#i love this river path so fuckin much man

[orcelito]

I was all like "I need to head straight home today, I need to not accidentally go on an hour long bike ride" but guess who's in the woods againnnnn

[blondrichclosetwitch]

O sister, mother, wife,

Sweet Lethe is my life. I am never, never, never coming home! (Lethe is the river where the dead drink to forget their life on earth)

I'll pick you

I'll take you

I did it

And undo

Take a closer look

Study this and ask yourself "Where is God?"

This place doesn't know

This place doesn't care

This is a no-man's land

(I am, threatening to some)

This is a no-God's land

Look at those trees again

(Must be explained)

Look at the bark

Forget your name, how to walk and ignore

Wake up when you’re dead (as in, you’ll realize how you wasted your life when you have the perspective of death, and how you’re gonna have to go back and do it all over again because karma)

General Joy, it seems you don't love your bride

That doesn't mean you're a bad guy

Generally you're friends but she is not the love of your life

To dye, to perm, to change your hair

Or your wife, the possibilities are there

And it's time for you to decide

And I know you will always love sorrow

It's more than what you bargained for, but it's a little less than what you paid for

Tell my mother I'm going home

I have been destroyed by hippie powers

Awakening Intuition

All I know is I was enchanted, to meet you

Words are destined to break down (Ma, ma, mama, ma ma)

Your mother's said, "your girl is gone"

And all those stupid little things they ain't working, they aren't working at all

Lesson learned, wish me luck

I'm not like them, but I can pretend

Take my shot under the light

heroes come the common way

Placed in history

I'll go out of my way to prove I still smell her on you

Raphael is the Archangel of Healing

Mantra for Saraswati to bless your writing

I'm on the path of trust, singing Whatever it takes, receive of the Light

Terror will take whatever it likes (It's in your favour)

Osho you ask of us, singing:

If courage is love of the unknown Consider the powers parading you home

I just feel shame, shame, shame* (this refers to some ancestral healing work that I was told about involving people here)

And now you're tearing through the pages and the ink

His pills

I couldn't tell you that any other way

You're the blood in me, you're on earth though

I sprint across the parking lot cause that day we were unprepared

Lightning bugs to die in jars (this is about how in ‘17 I was told Jakk was told the world was going to end when he was catching fireflies at age 4, about Chernobyl)

Full of films

I'll pay you back in plastic eyes

Fathering Love (seems worth mentioning fathering love followed been a son)

Aum Ekadantaya Viddhamahe, Vakratundaya Dhimahi,
Tanno Danti Prachodayat॥

For men of war are we

If I can only make one man aware, one person care, then I'II have done what I promised you*

So dark, so dark and deep the secrets that you keep

And they say it is a capital offense

I’ve been waiting so long to be where I’m going (25/7 sotd)

Et dans tes yeux je crois revoir le ciel des grèves!

Take these chains away

4th Chakra—Heart

Don’t kill thy song that sings so we can heal the harm inside

I’ll make you sorry

It’s like I told you: if you stay, I’ll stay

The secret marriage is never broken

Choke! Choke!

I hate that this will happen, but I know that it'll happen

Concert symphony with movement

I never meant to cause you any sorrow

Throw off your shame of being slave to the system.

I see you take another drag, you like to dance to the rolling head of the adultress, you sing in praise of suicide. *

I'm sending consolation prizes to my next of kin, allies

Tell my brother that it gets much easier

All of my old friends aren't so friendly

A hurricane being born

“This freedom it might cost you your liberty.”

It's the little things that give you away

Bet it’s because of her daddy

I got a million trillion things I'd rather fuckin' do than to be fuckin' with you

And every day I wake up celebratin' shit, why?

‘Cause I just dodged a bullet from a crazy bitch, I (2:09 :08/:17)

Everything got a bad side, even a conscience

Now you're drinkin' 'til you're unconscious

My momma told me, stop the painkillers

“I got mob ties.”

Revenge is the saddest thing

Lay down in our mother's arms for here we can rest safely

“I'm not here. This isn't happening.”

Life is a fantasy until you wake up in shock

When awful people, they surround you, well, ain't they just like monsters?

They will, with minimal disruption to your routine, change your whole scene

They'll take it apart, put it back together…strangely familiar but never quite the same again

It's giving fetish

Fetish rap, fetish sex, fetish icon

But it's not all right. It's not even close to all right.

Testify or tell

So let it be known through what we believe in

I can see no reason for it to fail

“We had a suit, a legal suit.”

“What they didn’t understand was…I wanted everything.”

But ain't no gyroscope can spin forever

He says it’s over and it’s such a release

It’s finally happened and he’s making his peace

The Jekyll and Hyde shit will finally cease

[doodler-jpeg]

Life [Wilbur Soot/Fundy]

BOOOM HI HELLO HOW ARE YOU UH UM SO I WAS INSPIRED WHILE I WAS BORED AND THEN THIS IS HOW THIS ONESHOT CAME TO BE. ITS NOT GOOD, BUT ITS DECENT. You’re gonna be taking Sally’s place so, uh, I’m sorry, Sally, you’re just another salmon. Still love you though  THIS TOOK SO LONG TO MAKE DEAR GOD ITS BEEN IN THE WORKS FOR LIKE A MONTH LMAO

ALSO, KEEP IN MIND THIS IS C!WILBUR/SMP!WILBUR

⚠️CUSSING, AFAB READER, PREGNANCY, THIS IS A REALLY LONG ONE SHOT OH MY GOD, PLATONIC FUNDY RELATIONSHIP SO YEAH⚠️

Pronouns: she/her or they/them [you’re referred to as wife, mom,, that stuff, but you can change those if you want]

You hummed as you strained out your clothing beside the river near your home. A smile graced your face, [Eye Colour] eyes glinting happily in the warm sunlight of that fine summer day. Autumn would soon turn the land into a seemingly barren wasteland, though, so you decided to savor every last bit of happiness the hot days brought you. 

Hanging the large amount of clothing upon thin clothing lines, you dumped out your bucket and made sure nothing got in the lake. Walking back inside of your home, you set the buckets in the corner of the cozy cottage and walked back outside. Your brown boots thudded quietly against the cobblestone path that lead into the woods around your home that would eventually be covered in snow.

A sudden childish giggle made you turn to the fields that were a ways away from your house, right in front of the sparsely scattered trees to the right of your little house. You furrowed your brows in confusion as a blur of yellow, white, and red rushed over to you.

“Hello there.” You couldn’t help but stare as the child looked up at you silently. “What are you doing here, little one?” He only blushed, his face flushing a vivid red before he ran off. You shrugged and continued your trek into the forest.

//

You watched as flakes of snow fell delicately onto the muted green coloured grass, bundled tightly in a burrito of quilts that you and your mother has made together. You shuffled slightly from your position on your warm bed, closing your eyes as you waited for sleep to consume you.

It seemed life had other plans, though, as a faint light came toward your home, edging closer and closer until you could make out a figure, their clothing a great contrast to the paw snow. They were shivering visibly, clutching their arms as their lantern shook in their hand.

You frowned as you peeled your blankets off of you, pulling your boots on quickly. Grabbing a lantern cage, you lit the candle inside of it and hurried outside, feeling nervous as the figure hurried over to you.

Soon enough, they were standing in front of you, a miserable look on their face, their eyes red and puffy as their teeth chattered together.

“Come inside,” you didn’t care for introductions or your safety. This person seemed nice. “I’ll start a fire. Uh- there should be a few blankets on the sofa. Would you like anything to drink? Warm milk, tea? I’m not gonna offer coffee because it’s late, so I’m sorry about that.”

“Just water, please,” they croaked out. “I’m sorry for the intrusion. I was headed off in search of territory to claim. Turns out I chose the wrong day. God, it’s cold.” You let out a quiet laugh as you carefully tossed some wood into your fireplace, lighting the material on fire. Almost immediately, the flames grew and you sat up, placing your flint and steel on the fireplace mantle.

“I’ll go get you your water. Go warm up.” You urged before you walked into the kitchen to get the brunet some water.

//

““And then Tommy ran off!” Wilbur howled with laughter as he told the story of how he managed to lose his father in the forest close to his family home. ““Phil was looking for us for hours!” You smiled at the story as you carefully sewed up your friend’s heavy coat, making sure the patches were relatively the same colour as the rest of the jacket.

“You never really tell me about your family, so why are you telling stories now?” You commented, threading the needle in your hand through the fabric and back out of it, pulling the thread tightly. You snipped it with your scissors, placing the needle down to look for any other holes as Wilbur flushed a bright red.

“W-well— one day, I want you to meet my family, so- this sounds so fucking stupid. Never mind, forget about it.” He covered his face in his hands as you bummed, picking up a patch and laying it out on the brown fabric.

“What you’re saying is that you would introduce me to your family because you like me that much, huh?” No answer came from Wilbur, though he did let out a flustered groan as you chortled.

//

You placed a kiss upon your new boyfriend’s cheek, causing the brunet to laugh as he shrunk away from your lips

“Stop it,” you only grinned at the man, kissing various areas of his face in retaliation. Wilbur laughed harder, pushing you away gently as his face scrunched. ““It tickles!”

You grabbed his face in your hands and he looked into your eyes for a moment before you began attacking his face with kisses. When you pulled back for a break, Wilbur copied your actions from earlier and rubbed his thumb across your cheeks with a smile. He leaned his forehead on yours and let out a breathy sigh, closing his eyes as he basked in the moment.

“I love you so fucking much, [Y/N].”

//

““Dont be scared, darling,” Wilbur mused as he gently rubbed his thumb in circles on the back of your hand, lightly squeezing every few rotations. “Techno’s made sure to keep any weapons away and Tommy might be a little less wreckless. I’ll make sure to tell them during dinner.” You nodded uncertainly, playing nervously with the bracelet Wilbur had made you way back when the two of you first started as friends.

Wilbur rapped his knuckles on the door, his other hand never once letting go of yours as the two of you waited. A bit of shouting was heard through the door, slightly muffled, though it was evident that it was coming closer.

The door was flung open by a blond boy, his blue eyes shooting us to meet Wil’s not even a second after he opened the door. A grin was on the boys face as he turned and shouted for Phil [who Wilbur had told you was his father]. Soon enough, a blond man with a bucket hat trodden over, frowning at Tommy.

“Listen, motherfucker, you may be living here, but I’m not gonna fucking let you live if you keep fuckin shoutin.” You froze nervously and glanced over at your boyfriend. He just sent a small, awkward smile onto reassure you before he turned to look down at the two.

