s the thing, though—you don’t owe him every piece of yourself. You got people who care about you, and you gotta think about them—and about you.” Her fingers moved steadily, the braid coming together as she spoke. “When the time comes, you do what you need to do, and don’t you feel bad about it for a second. Loyalty’s a fine thing, but it don’t mean throwin’ yourself into the fire for some bastard who’s already lost their way.” Her words hit you like a jolt of clarity, and as she tied off the braid, you couldn’t help but wonder if the time to make those choices was coming faster than you’d hoped.

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gryficowa · 6 months ago

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Boycott!

First there was Beetlejuice from the musical, then Discorfd from MLP, and now Bill… Jeez, they love to traumatize the archetype of chaotic characters

(Sorry, I saw this gif and had to share it, it's wonderful)

Reminds me of this meme with Patrick…

But yeah, only one got therapy, so…

Now that I have your attention:

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francicide · 1 month ago

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stuff i found from my very early 2023/late 2022 pronouny. uhh.

tags: @id-pack-archive

NAMES

pt: Names end pt

Howard, whistler, vincent, edward, bruce, samuel, joesph, prophet, neo, norman, romeo, kingston, henry, jerome, jeremiah, carnival, jack, artie, amnesia, vegas, harvey, julie, jim, jason, louis, max, winston, lucky, pluto, allison, clarice, lora, hector, apollo, valentino, alastar, laurence, veronica, rosemary, victor, rouge, addison, francisco, wilson, oswald, william, sparky, frankie, rocket, fang, cat, lyric, scarlet, benny, junk, hyde, sadie, eight, domino, chance, roulette, asrael, mustang, molly, cameron, anubis, clark, kent, jake, steven, wasp, chrome, fred, spring, haywire, sunny, bonnie, ashton, renard, voss, nathaniel, oscar, peter, junebug, wombat, indiana, mortie, noir, vannie, cabbie, newton, lloyd, cherry, goldie, miguel, dave, bill, horror, confetti, muse

PRONOUNS

pt: Pronouns end pt

he/him, it/its, ink/inks, sh?/h?r, h?/h?m, th☆y/th☆m, fle/flesh, rit/ritual, haha/haha, invest/investigate, cri/crime, myst/mystery, ax/axe, bit/bite, bon/bone, brai/brain, bug/bug, bu/burn, carni/carnivore, ch/chaos, chor/chord, clow/clown, clu/clue, core/cores, co/coin, dia/dial, foe/foes, fun/funs, goo/goop, gui/tar, gut/guts, hope/hopes, joke/jokes, lie/lies, lo/loop, lord/lords, mask/masks, mob/mobs, mon/ster, note/notes, officer/officers, or/organ, rabi/rabid, ret/ro, ring/rings, save/savior, shee/sheep, sheri/sheriff, skull/skulls, song/songs, ma/smart, star/fish, sta/static, tru/truth, wor/ship, i/me, h*/h*m, [redacted]/[redacted], @/@s, #/#s, ☆/☆s, 🦇/🦇s, 🥩/🥩s, 🔪/🔪s, 🕊️/🕊️s/, 🐧/🐧s, dis/disease, abyss/abyssal, ae/aer, ang/angel, anim/animal, anti/antis, arcade/arcades, bari/baritones, a/aro, ay/am, bun/buns, bun/bunny, byte/bytes, cat/cats, choke/chokes, ci/cipher, cor/corpse, cor/corv, crea/create, creep/creeps, cry/cries, dae/dem, dead/deads, dea/death, doll/dolls, drop/drip, elec/tric, eu/euro, eye/strain, fa/faun, fla/flare, fi/fire, fix/fixs, fi/fizzy, fool/fools, four/fourth, fox/foxs, fluff/fluffs, fur/furs, gala/galas, gho/ghost, giggle/giggles, gli/glitch, gli/glitter, gi/grr, gore/gores, grime/grimes, hab/habit, heir/heirs, honk/honks, hy/hyena, hy/hym, hymn/hymns, hx/hxm, hum/hums, hu/hush, hyp/hyper, idol/idols, kin/kins, kni/knight, lol/lols, lost/sheep, lo/love, mad/mads, medi/medical, meow/meows, mim/mimicks, mir/miracle, moo/moos, moon/moons, mo/mourn, musi/music, ni/night, no/non, nov/nova, of/ofs, op/oprea, other/others, pain/pains, paw/paws, pos/sum, poison/poisons, polyb/polybius, rabbi/rabbit, racc/raccoon, rai/rains, ram/rams, rat/rats, rawr/rawrz, rep/tile, ribb/ribbit, rule/ruler, scene/scenes, sea/seas, se/ser, sly/slim, spark/sparks, star/stars, stim/stims, survivor/survivors, syn/synth, the/then, thou/thee, vamp/vamps, voi/voids, vi/rus, were/wolf, whisp/whisps, wing/wings, woo/wools, wol/wolf, wy/wire, wyv/wyvern, xe/xeno, xyz/xyz, you/your, ze/zer, kit/kits, thon/thons, eel/eels, pey/pen, pocket/pockets, chemic/chemical, moss/mosses, dem/demo, lin/linen, unknown/unknowns, hi/hiss, ith/iths, mal/ware, crow/crows, nor/mal, code/codes, cy/cyber, shark/sharks, woof/woofs, silly/sillys, .doc/.docs, .exe/.exes, k9/k9s, h3/h1m, sh3/h3r, 3rr0r/3rr0rs, 0/0s, 3/3s, 6/6/s, 7/7s, 9/9s, 𖤐/𖤐s, ███/███, 💤/💤s, 🐁/🐁s, 🎶/🎶s, 🐚/🐚s, 🕹️/🕹️s, 🪱/🪱s, 🩹/🩹s, 🐍/🐍s, 💉/💉s, 🧿/🧿s, ✒️/✒️s, ⛓️/⛓️s, 🃏/🃏s, 🦴/🦴s, 🎭/🎭s, ☎️/☎️s, 🎲/🎲s, 🌕/🌖s, 🦈/🦈s

and ̴̡͈̜̙̜̫͉͈̲̺̦͕̦̳̒͌͐̓̉̆̀͆̓͘/̴̼̹͑ ̸̛̝̩̫̫̲̱̎͌̇̑̇̑̀̕̕/̵̤̺̣̝͙̱̙͋̋̍̈́̓̽ ̶̛͇̙̺͔̬͓̼̭̭̞̗͖̙͗́̎̆͛͌͝ ̶̨̬̙̤͍̮̗̙̟͉̊͑ͅ/̴̧̧̲̟̏̎͒̍̕

TITLES

pt: Titles end pt

The creature, prn who loves glitchcore, prn who embodies retrocore, prn who loves aesthetics, the creature, prn who is an angel, prn who loves obscure media/things, the loud one, the roleplayer, prn before who prn is now, prn who loves 2010 (games).

#⚜️⠀.⠀⠀from the messenger.#✦ ·　⸻　id packs #id pack #npt pack #npt ideas #npt list #name suggestions #npt suggestions #mogai safe #endo safe #i dont use like. any of these anymore #2023 changed me 😭#titles are jst based on this btw. i didnt know i could be cool

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bywandandsword · 11 months ago

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I finally finished the Diviners by Libba Bray and 1) This book hasn't gotten nearly the amount of fandom interaction that it deserves and 2) Libba Bray does not pull any fucking punches when it comes to the uncomfortable parts of history, good lord

It's so so good. She's clearly done so much research and it makes my history nerd heart so full. And then the story! I want to know what the fuck Uncle Will is hiding and where all these character's paths will lead. Where's Sam's mom? Is Isiah really ok? What's going to happen now that Evie has gone public with her power?

Also, I'm hereby adopting Memphis Campbell. That boy is getting a warm blanket, cocoa, and therapy starting immediately. And I'll personally kick the shit out of Bill Johnson if he comes anywhere near either of the Campbell boys again. I don't care that he's an old, mostly blind man, I'll fucking do it

#I have Lair of Dreams cued and I'm so excited #Sword speaks #The Diviners #Libba Bray

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destiny-aesthetics · 1 year ago

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^ Page 03-04 of 'Cayde's Treasure Island Book'; A Copy of 'Treasure Island' by Robert Louis Stevenson, that Cayde-6 as turn into a makeshift journal.