“Are you really gonna argue in front of my wife?” Wilbur piped in, feeling himself become giddy as Tommy and Phil shot their heads over to look at you.

“You brought a girl over?!” Tommy yelled in surprise as he stumbled back, eyes wide as he observed your movements skeptically.

“Wil? Can you come over here real quick? I just need to talk to you.” Phil forced a smile as he grabbed the taller man’s ear and yoinked him over to a different room, leaving Tommy and you alone.

“Hi,” you smiled nervously, raising a hand in a half assed wave.

“Do you happen to be American?” The blond asked, leaning his face over to stare at you.

“I mean- I’m a water nymph. I don’t really know if that counts because we usually just have different accents, but we never take into account where anyone’s from.” You laughed, scratching your cheek.

“Well where are you from?” Tommy urged, crossing his arms.

“To be specific, I came from the North Sea right by the Netherlands. I don’t really think that’s important though.” You shrugged.

“So you’re Dutch? Speak it.”

“Im not necessarily Dutch, I was just born in the North Sea, Tommy- I think you’re a Tommy. You seem like a Tommy.” You cleared up, ““The only reason I learned English was to communicate with certain humans.”

“Okay.” The boy sighed, shoulders slumping forward as you let out an amused chortle, “I’ll leave you alone. For now.” Tommy backed up, turning into a room while a big, burly pig person ducked under the doorway, a large sword in hand and an uninterested expression on his face. As he turned to the door, he spotted you and his eyes widened momentarily before going back to their half lidded position.

“Who’re you? Phil didn’t- oh. Oh, today was that day. Oh my god, how could I forget it?” The hybrid smacked his forehead harshly, ““I’m so sorry.”

You laughed, waving your hand dismissively as the pig moved to the side to let you in. You carefully stepped into the warm house and the tall hybrid closed the door behind you.

“Dinner’s nearly done, so you can go sit down in the living room. If you need anything, Phil has ears all over the place. Just look at those crows.” Techno motioned over to the few crows that perched themselves on the window, letting out quiet caws. You waved at the birds and they flapped their wings in response.

“They seem nice.”

//

You sat next to your husband, hand intertwined with his as Phil smiled over at the two of you.

“So, anything new happening with you two?” The blond man inquired, placing his hands on the table. 

““I mean,” Wilbur laughed, turning over to look at you. “Would you like to tell them, dear?” You nodded, a grin on your face as you sat as straight as you could.

“I’m pregnant,” you said, your voice surprisingly calm. Tommy let out a shocked ‘‘what the fuck??’, while Techno choked on his food, slamming a fist onto his chest.

Phil was quiet, eyes wide in shock as he took in the information.

“Pregnant? With Wilbur’s kid?” You nodded, swinging Wilbur’s hand as Tommy cheered.

“Im gonna be a fuckin uncle! Yeah! I’ll be the best damn uncle ever!” He cackled, leaning back as Techno snorted.

““Can I teach them PvP?” You and your husband glanced over at each other before shaking your head.

“Maybe when they’re old enough to know what they’re doing.”

//

““Hello, my precious baby,” you cooed gently, holding the newborn as they let out a quiet sigh. ““My baby. You look just like your father.” A warm but tired smile was on your face as your baby opened their eyes, brown meeting [Eye Colour].

“Love, is the baby okay? Is she doing alright?” Wilbur called nervously through the door, to which you laughed.

“Yes, they’re doing great,” placing a gentle kiss on the baby’s nose, they brought a hand up and lightly tapped their nose.

//

““Fundy! Come here!” You cheered, reaching your arms out to the toddler. They giggled, waddling over to you. Their scab covered knees were littered with bandages and the red overalls they wore were much unlike what Wilburs would have wanted your child to wear, but it was your kid! They deserved the best!

““My precious baby,” you placed a kiss on their cheek, causing the brown haired child to giggle and wipe the kiss from their cheek. You grinned, littering their face in kisses as they squirmed, ““My little champion!”

“Yah! Cham-champion!” They babbled, bringing up a finger to chew on as you set them down and smoothed out your dress. 

““Alright, sweetheart, papa will be here soon, so make sure to tell him what you want to tell him, alright?” Your boy nodded, a goofy grin on his face as he reached over to one of the toys you had brought.

//

You cradled your son’s head as he sobbed, shaking his head in denial as to what had just happened.

“He-he’s gone, mama!” He choked out, wrapping his arms around you tightly. His tears stained your shirt, though the feeling didn’t bother you as you rocked your son back and forth, combing your fingers through his hair.

“Fundy, it’s okay,” you cooed, ““He doesn’t have to live with all the mistakes he made in the past anymore. Who knows, maybe he’ll come back?” 

““But what if he doesn’t? That was his last life and- and it’s gone! My dad’s gone!” Letting out a pained wail, he continued to sob. And you let him.

He had gone through so much.

//

““Who the hell are you and what are you doing around my son?” You sneered, standing in front of your son as the transparent figure stared at you curiously.

“You don’t remember me?” They asked, voice echoing as they tilted your head. “I- [Y/N], it’s me! Your husband! I- I am your husband, right?”

“My husband didn’t push away his son and focus on a failed country more than his own fucking family.” You loaded your crossbow, aiming it at the ghost. ““You didn’t come to his birthday parties, didn’t get him anything, you barely paid attention to him when your country was in the spotlight! You’re no husband to me.”

“Mama-” Fundy gulped nervously, ““Mama, please.”

“You know what, whoever the fuck you are? You’re no damn husband to me and you never will be. Now leave me and my son alone, for fuck’s sake.”

The ghost was silent as you turned, leading the man beside you toward the house at the top of the hill, though a small smile made its way onto his face.

“She’s the one I married?” He murmured, moving his hand to where his heart was, “Was she really the love of my life?”

[harrysgloves]

Hey if you are taking requests could you please write something where Harry leaves Y/N for someone whom he thinks is better than her and is a major tool while leaving Y/N and then soon realizes that he only loves Y/N and goes to get her back but she isn't convinced easily! But please let it be a happy ending!!

>>My first request! Excuse me while I go die from how excited I’ve been over this. Also, got way too into this and got a bit carried away... and the ending well.. I debated it for too long.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: Language // Mentions of depression, anxiety // Unhealthy amount of ice cream consumption // Harry is a dick // angsty // mentions of smut but nothing fancy

>>><<<

You laid in bed alone for what felt like the millionth time in the last few months. The spot besides you that was usually filled with your loving boyfriend was now empty and as cold as the northern winters. You tried to ignore that nagging deep pit of dread in your stomach when you turned on your side to face the wall.

You knew something wasn’t right but you didn’t want to admit it to yourself. Just a little bit longer of being in denial before you had to face up to the facts.

Harry was out running around on you.

Your eyes filled with unfallen tears as your fingers dug into the soft plush of your pillow. You tried your best to hold it in, to not let your thoughts get the best of you. You tried to rationalize everything he’d done lately that had seemed weird or off. The late nights, the way he guarded his phone like it was his most prized possession. You could rationalize some of it but not all of it, that sinking feeling in your chest only worsened as the minutes on the clock ticked by.

You started to wonder how someone could throw away a five year relationship so easily. How he could possibly come home and look you in the eyes after spending time doing god-knows-what, with a straight face? The feelings of hurt slowly started to wash away into anger as the sun blared its way through the lace curtains you’d bought specifically because Harry liked them.

Fuck those goddamn curtains, you thought as you flung yourself out of your warm and comfortable bed. The tears you had been refusing to cry finally fell in rivers as you ripped the delicate and expensive lace down from the window. Your body shook with a flood of emotions you couldn’t begin to describe as you stared at what you’d done.

You felt like those curtains- torn to shreds, laying like a rag on the floor like yesterday's garbage.

And you used to be so happy.

You dried your eyes with the back of your hand. Fuck this, you were worth more than this. More than sitting around waiting on some man to come home after getting his dick wet somewhere else.

His bags with all his stupid expensive clothes by the front door while you lounged in your nicest outfit, drinking your glass of wine at 6 in the morning. You thought maybe you had gone a bit overboard on being petty but in all honesty, he should just be happy his Gucci didn’t end up on the front lawn. You had some class still reserved.

When the front door finally creaked open at 7:20 your heart felt like it could drop. The back of your tongue was thick and hairy with nerves and venomous words you wanted to spew. The look of surprise on his face satisfied that demon of pure rage in your mind. Of couse, he would think that you’d just be off to work again, that you’d ignore this, again.

No words were spoken as he fully entered into what was once, a very happy home. His green eyes fell on you sipping on your drink, your legs kicked up on the stool in front of you as you relaxed into the chair. Determined to not let him see the fact you were nothing but a mess, ready to break at any moment.

“Wot’s this then?” He asked even though you both knew he didn’t need to.

He knew damn well what this was. He had wanted to break up for months, maybe even longer. Things had changed or maybe it was just him that changed. One thing he did know for sure was that you weren’t Camille. You’d never be her and well… That was the problem.

Ever since the two had been forced to work together again, Harry had realized that spark for her was still there and the girl was everything you weren’t. Sophisticated, educated, gorgeous down to her bones. Sure, you were pretty but you weren’t the famous type of pretty. No, you were just a boring kindergarten teacher who he happened to cross paths with one day.

“Figured you were smart enough to work that one out for yourself.” Your sharp words were a total contrast to your demeanor. You shrugged, your eyes not bothering to look at him when he gave a short, sarcastic, laugh.

“Yeh gonna pay fo’ this place by yehself?” His arrogant voice rang through the home you now hated with a burning passion. Your glass clinked against the glass of the side table when you sat it down. Your body finally turned just enough to him to see whatever was lurking behind his eyes was anything but remorse.

“Nope. Going to move out once I find a new place. Until then, you can stay wherever you want, not my concern.”

“This is my house, Y/N.” He argued. His patience with you running thin as you stood from your spot. The heat and rage that built in your chest finally came to a breaking point.

“The person who cheats gets to couch surf, you fucking asshole.” You seethed, the anger, pain, and hurt couldn’t stay bottled in any longer even if you tried. Your face burned as you looked at him, your body shaking as you clenched your fist.

“Yeh don’t know shit.” He scoffed not caring one bit that you were seconds away from breaking.

“Oh really? Where were you last night?” You asked, hands on your hips, knowing whatever was about to come out of his mouth was about to be nothing but bullshit.

“With Jeff.”

“Alexa, Call Jeff.” You called out loud enough for the smart device to hear. The color from Harry’s face drained as his and your friends' groggy morning voice came over the speaker.

“Was Harry with you last night?” You asked as you stared directly into Harry’s eyes. Tears clouded your vision as he looked back at you.

“What? No?” Jeff said through his barely awaken state.

“Get the fuck out.” You barked at Harry. Storming towards the door to open it for him.

“Fuck you, Y/N. Jesus, you’re so fuckin' dramatic.” He rolled his eyes as his hands picked up the bags that laid on the floor in front of him. “Yeh got so many damn problems I can’t wait to get away from yeh. Every week it’s somethin’ else. My anxiety this, my depression that. How do expect anyone to be happy around you when you suck the fuckin’ will to live out of everyone?”

“Screw you.” You said through clenched teeth. Your eyes burned from how hard you were crying. You couldn’t believe he had used all those things you confided in him about against you.

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck me, I get it. At least I’ll be happy with someone else.” He shook his head at you before he walked out the door. The slam of the wood hitting the frame vibrated the walls, the ceiling, your chest.

“I’ll be there in 5 minutes.”You heard over your sobbing but you couldn’t calm down enough to stop. Your arms wrapped around yourself in a hug as you nodded your head, knowing he couldn’t see it but it was the only type of communication you could do right now. Your heart felt like it was literally ripped from your chest.

>>>

The words Harry said ran through your mind more than you’d ever like to admit. Late at night as you laid in bed staring up at the ceiling of your new apartment you wondered if it was true. If you did force people away from you with all your problems. If you chased him away from you.

You couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every time you were alone or had a moment of peace it was the first thing that popped into your head.

Maybe you were the problem all along. It made sense, you were the common denominator in all your relationships that ended terrible. All your relationships ended terrible and now you realized, it was because of you.

“That’s not true.” Jeff said softly from the other side of the cafe table. His hand reached out to take yours. His thumb running over the back of it as you tried your best to not break down in public.

“Feels like it.” You mumbled. The fork in your other hand pushed the food on your plate around.

“It’s not true. You have so many friends and we all love you. Harry was a dick.” His irritated voice brought a slight smile to the edge of your lips. Jeff had somehow become your life line in the last few weeks.

He had brought you groceries, sat with you when you cried into a tub of ice cream, held your hair back when you tried to drink your feelings away with cheap liquor. He had been an amazing friend, not that he wasn’t one before but now that you two had more time one-on-one, you realized how sweet he could be and how great he was at cheering you up.

“Want me to kick him?” He asked, his big toothy smile across his face when you finally let out a laugh, one he hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

Whatever small sense of normalcy you were feeling again was short-lived. The bell on the door sent you crashing back down to reality when you saw the head of brown curls enter into the building. A pretty blonde on his arm, smiling brightly up to him like he had just told the world's best joke.

“Fuck.” Jeff said under his breath. The hand connected to yours quickly pulled you up from your seat. His arm around your shoulders, trying to block you from their sight as he guided you towards the door.

“Thanks for taking the trash out, Jeff.” She said in the sickeningly sweet voice. A gloating smile across her face when she looked at you.

Your already low self esteem dropped to deeps you couldn’t imagine when your puffy red eyes met Harry’s. For a second, he looked remorseful for what she said. A look of shock briefly fluttered on his face before turning to stone. Not like it surprised you, what he had said had been so much worse.

Jeff shook his head, glaring at Harry before he pulled you fully outside the building. The cool air licked across the wet streaks on your cheek that you hadn’t even realized was there. You sighed, head against Jeff’s chest as he walked you both back to your place.

>>>

Harry laid in bed that night. The image of your defeated face couldn't leave his mind. Your puffy red eyes like you'd been crying for days filled his wandering thoughts.

He couldn't understand why he couldn't get you out of his mind. He swore he wanted this. The urge to leave the relationship built in him for so long and now he laid next to the only person he swore he loved.

So why did he feel so empty?

Memories of you sitting on the couch beside him, reading to him out loud as you stroked your fingers through his hair flooded his mind. The way you'd look down at him with that crooked smile whenever he said something cheeky about the characters in the novel.

He sighed, his hands ran over his face in the darkened room. He couldn't stop, more like, his mind couldn't stop.

The way you hugged him tighter than anyone else he'd ever known.

The way you'd tell him all about the kids in your class and how much they loved him or his music.

Your cooking, God, he even missed the nights when you'd fuck you dinner and you two would end up ordering pizza. He even missed your sad attempt at biscuits that you tried, and failed, to make every month.

He missed your caring nature. How you'd never call anyone rubbish, even if you hated them, even if they'd wronged you in some way.

He turned in his spot in the bed. His eyes focused on the pretty blonde beside him. Her eyes fluttered open at the movement, a smile on her face when she saw him looking at her.

"Love you." She mumbled, her head nuzzled into his chest that felt like it was being ripped out.

The memory of you saying those words for the first time to him popped in his mind. The way your smile lit up the room when he said it back. Your soft lips against his, kissing him with a hunger and passion he'd never felt before. His hips rocking soft waves into yours as he mumbled to words over and over again close to your ear while your climax hit you.

His heart sank. The feeling of regret was an overwhelming black hole in the bottom of his stomach. The eyes that weren't yours blinked back at him.

"I can't do this." He said as he pushed her away. His body rolled out of the bed in an instant, quickly grabbing for his clothes to leave her house as soon as possible.

"You can't be serious." She scoffed, that soft sweet facade she had started to crack under her aggravation.

"I don't love you." He stated as plainly as he could. He thought he loved her, swore he did, but whatever he was feeling towards her wasn't anything more than last.

You were the one by his side through thick and thin. He was just too much of a dumb-ass to notice it before.

"She's not going to take you back." Camille shot back at him as she scooped up the blankets in her hands to cover herself as he started for her front door. "You're going to regret this, Harry."

He sighed, his hand ran through his hair, tongue wetting his lips as his hand rested on the door knob. He shook his head before opening the door without a word back to her.

The only thing he would regret was letting you go.

>>>

The pounding at your door startled you out of your sugar induced ice cream coma. The empty tub fell to the ground with a loud thud and tinkling of the metal spoon skipping across the linoleum floors. The only sound other than the obnoxious loud bangs was coming from your television, the blue light engulfed the small room all around you.

"Summer, Sid stabbed Nancy... Seven times with a kitchen knife. I mean, we've had some disagreements but I hardly think I'm Sid Vicious." Joseph Gordon-Levitt's pleas for Zooey Deschanel to not end things with him echoed against your bare walls.

Pathetic, you thought to be groveling for someone to not leave you, but yet it was so goddamn relatable.

The slamming of a fist against your door brought you back to reality. You groaned the blanket flung off you as you called out that you were coming, to shut up before they woke your neighbors.

"What the fuck do you want?" Was the first thing out of your mouth when you finally opened your front door. The person standing in front of you was the last person you wanted to see right now.

"Please, Y/N, jus'- jus' listen. Okay?" His words stumbled out of his mouth and as much as you wanted to hate him, you couldn't.

You swallowed as you stepped aside for him to come into your apartment. Not wanting your new neighbors to hear all your business. A curt nod of your head was the only answer you gave him. Your arms across your chest as you stared at the floor in front of you. A part of you wanted to hear but the other didn't.

"I- I," He sighed, his fingers tugged his bottom lip to a point as he looked at you. Nerves radiating off him. "'M so sorry, Y/N, for everythin'."

"I think you should go." You said when your lip started to quiver. Tears welling in your eyes again. What you wouldn't give to go 4 hours without bursting into tears.

"Y/N," he said softly his hand cupped your face. His thumb brushing over your cheek to wipe away the tears and for a second, you leaned into the comfort he was giving you.

Until you remembered he was the reason you were hurt.

Your hand smacked his away as you backed up from him. You brows furrowed, your skin that he touched burned like a fresh sunburn when your fingers ran against it.

"Go!" You yelled, your finger pointing towards the door as he stood there dumbfounded.

"No." He said after a long moment of silence. The words shattering the deafening quiet in the room, cutting like a blade through the tension between you two.

"I. Said. To. Leave." You growled from low in your chest. Anger but mostly hurt and pain from the bitter sting of rejection fueled your words.

"Not until I say what I want to say." His fallen face made a pathetic laugh come from you. He had no right to ask or demand for anything from you.

"Don't you get it? You lost your chance to say anything to me!" You didn't try to hold back your emotions that ran through your voice.

"I fucked up, I know but-"

"Goddamn it, Harry. It's not always about you!" You shouted, your arms flung from your chest as you yelled at him. "You ripped my heart out and dangled it in front of me."

"I love yeh, 'm so sorry. 'M so sorry."

"I don't love you." Your voice cracked as you lied to him. Your puffy swollen eyes swarmed in oceans of tears when his own bloodshot watery ones met yours.

"Y'don't mean that." He said quietly his small footsteps across the floor inched closer and closer to you. Your head nodding that yes you did mean it as you choked out a sob.

"I do mean it." You lied more. Your lips trembled in time with your tears as he grew closer. Your back against the wall, literally, when he finally stood in front of you.

"Know yeh don't. Know yeh jus' want to hurt me like I did to yeh." He muttered, his hand pushed away the few strands of hair that bad fallen into your face. "Yeh can hurt me how ever yeh want fo' the rest of m'life if yeh give me a second chance."

His words stung. Your head buried deep in his chest as your hand grasped on his shirt, and the last bit of sanity you had left floating through your mind.

"I'd do anythin', love. Please." He begged his head rested against your forehead. His chest pressed against yours, his cologne filling the air around you.

Your eyes fluttered open just enough to see him look as wrecked as you felt. His eyes sunken with dark circles, hair a mess, tears down his own face.

Maybe you'd hate yourself and curse yourself one day for this but you couldn't deny the truth.

You were totally fucked for him.

Without another moment of thought or argument running in your mind, your lifted your lips to his. Those soft cushions felt like home against your own. A weight you didn't realize you had laying in your chest lifted when his hands cupped your face, bringing you impossibly closer to him.

His tongue dominating your own when you parted your lips for him. Warm sensations of being close to him like this again ran down your spine as you tugged him towards your bedroom.

A smile formed on your lips as you both stumbled over the threshold to your room. The wrecklessness of trusting him again with your heart never crossed your mind for more than a second.

If anyone was ever going to destroy you, you'd gladly let it be him.

[thiswasinevitableid]

for mermay, indruck, 5, sfw? poison could refer to a love potion of some kind, or maybe a blue-ringed octopus (or other poisonous sea creature) mer?

Here you go!

Even with his future sight warning him this would be awkward, Indrid twitches his tail nervously as Juno, the volunteer checking him in to the venom donor clinic, frowns at her intake form. 