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Destiny [Bungie] | Taken King [Collector's Edition]

^ Sketch of Clovis Bray logo

[left page] Floating in the black I've been listening to nothing but my heart knocking for over twelve hours. EMU's low on air. I promise myself this job is the last. Promise myself this time I mean it. I feel the hull vibration through the station's thin metal skin. The airlock pump hisses. Long wait's over. Time to go to work. I'll spare you the gory details. Afterwards, fuming. Clovis Bray sends me a bill for the hull damage. My fault the target put a blast wall between us. My fault things went wrong and we had to let our rifles do the talking.

^[left] Sticker of Clovis Bray 'Morning Star'; [right] Sketch of a spade found in a deck of cards

[right page] I tear the packet open. Tattered pieces of the envelope drift to the floor. [Spade insignia pencil drawing] Surprise. It's not just a bill. There's a job offer tucked in. Seems old Bray's been looking for someone like me. Willing to forgive my debt, and not just for the orbital station. All of it. Suddenly, I ain't so mad anymore.

[top; right page] ###-###-###

#destiny 2 #bungie #scans #Taken King Collector's Edition

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hometeamottawa · 1 year ago

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979 Hare Avenue | Luxury Bungalow Living in Glabar Park

Welcome to 979 Hare Avenue, where luxury living meets the warm embrace of Glabar Park’s vibrant neighbourhood. This spacious 3-bedroom bungalow sits majestically on a generous lot, inviting you to a life of elegance and comfort. Located just blocks away from Kingsmere, Glabar, and Lorry Greenberg parks, and with convenient access to shopping, cafes, restaurants, and excellent transit and highway…

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#Bill Meyer #Glabar Park #glabar park bungalow #Keith Bray

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stargazer2709 · 1 month ago

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The Boogeyman & The Hangman | 5. Lapdog

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Tonight is the night.

Sofia has planned a meeting with the Triads to present the new drug for distribution in the city. This is a big step in her climb to get what is rightfully hers. And I'm there to see how she does it.

As for me, I'm thinking about taking one of the most important steps in my life: popping the big question. Before I was very hesitant about whether I should do it or not, but now I feel confident about it.

Oz brought Eve tonight, along with girls who would help sell the drugs to people at the party. While my good friend sweetens the ears of others with a personal speech, Sofia, on the other hand, is with me and together we discuss the final details of the plan.

“Hey, I know you're more than just selling drugs at a fucking party, but it'll only be this once, puppy.” Her dark eyes looking at me shine grandly tonight along with his outfit. She plays with my tie for a while while looking at me, keeping an eye out behind me to make sure no one is watching us.

“Are you serious? That's enough for me. After all, the action will come soon, right?” A smile betrays my mischief. I am now thinking of Sofia's success and what will happen as a result, but inside I am thinking of the action that a proposal like the one I have in hand will bring.

“If all goes well tonight, we will be unstoppable.” She adjusts the knot of my tie as she runs her delicate hands up its length without taking her deep gaze off of me, making me very small with it, as if she held the reins even now.

“Yeah. I've always believed in you, honey.” With this I try to keep my arrogance standing, pretending that I don't feel so weak because of the way Sofia takes control of me, even to a lesser extent. “Don't forget it.” I look straight into her eyes and smile a little. Now I feel like a good little boy in his uniform ready to go do his homework while the owner of the situation does adult things.

“I know you have.” Before letting me go to put this damn plan into action and do my thing, she leaves a small kiss on my lips, one that is felt even after it has happened. “Now go to work.”

“At your service, boss.” It's a kiss and that's it, I'll do anything for her without braying. I nod and walk down the stairs to the party where many young people are jumping and dancing non-stop.

The girls brought in tonight collect the money from the sale, while Vic and I collect it and solder the product to whoever wants to try this new thing. And holy crap, many people are ready to blow their minds with this new drug, because my hands are filled with bills while they are emptied of product.

I have the drugs and they have the money.

I'd say it was a successful mission. After a few minutes of buying and selling, which I wouldn't say was entirely legal, the sales guy and I are already having a casual chat as we walk around the club. He walks side by side with me after finishing handing over the money, trying to kill time while Sofia, the woman of the night, works her magic on important people, just like Oz.

“So, uh... Sir, may I ask you... h-how do you and Sofia know each other? You guys seem very close.” He asks timidly or unsure of just asking something like that. Maybe he expects someone like me to explode with anger for butting into my personal life or think it was a stupid question. But it doesn't really bother me, at least not if I don't talk more than I should.