“See, trouble is, because today’s a mer donor day, most of them give their donations from barbs. You’re gonna have to give from your fangs right?”

“Yes.” Maybe he should just cut his loses, come back on one of the Naga days, and hope no one tries to kill him.

“Volunteers gotta go through special training for milking fangs, so you may have to wait until one of them is available.”

“I do not mind waiting. I came to donate, and I have no urgent engagements. Is there somewhere I can be out of your way?”

Juno smiles, “We got some nice sunny rocks--hold that thought. Duck, you just get here?” She calls this to a human in khaki clothing. His black hair is streaked with grey--matching Indrid’s tail--and his smile is so bright Indrid wants to bask in it.

“Yep! Thacker got to the station a little early so I could clock out sooner. Seems like you got somethin’ I can help with.”

“Sure can. Duck, this is” she glances at the form, “Indrid. He’s a mer, but he needs to donate via fangs.”

“Roger that.” The man holds out his hand, “Nice to meet you, I’m Duck. It’s a nickname.”

Indrid shakes his hand, his visions having taught him this is the correct way to reciprocate the greeting. 

“How long can you be outta the water?”

“Quite some time.”

“Great, in that case we’ll just go to the normal milkin station rather than me luggin things down here. Right this way.”

Indrid slithers up the beach behind him, drawing perplexed stares from humans and distrustful ones from the other mers. Duck holds open the flap on a tall, tan tent and Indrid heads inside. 

“You ever given venom before?”

“No. I, I am only recently back in the area. When I heard about the program I knew I could be of help.”

“Sure can. Sea krait, right?” Duck gestures to the silver and black of his tail. 

“Yes” Indrid smiles; most people just say snake.

“You reptile cousins can really fuck a human up. And who knows, your venom might be one of the kinds they can engineer multiple anti-vemons from.”

“I would like that. I like humans, and wish to help you. It is not your fault so very many things can kill you.”

Duck raises an eyebrow, “what happens if a King Naga bites you? Or even another venomous mer?”

“....I die. Ah, I, ah, see your point.” He smiles, sheepish, “apologies, although I wish to help humans, most of them prefer to stay far away from me, and so my manners are not always what they should be.”

“No harm done. Here,” he steps up onto a short stool, holding out a half circle of plastic filled with strong, astringent liquid, “put this in your mouth and bring your fangs out; we learned we have to disinfect them right before we milk.”

“PHeelphhh” Indrid winces as the liquid stings his senses. 

“I know, it ain’t pleasant. Won’t be much longer.” The human stretches a thin sheet of rubber across a shallow circle, checks his watch, and then steps back onto the stool, “okay, when I say open, open your mouth wide so I can slide that one out and get this one in position. Don’t bite down until I say to.”

Indrid nods, opens his mouth when commanded. Even with the disinfectant in his noses, Duck’s scent is overwhelming from so close up; sweat, sunscreen, soap, and something woody that must be his deodorant. He bites down when Duck says, drops of venom pattering into the container. The human keeps one eye on the time, explaining that he doesn’t want Indrid to exhaust all his venom accidentally, thus rendering him vulnerable or unable to hunt. 

“Aaaand done, go ahead and put those fangs away.” Duck removes the collection jar, labels it and puts it in a fridge as Indrid stretches his jaw, tensed from giving such a prolonged injection bite. 

“Now, we always give donors a thank you; come pick what you like.” He swings open a second fridge. Indrid cocks his head, studying the packs of what he knows to be sushi and the different types of fruit. Flicking out his tongue, he scents something delicious, and picks up a bottle of pink liquid.

“I will have this Guava Juice.” He pops the cap and dips his tongue in for a taste, then for a second and a third. A charming noise enters the air, like a bird who long ago gave up on being dignified. Duck’s laughing. 

“Sorry, wasn’t expectin that to be so cute.”

Indrid blushes; that’s not a word generally applied to him. 

“Thank you for the juice. And for acomodating me.”

“Any time. Welcome to come back the next time we host a drive.” The human holds the door open for him, waves as he slithers down the sand, sipping his juice. 

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

“Hello, Duck.”

Duck doesn’t even turn around before he replies, “Nice to see you back, Indrid.”

This marks the fourth venom donation day the mer has come to, and he always gets paired with Duck. Duck doesn’t mind one bit; Indrid might be alarming to look at, not the elegantly finned, otherwise humanoid creature most people expect a mer to be. His scales appear on his arms and shoulders, and there’s even a patch of them on the back of his neck. His eyes are blood red, his smile wide and a little alarming even without the fangs showing. He’s also sweet, in an odd way, and takes genuine interest in Duck’s wellbeing and daily life. 

Honestly, Duck wouldn’t chatting with him at a time when he isn’t jamming venom collection jars into his mouth. But asking to hang out with a patient is weird enough without the added difficulty of that patient needing to be in the water most of the time. 

They go through their usual routine, Indrid helping himself to a mango juice this time before waving goodbye. 

Two days later, Duck is checking on tree specimens when he senses red eyes on his back.

“You do not want to touch that trunk, there is a very large spider in that knot.”

“Indrid?”

“......no?”

“Just a prescient voice in the trees?”

“Yes. I am a very helpful tree.”

Duck turns in the direction of the river, one that feeds directly into the sea, “You know I ain’t gonna be mad if you wanna talk, right?”

“Of course, it was merely an attempt at a goof.” Indrid comes into view, peeking out from the bushes on the shoreline, “I was curious about your work and wanted to see you in action.”

“Afraid there ain’t much of that. What you’ve seen is kinda the gist of what I do.”

“I find it fascinating all the same. May I continue watching?”

Duck smiles, “Sure.”

Indrid turns out to be excellent company, in that he’s quiet for large stretches of time only to ask Duck about the exact thing he wants to talk about. It’s not until Duck is wrapping up and readying to head inland to the ranger station that Indrid asks an entirely new kind of question.

“You are a long way from home, aren’t you?”

He nods, “Spent decades in my home town, feelin like I couldn’t leave, like I had a responsibility to stay. When the chance to work out here, to try to preserve this fuckin amazin ecosystem, popped up, I decided it was time for a change of scene.”

He shivers as Indrid’s tail pets his ankle and the mer sighs, “I am glad you did.”

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

Indrid becomes a regular work companion after that. Sometimes he arrives with helpful information, like which paths might have tourists in need of assistance or where Duck can find the specimen he’s looking for, other times he comes just to talk or listen. These days, Duck finds himself hoping for the glimpse of silver and black in the water that announces his friend’s presence, and enjoying the appreciative looks he spies Indrid giving him when he thinks his back is turned. 

So when something slithers in the bushes behind him, he simply calls out, “What’d you think of those cookies Juno brought in yesterday?”

“I do not know of what you speak, human.”

He whirls, finds a King Naga staring him down. This is probably bad, probably the reason rangers are required to carry a machete or hatchet, but he doesn’t want to be wrong and hurt someone just because they startled him.

“Can I, uh, help you with anythin, sir?”

“Yesss, you can. Be a nice human and stay where you are. I hate having to chasssse my food.”

“Uh” he steps backwards, keeping one eye on the fanged mouth, “that ain’t necessary. Know plenty of places you can get food, if you want.”

“Meager portionssss. And not half assss tempting.”

“Look man, I don’t wanna fight, so please just back off.”

The naga hisses, winding closer at an alarming speed. Then there’s a burst of movement and a flash of silver.

“You stay away from him.” Indrid rises as tall as he can, his body between Duck and the threat. 

“Mind your own busssiness, ssseagoer.” 

“Someone trying to make a meal out of my friend is most definitely my business.” 

“Sssso be it.” The naga lunges. Indrid pushes Duck out of the way and catches his opponent, the force of the strike sending them both sliding down the incline towards the river. The naga outweighs Indrid by a considerable amount, keeps pinning him down only for the mer to wriggle free at the last moment.  Duck knows the agreement is humans stay out of Naga/merfolk conflicts, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to sit by and let Indrid get killed for his sake. 

Right as he locates a large, hopefully sturdy branch, there’s a tremendous splash. The naga thrashes in the water as he’s pulled downstream. Indrid is underwater, holding his opponent in such a way that, the next time he strikes, he has to put his head beneath the current. Right into Indrid’s waiting grasp. The mer keeps his head trapped as his tail whips back and forth. It’s only when the naga is mostly limp, and Duck afraid he’s just witnessed a murder, that Indrid releases him. The half-drowned creature drags himself onto the shore, slithering away without a second glance at Duck. 

“And, and do not come back!” Indrid pants from the shallows, struggling to pull himself back onto the sand. Duck hurries down to him, and Indrid reaches out his hand, concerned, “Are, did, did he hurt you.”

“No, not a fuckin scratch. ‘Drid, pretty sure you just saved my fuckin life.”

“Oh good.” Indrid’s smile is bright, even as his eyes grow blurry, “it is nice to end things with a worthwhile deed.”

Duck sees the puncture wounds in the merman’s arm the instant before he passes out.

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

Indrid wakes up, which is in and of itself a surprise. As is the fact he’s half submerged in water. Rolling over with a groan, he discovers he’s still on the beach where he fought the naga. His bandaged arm aches but is intact, someone has thoughtfully placed a pillow under his head, and there’s a small tent just up the incline. Sound asleep in a sitting position outside the tent is Duck. 

He wriggles and crawls his way to the human, arms giving out as he reaches him, which means his head lands in Duck’s lap.

“Huwhazzat? Oh fuck, ‘Drid, you’re up.” Instead of pushing him away, Duck cradles his head and pets his hair, “thank fuck, I was so fuckin worried. Dani said it might take a few days for you to recover but I couldn’t stop worryin.”

“Duck? How long have you been here looking after me?” 

“Since you got bit. So three days ago. Sarah got some anit-vemon down for you, and Dani swam up to bring you extra medicine just in case. Oh, and Barclay brought you food, I been tryin to get it into you when you were a little bit awake.”

Indrid manages to sit up, curling his tail around them, “You did not need to do all this for me. I knew the risks when I came to your aid. You did not need to save me in return.”

“Fuck need, I wanted to. You, you mean so fuckin much to me.” Duck strokes his cheek, runs his fingers up his tail, “I missed you so much the last three days, realized how so often the part of my afternoon was you comin to talk to me.”

The futures take an odd turn and Indrid shakes his head to clear them, certain he’s seeing wrong. 

“And, uh, and I wanted to ask, uh, when you’re feelin better do you, uh, wanna have dinner with me. Like, uh, on a date?”

“Yes, so very much” Indrid drapes his arms around him, resting their foreheads together.

“Mind if I get a little kiss to tide me over?”

Indrid dips his head down, planting a chaste kiss on his lips before rubbing their cheeks together with a purr, “Apologies, but my kisses must be close mouthed. I’d hate to nick you with a fang.”

“Fine by me.” Duck kisses his shoulders, rubs his tail, “any kind of kiss from you is a goddamn blessin. Besides” he murmurs in Indrid’s ear, “sure we can figure out lots of other things to do together.”

“Absolutely” Indrid purrs, “but for now, would you care to join me for a swim?”

[idontmeantosoundrudebut]

This is Home (stupid Eretlout oneshot)

Oh hello it is currently 4 am and I've just finished this impulse one-shot about Modern Eretlout haha lol bruh! It's set in Britain by the way, because I'm British and I love my British culture lol! This hasn't been edited by the way so... yeah, it's really bad in my opinion but I need to post some writing because yeah! I'm actually currently working on a long Eretlout fic but I have no idea when/if it'll be finished so haha lol bruh awkward! Oh yeah, warning of abuse and past child abuse and only slightly steamy content, really its just making out and all that!!! haha lol bruh enjoy

=============================================================

Blood fills his mouth. It drips from his chin, pours from his head, spills from his nostrils.

He opens his red-speckled fist and a tooth lies in the scarlet pool gathered in his palm, it almost looks like gold beneath the glow of the streetlamp that slants into his car. His upper jaw throbs from where he'd yanked out the already loose tooth and he can make out the rivulets of gum-flesh still clinging onto the roots. He stares at it with an unbothered and tired expression.

"Couldn't even punch my tooth outright," He mumbles to himself, opening the glove box and chucking the tooth inside, "Had to yank it out myself,"

It makes a high-pitched clanging sound as it bounces off a half-finished bottle of Captain Morgan and then, silently, it disappears behind the several cigarette cartons that lay piled unceremoniously within (Marlboro Reds, Marlboro Golds, Caramel Blues, Regal Kingsizes, even the odd Mayfair for when he gets desperately low). He reaches a hand inside and rummages through the collection, most of them are empty at this point, he needs to restock and clean out his car, it's been a solid few months since he did that. He shakes a Caramel carton, empty. Another Caramel? Empty. Marlboro Red? Empty. Regal? Ah, lucky day, only half-empty.

A great sigh forces its way through his clogged nostrils and, with the abruptness of a cut artery, blood spatters all over his shirt and along his forearms. His hand freezes mid-air, fingers tight around the bending carton as he blinks slowly, anger simmering beneath his skin because really? Really?! He looks down at his shirt, it was ruined anyway. He'll never get the red out that white, looks like someone's just slit his throat from all the blood that's been pouring down his neck. That table-corner got him good in the head and cut a deep gash just above his eyebrow, the entire right side of his face is crimson with blood and it shimmers in the flickering lamplight.

He bites into the end of the cigarette and lights it with a silver zippo, the flame casting writhing shadows across his blood-spattered hand. The first drag is the best, the first hit to the back of his throat, the first exhale of smoke. Each heartbeat hurts a little less with a little more smoke, a little more tar, a little more death in his lungs.

Snotlout starts the car and drives away. He watches his childhood home disappear around the corner and it feels like goodbye. He can't kind it in himself to be sad about it.

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

He parks outside of Eret's house on the edge of the path, walking up to the red door with a tidy black seven nailed on it.

"Oh Snotlout, love, you alright?" Comes a familiar voice and he looks over to see Chantel from next door, wrapped in her dressing gown with a black bin bag clutched in her hands.

Eret's house is tucked in the centre of a row of brick houses, it's the kind of street where everyone knows everyone and everyone knows everything, whether you like it or not. In the last year, Snotlout has gotten to know a lot of people (and a lot of rumours) who live along this here street.

"I'm alright, Chan," He says honestly (because he is alright, it's just a bit of blood and few bruises) and stamps the butt-end of his fifth cigarette in thirty minutes into the cracked path.

"You 'aven't been fighten' again, 'ave you? With those Trapper boys?" Chantel asks severely, a mother of four, she's very intuned to her maternal instincts and even the slightest sign of distress has them flaring up, "It better not be with those Grimborn brothers! I'm telllen' you Snotlout, those two are shady bastards and its best to stay clear of 'em-"

Snotlout lights another smoke, this one from a full carton of Marlboro Red, and spits blood and phlegm onto the grass, tongue prodding the empty socket in his jaw.

"I haven't been fighting, Chan, promise," He reassures her, and that's also true because he didn't fight back at all, it was more of a beat down, "Just a disagreement with my old man, you know how it is,"

Chantel's back straightens like she's been in the army her whole life and she crosses her arms over her chest, red hair wet and shining like blood in the moonlight. Only four of the streetlamps work and they're further down the road, so the road and paths are alight only from the horseshoe moon that hovers amongst the star-filled sky, the black-asphalt gleaming silver. They've been complaints to the council to get them all fixed, but they won't do anything, they never do, they just leave the poor to rot.

She looks like she's about to say something about it, but he shakes his head at her. Instead of telling him to call the police, she says;

"You're bleedin' like a stuck pig all over the place, Lout, people'll gonna be thinkin' that Jack the Ripper is back from the fuckin' dead," He laughs at that and he offers a straight to her, as a thanks for not making a big fuss over finding him bloodied like a murdered boy in the middle of the night, but she shakes her head.

"You're grand, love, I got a pouch this mornin', save 'em for desperate times," Chantel looks him up and down, black eyes near white in the moonlight, "You look like you're in one now,"

Snotlout agrees with her. He waves a hand to bid her goodnight and goes inside. He closes and he turns on the hallway light. The marrow-deep tension in his bones slips away, causing a breath that comes from the very bottom of his tar-clogged lungs to fall from his lips, and his hurting heart finally stops beating against his ribs like a jackhammer as he leans against the front door.

He's safe, he's home. Because this small, shoddy house with its water-stained ceilings and peeling wallpaper and creaking floorboards is home. It's simple and a little broken, but it's home.

"Snotlout?" Eret calls from upstairs, he can see the bedroom light glow up the hallway at the top of the stairs, "That you?"

"Yeah," He takes a generous drag, then exhales slowly, "It's me, sorry I'm late... Went to see my dad, after work,"

Footsteps ring across the house and Eret appears at the top of the stairs, dressed in nothing but a ratty pair of grey jogging bottoms, his terribly handsome torso bare for Snotlout and Snotlout alone to see. He grins proudly around his cigarette at the sight of those hard abbs, those firm pecs, those faint scars, those old gang tattoos. Oh, what a handsome devil he is and Snotlout caught him all on his own.

"Fuckin' Hell, Snotlout!" Eret comes charging down the stairs like a mad horse and Snotlout barely blinks when he comes over to him, large hands gracing over his oozing temple and along his bruising jaw. The touch is very much welcomed.

"What happened? Were you jumped?"

"No, I wasn't fucking jumped-"

"You've lost a tooth!"

"It's in the car, in the glove box, I'll get Gobber to stick it back on,"

"I don't think that's how it works, darlin',"

Eret drags him into the living and posts him on the black vinyl couch. Hookfang, his German Shepherd, immediately bounds over to him and rests his snout on top of Snotlout's knees, wet nose twitching and throat moving with unfurling whines and whimpers. He pets him affectionally between his ears, humming lowly to Hookfang to help ease the old war-vet. Eret goes to snatch the half-smoked cigarette from his fingers, but Snotlout's reflexes are too fast.

"Hey! I'm not done, asshole,"

"Not smokin' in the house is your rule, not mine, I'm just helpin' you out,"

"Fuck that rule, just for tonight, fuck it,"

With a rich laugh, Eret saunters into the kitchen to get the med-kit. But Snotlout saw the concern and anxiety in those dark, earthy eyes and he heard it too in that laugh, it was a little shaky at the end. Hookfang barks at him.

"Easy Hookfang, I'm okay," He barks again, louder, black eyes glistening with fear, "I know pal, there's a lot of blood, but it's okay, I'm okay, soldier," He ruffles the War-dog's neck lovingly, trying to ease Hookfang's unnerved mood and distract him from the blood. It probably brings back bad memories for him.

Eret comes back with the med-kit tucked beneath his armpit and a large bowl of water cradled in his hands. He set it on the coffee table and politely nudges Hookfang out of the way, the Shepherd in turn leaps onto the couch and curls dutifully at Snotlout's side. Such a loyal friend, Snotlout doesn't deserve something as honourable as Hookfang's fidelity.

"Look like a stuck pig," Eret whisper, running a wet dishtowel along the drying river of blood that pours down his face and throat.

"Ha, Chantel said the exact same thing," He chuckles lowly, watching rivulets of watery blood travel down Eret's powerful forearms as he sponges at the blood along his cheek.

"Chantel?" He queries, eyes briefly flickering to meet his.

"Yeah, caught outside just as I was coming in," Snotlout closes his eyes as he lifts his chin so Eret can easily swipe the already stained towel down his throat. It leaves a funny tightness in his gut and a nice shiver ghosts up his spine at the vulnerable display.

"Well, expect the whole street to know by lunchtime tomorrow," Eret replies, then adds, "I mean, I love Chantel to pieces, but by God, she gossips like there is no tomorrow,"

Snotlout nods in agreement, smoking his cigarette and tapping the ash into an ashtray that's always kept on the coffee table, despite his own rule of no smoking in the house. But he's never been good at keeping to the rules, even his own ones. Eret wipes away the twin-tracks of maroon streaking from his nose and begins to wrap the gash above his eyebrow up.

"We'll go to the doctor tomorrow mornin', yeah? Think you might need stitches,"

"Cool," Is his reply, tired and uninterested.

All the blood is finally cleared from his skin. The towel is scarlet. The bowl on the table is no longer a bowl of water, but a bowl of blood. A swathe of bandages is wrapped around his head like a bandana, but there hasn't been any bleed through for a few minutes so Eret looks satisfied (and rather proud) at his nursing work.

After a moment, Snotlout flicks his finished fag into the ashtray and stares into Eret's dark eyes; he's very tired.

"Thanks for patching me up, babe," Snotlout says quietly, not because he doesn't mean it but because he is full of such a sudden exhaustion that it feels well overdue. His head, his brain, needs a good rest or else he's going to start screaming.

"No problem," Eret soothes his large hands up and down Snotlout's thighs, "Now, are you going to tell me what happened?"