“Well, I used to work for the Falcones, Carmine Falcone specifically. Clearly, one thing led to another, kid. Not only did I have to do work for the head of the Family, but also for the heirs, and it was not an easy task.” I grimace afterward, thinking back many years, remembering those times I spent with the Family's children, running here and there to keep them safe.

“Oh, so you worked for Sofia and her brother? Not just for her father, right?” His interest replaces the shyness with which he asked me the question a few seconds ago, which matches my passion for telling stories about my past with the Falcones.

“Yeah. I mean, I couldn't say I didn't enjoy some part of the job, you know? I was basically a babysitter, but boy did I love part of it, seriously.” Once again, remembering brings a smile to my face. Many memories, mostly good ones with Sofia as the protagonist, reveal how much I love going back in time when talking about it. “And the rest is history, kid. Like all great anecdotes. I don't want to bore you with that.”

“It's okay.” He smiles as I do, enjoying this conversation about old memories with me and reliving the moment when a woman did me a great deal of good.

Before I can take the conversation somewhere else with a different topic, I manage to spot from afar the beautiful Sofia sitting in the bar area nearby. Judging by her posture and the way she's drinking her martini, I can tell she's been having a boring, sleepy night, and I need to do something for her.

“Uh... Go have some fun, kid. I gotta go do something.” I say goodbye to Vic, patting his back for a moment, smiling at him before leaving him behind to go with Sofia.

After successfully completing the sale, it was time for me to step out of my role as a drug dealer and accompany my sweet lover to deliver my grand proposal. She is at the club bar, drinking a martini as usual, her eyes looking at the contents of the glass as if she were thinking. What is she thinking?

“Hey there.” I greet her from behind her and walk over to the counter to see her. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“I don't. Come here.” She motions to the seat next to her so I can join her in drowning in gin and olives. “I’m just trying to get over a bitter pill.” A small amount of liquid enters her mouth as she take a sip from her glass, and every second after that seems to make her better. It must be the mix of ingredients doing their thing once again.

My tired butt rests on the seat next to the woman and I can take a breather for now, ordering a mojito for myself in the process. As the waiter takes my call and leaves me alone with Sofia, I turn my head to look at her, trying to figure out what could be on her mind tonight. I also wonder if your answer to my proposal will be yes and always yes, or maybe I'm just jumping the gun again and taking a big risk.

Whatever the thought is, I prefer to ignore it, jump into the ring and spit, be completely honest with the woman I love and take the next step.

“Are you okay? You look like... I don't know, overwhelmed. Like you just dropped the kids off at school and came home to drink.”

“Even worse. All the idiots think I can't do business if my father isn't here. But I'm not like him.” She takes another sip of her martini and looks at me this time. “I still haven't forgotten what he did to me."

“Neither do I. I still regret all the time I continued working for the Family after that. I'm sorry, Sofia.”

“It actually hurt me more that you stayed with Oz.”

“Why him?”

“You never found out, right? You only knew some parts.”

“Enlighten me.”

“How do you think my father found out that I met with the reporter that night? Do you think a little bird told him?”

“Holy fuck.” That's the only thing I can answer after getting this new information. It's so strange to know that the person you thought was on your side is no longer there, or at least never was. “Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom.” It's my way of saying that I have to go face the person responsible for a decade separated from the woman I loved and still love.

This is how I make my way through the people dancing and some others suffering the effects of the new drug. At one point I find the boy walking away, passing in front of me and coming from the toilets. His expression was very withered compared to the energetic boy I was chatting with just now.

“Vic? Where are you going?”

“I'm leaving, man. Fuck this shit.”

“Where the hell is Oz?”

“He's in the bathroom.” He points me to the back, where the bathroom doors are, and with his gaze downcast, one of shame and sorrow. “Sorry, I can't keep doing this.”

“It's all right, kid. No need to apologize.” I give the boy a sympathetic smile. From his expression and his withered spirit, I can tell that he has a chance to give up on this kind of world and seek something more honest.

“Thank you, sir.” Those are his last words to me, and if you ask me, I'd rather the boy stay away from this kind of business. It would hurt me if he ruined his life just for the sake of having a simple life.