Snotlout sighs, big and heavy, hand settling on the nape of Hookfang's neck and running through the dense fur. His heart shudders, his lung quiver, his blood boils, his body doesn't like any of this. Just get it over with, as he did with his dad.

"I told my dad about us. About me... you know, liking guys and all-"

"And he did this to you?" Eret's voice goes low, like a growl of an animal with its teeth bared. Snotlout would be lying if he said it didn't turn him on a bit. Thick fingers curl protectively around his thighs.

"Eret, don't get yourself all riled up about it, okay? It's done. I knew he'd react like this, it's not the first time he's punched me around and called me a faggot, just this time, he actually had a reason to call me one,"

"Yeah, well, it may not have been his first time but it sure as fuck is his last, do you understand?" Eret snarls vehemently, hands moving from his thighs to his hips and sides, Snotlout doesn't even flinch when he accidentally brushes against a forming bruise, "You are never going near him again, Lout, I won't let you be hurt by scum like that,"

Eret's eyes burn. Dark soil and spitting embers in furrowed sockets. The firm frown on his face and the clenching muscles in his jaw, grinding teeth that thirst for a hating man's blood. It's making Snotlout's throat go dry.

"You're hot when you're angry, have I told you that before?" He says lowly and Eret looks at him, vengefulness fading as he takes note of the wanton look in those pale eyes.

"You may have mentioned it once or twice,"

They breathe on each other's lips, tempting, waiting for the first one to move. Hookfang books it upstairs, sensing the heady change in the air.

Eret pushes Snotlout back onto the couch and crawls carefully over him, their lips immediately locking in a wet and obscene kiss that stretches on and on forever. Snotlout moans as Eret forces his tongue down his throat, golden hands skimming beneath his shirt and touching the tender flesh beneath in a skilled and teasing way that drives him mad. They make out for a while, dominating each other's mouths with vigour and gusto till their breathless and sweating.

The bloodied shirt is pulled over his head and Eret stills above him when he sees the black and blue bruises that bloom along his ribs and chest and stomach, even Snotlout gazes at them with morbid curiously. Fuck, his dad got him more than he realised. Not that it matters.

"I'll kill him, Snotlout, I'll kill him," Eret promises in a snarling growl and Snotlout wraps his arms around his shoulders, drawing him down so he can mumble against his lips;

"I know, but fuck me first,"

Of course, Eret complies.

Later, tangled in a mass of sweaty limbs and exhausted desires, Snotlout knows that he'll be okay. With his head on Eret's chest, he closes his eyes and sleeps because he's home, home has always been in those dark eyes, in those large hands, in those warm arms. Home has always been here.

Eret, a wanderer for most of his life, a lost man at sea who was bound for dirty work, has finally found a place to set loose his anchor. Snotlout is home, is the harbour he'll always be homebound to. He'll protect his Snotlout because who is he but a wanderer without his home.

[nalgenewhore]

With My Life - Chapter Seven

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter

warnings: (all graphic) violence, guns, blood, smut, implied PTSD

an: hmmm.....hm. enjoy !

Elide didn’t know how to ask the question that had been bothering her ever since Lorcan had been back. 

She thought she knew the answer, but asking him might ease her worries, might soothe her frayed nerves. 

Lorcan was downstairs, talking with his lawyer on the phone. Manon was decidedly unimpressed with him and Elide had laughed when she heard the golden-eyed woman berate him for his ‘big, rutting mess’ that she was now tasked with cleaning up, so to speak. 

There wasn’t a doubt in either of their minds that Elide would stay in what was now their apartment. Neither Elide nor Lorcan were keen on living apart now or ever. 

With a steadying breath, Elide walked downstairs, determination in her every step. Lorcan glanced up at her and paused, his eyes narrowed as he read her posture and expression. His shoulders tensed slightly and he said to Manon, “M, I don’t really have to be here, right?” 

He winced and Elide smirked at what was surely a severe beatdown from Manon, but eventually, Lorcan sighed and nodded, “Yeah, yeah, I know. No more disappearing and being assumed dead, I get it. Thank you, really.” He choked slightly, “Well, fuck you too, Blackbeak, you’re useless. I never want to see your face again. Bye.” 

“Fun talk?” Elide quipped, crossing the floor to the island and taking the seat opposite his. Lorcan huffed a halfway amused laugh and tossed his phone on the counter, bracing his elbows against the marble and dropping his head in his hands. 

“Nobody ever tells you that coming back from the dead is a pain in the ass. So much paperwork,” he muttered, sighing through his nose once before he stood up and walked over to the coffee pot. Elide hummed and propped her chin in her hand, smiling at him when Lorcan walked over with a mug for her and placed it in front of her. 

He kissed her forehead before sitting down on the barstool next to hers and taking a sip of his coffee, “So. What’s going on?” 

Elide shrugged, wrapping her cold hands around her mug and sighing softly. Her dark-haired love laughed and put his cup down, then took her hands and cupped them in his warm ones, “Still got the cold hands, huh, princess?” 

She smiled and nodded, her heart fluttering when he rubbed heat back into her digits, waiting for her to speak. “E, I know you’re thinking about something,” Lorcan murmured, glancing pointedly at the furrow between her brows. “What is it?”

 Elide glanced down at her bare legs, pale skin dotted with purple marks and tender fingerprints. “What are you gonna do now?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“For work,” she asked, her voice so quiet Elide half-wondered if Lorcan had even heard it. 

But he had and Lorcan sat up, unconsciously drawing back to protect himself. “Same job. I’m going in for testing tomorrow, seven o’clock.” He knew what her reaction would be. He knew why she was sitting up, her posture immaculate and frozen. He knew why she pulled her chilled fingers from his. 

Tears were already caught in her lashes, her slender eyes filling with them. Lorcan saw the way she tried to stop her lower lip from trembling and he ached to reach out, to warm her up, just so that she would stop shaking, but he didn’t. He restrained himself, to let her have this lost moment, where nothing made sense. 

“You’re going back?” she whispered, voice aghast and cracked. 

Lorcan breathed in deeply, feeling helpless as silver tears slipped down her cheeks and dropped onto her thighs. “Yes.” 

Elide shook her head, dismissing it as false. So quickly, she switched, becoming the detached scientist she was in her work. She wiped her cheeks, sniffling once, “No, that doesn’t make any sense, Lorcan. You got hurt.” She said it bluntly, as if ripping the band-aid off would make it less scary, but it didn’t. “I thought- we all thought you were dead and we mourned for you.” 

“I met my family there, Elide. The people I love and people I would do anything to protect,” Lorcan stated calmly, his voice a touch too even. “They’re my family.” 

“What about me then. Am I not good enough to be your family, do you not love me, not want to protect me as much?” 

“No. No,” he said, his brows lowering fiercely. Lorcan gripped her chin, gently tugging her face upwards until she met his gaze. “Princess, you mean the fuckin’ world to me. I love you like I’ve never loved anyone and ever will love.” 

Elide cried, her face crumpling, “I’m scared.” She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her face into his shoulder. “Please, think about it. I can’t lose you again.” 

“You won’t lose me,” Lorcan murmured, rubbing her back slowly. 

“I want you to quit,” she mumbled, feeling small and pathetic. 

“I can’t do that.”

Elide would never make him quit something he loved, so all she could do, when her heart was raw and sore, was climb into his lap and hold onto him tightly. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

She looked so peaceful, sleeping in what was now their bed. Sprawled across the mattress, the deep black duvet twisted around her from her erratic sleeping pattern. 

Lorcan silently punched in the pin code for the hidden compartment in the back of his closet, wincing at the click and hiss as it unlocked and popped open, revealing an array of weapons. They were all neatly laid out in foam, perfectly fitting in the padding. 

He pulled out two Berettas, having lost his preferred Glocks on the day he was shot. The tribe women had never told him where they had put them, but Lorcan knew they would’ve been ruined by the river anyway.

Elide was still sleeping as he slid them into his holsters and grabbed two sheathed blades, pulling them out to test the balance. He smiled at the perfectness of it all, putting one on the tip of his finger and watching it remain completely flat. 

Lorcan put the knives into the holster next to each gun and then pushed the compartment shut. He stood, buttoning his suit jacket and grabbing his overcoat after seeing that it was raining again. 

He checked his watch, noting the time of 5:36AM and deciding he should leave within the next ten minutes if he wanted a chance to warm up and tape his shoulder before testing. 

Lorcan walked out of his closet and crossed over to Elide’s sleeping form. 

The city lights played across the smooth curve of her regal cheekbone and the pert button of her nose. Elide rolled onto her back, murmuring something low. 

Lorcan knew he should have woken her up to tell her he was leaving, but she looked too peaceful, so fragile that all he could do was kiss her forehead and walk away. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

He rolled his eyes as he stalked through the hallway, narrowing his gaze at the boys. “Boys, fine morning we’re having, is it not?” 

Vaughan snorted and jerked his head at Rowan, “It’s his fault.”

Their leader of sorts scowled at the back of Vaughan’s head and pushed him out of the way on his path to Lorcan. “We always come in early.” 

Lorcan stifled his laughter and walked into the changeroom, making a beeline to his locker. As he unlocked it, he commented, “For a spy, you’re a really shit liar, Ro-Ro.” 

They all laughed as Rowan groaned at Lorcan’s use of his dreaded nickname, crossing his arms over his chest and muttering, “I play truth or dare one fucking time. And I told you wankstains we were wasted.” 

Connall snickered and they bickered as Lorcan changed into a pair of shorts. It was Fenrys who noticed his wound first and the man’s demeanor dampened, shame flicking over his eyes. He cleared his throat, “I, uh, I have to do something.” Without another word, he made to leave, but Lorcan stopped him. 

“I need someone to tape my shoulder and I don’t trust any of them to do it right.” He picked up the roll of athletic tape in his locker, holding it out to Fenrys. 

The room went dead silent and it was almost comical, watching Connall, Vaughan, and Rowan swivel their heads back and forth to see if Fenrys would accept it. Lorcan had no grudge against him - he was doing his job and something went wrong. 

Fenrys took it and motioned for Lorcan to sit. The others gawked until Fenrys shot them a hard look and they quickly found other things to be interested in. Lorcan stretched his shoulder, grimacing at the strain, most likely from the weekend’s… activities. “So, Ro, you’re gonna be a dad.” 

Rowan choked at the bluntness, obviously nervous, “Y-yeah.” 

Lorcan arched a brow, batting Fenrys’ hand away from his head. “Well, you seem excited for that.” 

The silver-haired man swallowed, raking a hand through his hair so that it stuck up in every which way. “I never thought it would be this hard.” 