I slam the door open, just enough to catch Oz's attention, who seemed to be very lost in thought upon entering. To my surprise, he doesn't look as smiling or confident as he did at the beginning of the evening, with his upright posture and sleek suit.

“Wow, there you are. At least you're still here.” He speaks to me as he turns around and faces me. His attitude isn't as carefree as usual. Instead, he seems depressed or something.

“I've been honest with you these past few days, haven't I? Can you be honest with me?”

“The fuck are you talkin' about?”

“You never told me the truth. What happened with Sofia.”

“You already know exactly what happened. Why are you bringin' it up now?”

“Now it seems that I don't know everything exactly. You forgot to mention the part where your big mouth got Sofia thrown into a hellhole for ten fucking years.”

“You really wanna talk about that now? Oh fuck. This is almost over, and I don't have time to go back in time!”

“Well, I do have time, and I have plenty of it. And right now you will tell me the damn truth. Why did you do it?”

“I was worried about you, man! Sofia was sick as fuck, and I didn't want you to get hurt. I was protecting you.”

“No, you were protecting yourself. You know she never killed those women. You know that very fucking well!”

“What if I do know, huh? Is that what you wanted to hear? Yeah, I had her locked up in Arkham because I could, because I needed to in order to succeed, and it's worked out well.” He combs his hair with his hand and takes a couple of steps towards me, still looking at me. “Welcome to the world of crime, my friend. Where trust is a weakness, and loyalty is just a fuckin' word.”

This shameless confession forces me to take out the gun I keep on my waist and point it right at the head of the man in front of me, who I cannot even believe is the same one I considered my friend. Maybe he's always been like this and I never noticed, or never wanted to.

“There it is, the Boogeyman is back! Come on, pull the trigger, show me what a fuckin' man you are!” He spreads his arms with his palms open, looking at me holding the gun firmly and my eyes burning with anger. It almost seemed like he was expecting this reaction from me, as if he had planned to confess all of this at this very moment. “Come on, what are you waiting for?!”

His screams are getting louder and louder, but something inside me is telling me to stop and choose not to end this man's life, even if the whole situation is pushing me to do so. This is one of those times where two parts of yourself are fighting within you for different reasons.

I finally give in to the part of me that thinks objectively and reasonably, the part that tells me to put down the gun and just give up this chance to end a life. After all, I'm no longer the one who would take that chance for something better. I latch onto that, I hold on to that, and I slowly lower the gun.

“You're not worth it.” I return my gun to my waist and hide it with my suit jacket, swallowing the bitter pill of knowing what I now know. “This won't bring me back all that time.”

“I tried to move on from that shit, and I thought you would too! But you're blinded by the love you have for your fucking ex-boss's daughter. I thought you were better than that.”

“Maybe you don’t know me well.” I scan the man in front of me from bottom to top. I never thought my devotion to Sofia was so obvious.

“Just so you know, none of that was personal. You know that, right?” He takes one last step towards me and just waits for a response from me, without making another move.

Faced with this, I can only nod and take it in. Accept things as they are, a fight of everyone against everyone for a personal goal. Oz would be no exception to this considering the world he lived in, just like everyone else who chooses this life.

“Good luck, old friend.”

“Sofia! Sofia, please! Wake up!” I shake her body by putting my hands on her shoulders, trying to revive her somehow, but nothing works.

That was the last conversation I had with Oz all damn night, and it was a long one from there on out. I never knew where he was for the rest of the night, as if all ties with him had ended from that moment on.

Hours later I heard nothing from Oz or Sofia. A call was what warned me of what was happening, and as far as I know, it was too late.

Sofia's voice on the other end of the call sounded painful and very deteriorated. That forces me to immediately go look for her in the whole place, but apparently she is not inside the club. Right in the back of the place where I bet Sofia went to smoke a cigarette, right where the recycling bin is, is Sofia's unconscious body. My heart is racing. Nothing in my life has ever made me feel on edge like this.

A small splash of blood near her head brings to mind the worst-case scenario of her fate. One where even the love of my life might not be there anymore. But I decide not to cling to that damn scenario for once and take the woman in my arms and seek shelter for her.

If she didn't let me down in the past before, I wouldn't do it with her now.

#male reader #sofia falcone #sofia falcone x reader #oswald cobb #the penguin #victor aguilar #the penguin hbo

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