“Her being pregnant?” Vaughan asked, moving on silent feet - he’d always been best at the noiseless approach - to stand behind Lorcan and fix his hair. Lorcan trusted Vaughan with his hair more so than any other being on the planet after having been raised together and calling him his brother since before they could talk. 

Rowan shook his head and sat down heavily on the bench opposite Lorcan’s, his elbows braced against his thighs. “Not being able to tell her.” 

They all froze, except for Fenrys, who started to tape Lorcan’s shoulder as if nothing was wrong. 

“You’re not thinking of telling her, right?” Connall asked, words dripping in horrification. The things that could and would happen if a civilian, no matter who, were to find out what they did, how many times their jobs had saved people’s lives would ruin the country. 

Rowan didn’t answer. 

“Ro–” 

“I’m not gonna fucking tell her! Just, fuck, you guys don’t get it–” Fenrys shook his head, but he bit his tongue. Rowan glared at him, “Something you wanna say, Marama?” 

“Rowan, shut up. You’re not the only person in this room with someone they love. You aren’t the only person keeping secrets either, so stop acting like you didn’t know what you were signing up for,” Fenrys said, words clipped and his brow lowered. “We have the same job, Rowan, and lives of our own.”

Rowan’s mouth dropped open and he looked to the others, trying to garner sympathy or support in his opinion. No one dared to meet his eye except for Lorcan, who cocked his head to the side and sucked on his teeth. 

Just as Rowan was about to say something he’d come to regret, the door opened and they all whipped their heads to the side, their postures easing when they saw Nehemia. 

Her smile froze and she narrowed her eyes, her gaze landing on Rowan and staying. “We have an assignment, boys. Are we prepared for that?” 

They all mumbled their assent and slowly got up, dutifully exiting the room under Nehemia’s disapproving glare. She had obviously picked up on the tension and the cloud of uncomfortability that had settled over them. Knowing them as well as she did, the cyber analyst wouldn’t put up with their stupid bullshit and whatever childish entanglement they were caught in. 

Lorcan pulled his shirt on and closed his locker, pausing when he looked over his shoulder and saw his friend standing there. “What is it?” 

Nehemia couldn’t hide the apprehension in her eyes as she said, “She wants you there too.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

They were all dressed in full tactical uniforms, standing at attention as Maeve read the report. 

“Erawan and his cult are a much larger threat and we have reason to suspect they are receiving a shipment of arms within the next week. This man,” Maeve gestured to the man on the screen behind her, “has the specificities and your task is to acquire the information.” She cast a glance towards Lorcan, “Salvaterre, I suppose with your injury, you’ll be surveillance.”

She snapped the folder shut and slid it across the table to Rowan, who picked it up, a quizzical look on his face. “Apologies, ma’am, but are you expecting Salvaterre to be on this mission as well?” 

Maeve looked up, her manicured brows raising as she clasped her hands on the desk, “Is there a reason he should be exempt?” 

Lorcan clenched his jaw, but refused to meet her mocking gaze as the rest of the room opened their mouths. Rowan spoke up for them, “Ms. Nathair, Salvaterre has been gone for the past six months. Protocol states he needs a physical and psych exam before he’s cleared as a field agent.” 

“Protocol? The five of you have the most dangerous job in the world and you’re hung up on protocol?” she mocked them, a cruel smirk curling her thin lips. “Salvaterre.” 

“Yes, ma’am?” 

“Are you in need of an exam?” 

Fear coursed through him and still, Lorcan shook his head, “No, ma’am.” 

“Are you able to do your job?” 

His shoulder said no but Lorcan nodded, “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good. I’ll schedule your exams for tomorrow if the mission goes well. That is all.” 

They turned and walked out of the room, going down a complicated set of hallways and stairs to the prep room. Lorcan picked out surveillance equipment as Rowan and Fenrys changed into street clothes. 

Connall and Nehemia sat at their desk, typing on their computers and instructing their teams. Vaughan approached Lorcan, speaking in their mother tongue, “Lorcan, are you sure?”

“Yes.”

His brother sighed, unease clear on the sharp features of his face, “I don’t like this.”

Lorcan could only shrug. Vaughan muttered something, knowing he wouldn’t be able to convince Lorcan otherwise. He made to leave, stopping when Lorcan asked him something, “Did you name me?”

Vaughan looked at Lorcan over his shoulder, too many emotions swimming in his eyes for Lorcan to discern them all. “Yes.” 

“What was it?” 

“I named you Ohitekah.” 

Lorcan’s throat closed and he nodded once, pride for their people glowing in his chest. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Lorcan stewed silently as he nursed his weak coffee, holding back his grimace at the grainy texture. 

He kept his eyes on Fenrys and Rowan as they walked down the street, tailing their target as he ducked into a grocery store. 

Connall’s voice came over the comms once in a while, but nothing was directed to Lorcan. Fuck, he was so bored, sitting in the diner and watching. 

Reasoning with himself, Lorcan decided he had stayed in the diner long enough that it aroused suspicion, so he got up, paid for his coffee, and left. 

“Salvaterre, where the fuck are you going?” 

He responded calmly, “There’s an alley next to the grocery store.” Lorcan looked up and down the street before walking across. He subtly checked behind him to ensure nobody was following him and that he could slip into the alley. 

A pile of pallets hid him from the back door of the store and Lorcan leaned against the wall, fishing out his phone to pretend he was taking a call as he watched. “In position with clear sight of back exit.”

Rowan’s voice crackled in the radio, “I lost him. He’s heading towards the back - I’m in pursuit. Fen, meet L in the alley.” 

Lorcan pocketed his phone and made sure he had clear access to his gun. Time ticked by slowly and every second had his spine straightening just a bit more, until it looked like he would snap. 

The door burst open and the target ran out, fearfully looking over his shoulder and not paying attention as Lorcan stepped into his path and the man crashed. 

His reflexes were quick though, and he didn’t let Lorcan have the advantage as they fought. Lorcan’s shoulder immediately protested, shooting sharp pains down his arm. Despite that, the target was no match for him and just as quickly as it had started, Lorcan had him on the ground, a hand holding his face against the rough asphalt and a knee keeping his hands behind his back. 

Lorcan felt his nose drip blood, courtesy of the punch he’d received in the short scuffle, and he breathed past the pain in his body, cursing Maeve for all she was. 

Feet pounded against the road and Fenrys ran in, giving Lorcan the chance to stand up and stumble back, startling when Rowan appeared in front of him, steadying him with a hand on his right shoulder. “You good?” 

“Yeah, just a little blood. Don’t worry.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

He was close to blacking out as he walked into his apartment, his vision blurry and breathing shaky. Immediately, he saw Elide sitting on the couch, her short hair clipped up to keep it dry in the shower, he assumed based off the fact that she was wearing his housecoat. “El.” 

She whipped her head around, a deadly glare on her face, “Oh, you’re back? You didn’t die?” 

He really, really should’ve woken her up that morning. Lorcan closed his eyes, leaning against the wall, “Princess, I’m sorry, but I need- fuck, I need help.” After returning to headquarters, Lorcan had gone to the bathroom and discerned that miniscule pieces of the bullet were still lodged under his flesh. 

Elide’s eyes widened and she hopped up, hurrying over to him. His skin was clammy and cold to the touch, “Anneith above, what happened?” 

“Bathroom,” he breathed, leaning on Elide as he stumbled into the bathroom and sat down on the floor, his back against the sink cabinet. “Get the vodka.” 

He hadn’t realised she had even left before Elide returned with the bottle, taking her own sip before handing it to him. “L, what happened.”

He chugged for a solid five seconds, pausing to say, “I was shot six months ago,” and drinking again. Lorcan’s limbs felt fuzzy as he ripped off his jacket and shirt, throwing them into the corner. “Bullet’s not all out and,” he swallowed, taking her hand and gripping it tightly, “I need you to do it.” 

She gaped at him, eyes wide like saucers. “Lorcan, what? Why didn’t they fucking take it out the first time!” 

“I don’t- shit, I don’t know but I can’t fucking take it and I can’t go back there,” he whispered, head falling back against the cabinet door. “Too many questions. I’ll fucking talk you through it, just please.” 

Elide didn’t look convinced as she glanced between his face, eyes glazed in agony, and he tried again, “Please, baby, it hurts.”

She nodded, pressing her hand over the scar, “Yes, just- tell me what to do.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Do it.” 

“I’m doing it.” 

“No, you’re not.” Lorcan was watching her carefully, like she wasn’t holding a knife over his skin. “I told you - I trust you with my life.” 

Elide snapped her head up, glaring, “There is a difference between a straight razor and cutting bullet fragments out of you, Lorcan.” 

He somehow had the audacity to chuckle and lean forward, pressing his lips to her forehead in an effort to soothe her. Elide had to, begrudgingly, admit that it worked a bit. “You got this, yeah? I can barely feel a thing.” 

Elide nodded and took a deep breath before turning back to the task. With the tip of the knife, she made an incision, pressing white gauze against it to soak the blood that dripped down. Her hands were surprisingly steady as she used the tweezers to pick the metal bit out. Lorcan hissed, biting his lip to stop his groan of pain. 

She blinked her tears back, wanting to run away from this. Elide carefully put the piece in the plastic bag and continued, cutting and tweezing until every part was out. 

Lorcan was barely conscious when she cleaned the wounds and sealed it. Elide brushed his hair back from his forehead and let him be as she tidied up the supplies and dumped everything in the garbage. 

Elide turned back to Lorcan, who was looking at her with a proud expression, his lips pulled into a small smile, “C’mere, princess.” She rolled her eyes at the nickname, but went to him, sighing in relief the moment she was curled up in his arms, head tucked beneath his chin. “You did good.” 

“Mm, really? Beginner’s luck?” 

He laughed drily, “We’ll have to see about that next time.” 

Elide shook her head, suddenly feeling like the bathroom was the only safe space in the world, “I don’t want there to be a next time.” She pressed her face in Lorcan’s neck, her tears dripping down her cheeks. “Promise me there won’t be a next time.” 

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep, Elide,” Lorcan murmured, dragging his hand up and down her thigh in a soothing pattern. “All I can give you is my honesty.” 

Elide wrapped her arms around his neck and cried silently, wondering if there would be a day when honesty wasn’t enough.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

@mythicaitt @tinywolfofeyllwe @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @empire-of-wildfire @rhysands-highlady @ttakeitbacknoww @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse e @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @empress-ofbloodshed @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @silversprings98 @amren-courtofdreams​ @minaidss @superspiritfestival @lovemollywho @queen-of-glass @jlinez @sleeping-and-books @ireallyshouldsleeprn @verypaleninja @januarystears @magicalunicorngypsy

[mrsunderhill678]

Ya Gorl’s Been Tip Tappin’ against the keyboard and makin’ magic with her fingies

“I used to think I was a troubled man, stumbling mistake to mistake, wondering what people's lives would be like without me. But now I've come to realize I'm not troubled, just hurt, and there's such a fine difference in that. Love and trouble used to look like cocaine and sugar, and I could hardly tell the difference between pain and gentleness. So I let neither guide my way in fear of choosing the wrong thing and breaking myself in ways I could never fix.” - Dan Castlestone

“I met my love as she wept in her sorrow, wondering why she couldn't find freedom. But it feels like, as I dance my fingers against the etches of her spine and kiss her gently where it hurts the most, our love is the freedom she's been craving. She's got scars on her heart, but look at her, sitting gentle and peaceful like a dove prophesizing great peace and love. I'd never seen someone so gentle, so beautiful, so lovely, until I met her sorrow filled and kind eyes.” - Mel Ackers

“I've always wanted to be somebody to someone, but it feels as if, I have finally become somebody to me.” - Fern Ackers

“She stood next to me in the garden as I sprouted, everybody else stood tall, but there I stood, bent in ways I didn't think could heal. But she didn't care. She stood there every day, giving me water and watching me grow, building me up with gentle kisses in the dark and nights spent tangled in each other's arms. And now here I stand, tall and loved, knowing that without Mel, without my beautiful children, I never would've learned how to be somebody to me.” - Fern Ackers

“I'm a love riddled fool, sipping on sorrowful poetry and sad songs in the dark, knowing I shall never be me, for I was born somebody else.” - Anderson Mafasa

“Some people call me crazy, but I prefer the term lucid in reality, for I crave fantasy much more than I enjoy the real things I can touch and feel.” - Anderson Mafasa

“There's no one but me in my mind, so how could I blame anybody but myself for the thoughts in my head?” - Anderson Mafasa

“It feels as if I have sunken deep into the recesses of myself, and there's no one but me to run to.” - Anderson Mafasa

“I've learned God can never tame the monsters he's made. He sets us loose in a hunting ground and when prey fell short we'd come to love the violence and the way blood felt on our hands. So we turned on each other and brought our stones down on those weaker than us, just for that high we got from power. I won't smile, but God damn brother, I'll show you my teeth.” - Adir Butcher

“I met evil in the heart of my hometown, sinister grin brewing with trouble, heart bared black on a leather jacket sleeve. I lost myself deep in the twisted and black spine of the underground, firing off bullets for the wrong reasons and losing pieces of myself each time they flew from the chamber. But as I sit here, honor beating in my chest, who I am flowing through my veins, I know I ain't never losing myself to trouble's smile once more.” - Adellia Rustfey

“He built hell on the streets of our home, but I'll be damned if we can't find heaven in ourselves.” - Adellia Rustfey

“I've brushed my fingers against the ever expanding pages of history, eyes dragging across kills immortalized in verse, wars written as beauty in prose and poetry, humanity's darkness called natural and inescapable. And I must wonder, as I stare history eye to eye if it's a warning we didn't heed or a monster we've created up of crimson etched poetry and verses glorified in blood.” - Achilles Arrowheart

“Asking "Why," to love is like looking up to the midnight sky and trying to count all the stars.” - Achilles Arrowheart

“I cannot live dancing under the shadows of ghosts.” - Achilles Arrowheart

“I was on my deathbed, six foot underneath a man I never was.” - Abramio Gold

“The way I see it, hate is a small plate, and you fill it with the little things that upset you, gorging em down and feeling full because you trick yourself into thinking it's a complete meal. But a few minutes later your heart begins to growl so you fill your plate with more hate and keep on doing it, again, and a fucking gain until all you can do is sit there at your hateful table, wondering why you're alone in a room full of your demons. We trick ourselves into thinking not everyone wants to sit at the table, so we never even give em the fucking chance. And I think that's sad, that we've tricked ourselves into thinking a life of hate is fulfilling.” - Abramio Gold

“I can say sorry for wot I've done, but dat doesn't change dat it 'appened. For some people, it just won't mattah dat I've changed, because when dey look into me eyes dey'll see da memories'a da cruelty in me. But a man don't change because 'e expects ta be forgiven. A man changes because he just can't fuckin' live wif da person he's been, so 'e kicks 'imself outta 'is 'ead and learns ta be somebody new past all 'is fuckin' pain.” - Lincoln Essex Twis

“I've got blood on me 'ands and ghosts in me blood.” - Lincoln Essex Twis

“No man wants ta go through redemption, for it's one'a da most torturous scars a soul can bare.” - Lincoln Essex Twis

“I used ta say I was a ghost loomin' over a grave dat weren't me own, but it feels as if, I spent me three days in me tomb, and all these people I love came around ta roll back da stone for me. And so, gentle, quiet and joyful I fall inta da arms'a all I love.” - Rosie Essex Twis

“The way I see it, and the way I'll always, see it, is that the man that fears change in the right direction has been walking in the wrong direction for too long, and has come to believe walking the wrong path is the only way he can go without resistance. So he sits in his comfort level, trying to force others to bend to his own fears.” - Pete Lockman

“I've always been a little wild, dancing barefoot in the garden and digging my nails into dirt and streams, falling in love with the way nature gently hums and shows her beauty. People say the world is hateful, but if you listen to the birds hum and you sing along to the gentle roar of the river, you'll come to realize the world never hates, only people, do.” - Lassie Lockman

“My father once told me that the strongest person of all is the one that embraces her identity and lets no one else narrate who they are. We all have our own stories and memories, and everyone's always trying to tell you how it is. But only you, know your story, and you're the only one who can tell it.” - Lassie Lockman

“She who changes based on every word spoken against her will never remain the same in the seconds that pass.” - Lassie Lockman

“I look to the sky, rays of light drifting through the dreary and lazy clouds. And I begin to wonder how God looks down on us. And as the sunlight caresses my cheek and brings warmth to my skin, I come to realize she speaks so gently, like a soft and quiet wind bringing the scent of love and forgiveness in it's wake.” - Lassie Lockman

“I was born under the shadow of bad men's deeds, looking to the sky for answers, praying to a silent God. But as I stood there, silence choking the goodness in me, I came to learn there's nowhere a sinning man can run from the madness and cruelty that comes on by to claim all who are troubled. And so I put another bullet in my chamber, firing off rage from a crimson revolver and killing under the shadow of cruel men's deeds.” - Navy Remington

“For as long as the sun has risen and fallen, trouble and violence have known man's heart, and so falling deep into the disease of murder and lies, I become one with my ancestors and succumb to the hum of spilling blood.” - Navy Remington

“I was just a girl looking for her peace, but now I place my finger against a sinning woman's trigger, looking down the scope of my rifle and knowing, it's not a wolf in my crosshairs. I always close my eyes the moment before a kill, convincing myself that it's just another deer, it's just another wolf, but I'm always haunted by the dead lying face down and crimson in the snow.” - Suzanna Hargroves

“I look to the stormy skies, wondering if my mother's eyes dance in those dark clouds, wondering if her tears drip down my cheek as another drop of rain splashes against my skin. Or am I just trying to see her everywhere I go so I never have to let her go?” - Suzanna Hargroves

“I stepped into that old mansion like a flickering and killing light drawing in the wicked moth, but as I walked out, I learned I had never been the flame, nor had Ickabod been the moth. I was human, and fragile, and Ickabod knew that, huh?” - Shamallo Green

“I was a white dove grenade hurtling toward darkness, but I was caught in the arms of cruelty and thrown back to the light where pieces of my shrapnel trouble broke through the skin of peace.” - Shamallo Green

“I'll never come to understand what life has in store for this old, blood spilling sinner, but I suppose all I can do is keep my head up high and pretend I've got a heart that's whole.” - Shamallo Green

“I ain't much more than a name in a book, these days, waitin' ta be cut down with ink scrawled 'cross my damn spine.” - Andraak Flint

“My full moon faded ta black and shadow, and God damn, I ain't much but a haunted man fallin' through the echoes of his snarl.” - Andraak Flint

“There ain't enough words on my tongue ta describe the love I lost. But 'er name tastes bitter on this guilty tongue. Carmellia was everythin' I never knew I needed, and when she danced 'er fingers 'cross my bare and scarred chest and told me I was er's, I could'a sworn I was gon' die a better man than I was born.” - Andraak Flint

“I look ta a grave too young, and ta me, it still feels like that soil was freshly dug.” - Andraak Flint

“I look to a cloudy sky and in the drops'a rain that splash on my eye I see the tears'a the holy pourin' down on the man peace and mercy forgot.” - Andraak Flint

“My life fell apart before I ever had a chance to live it.” - Arco Dogson

“It's always strange, losing yourself. Because when you find yourself again, he almost feels unfamiliar. Like an old friend you haven't seen for years. But then you get to talking and you realize everything changed, all but the laughter and joy that came with talking about nothing with a friend.” - Arco Dogson

“The powerful always call your whispers too damn loud cause they're morality stands on fragile glass, cracked and hollow, ready ta break with whisper decibels.” - Lockman Pierce

“I was a cracked seed wonderin' if he'd ever bloom, but all I needed was someone ta come on by with water and love, tendin' ta my heart and my soul and touchin' the scars in me with the tips'a their words in places my hands couldn't go. And that, is what Lucille is ta me. She's strong and valiant, risin' 'bove all trouble and cruelty. And when the war cry comes, you best believe she's gon' fight.” - Lockman Pierce

“It is when we are at war with ourselves that darkness comes on by, beggin' ya to diverge from your path. But don't stray, brother. When you're at an all time low, you gotta keep on walkin' the path'a the right. Cause darkness stands as the only poison mankind dares ta swallow.” - Lockman Pierce

“On the edge of death and madness I met a man with sadness bleeding from the edges of his eyes. He was just another broken man under a cruel man's shadow, and ever since I met him, trouble's known my name. But I don't blame him, for that.” - Fisher Rupkal

“We all need to cry a little, we all need to die a little to live a little. The sky's heavy with the scent of trouble and sin, and as the storm comes down I know, we'll face the rain and cackling thunder clouds side by side with those we call brother and sister. It seems people pass by the sorrowed man, hands in their pockets and ill thoughts in their heads, wondering why we don't help ourselves. But truth is, we left our hearts out in the storm to rust and always felt like if we put them back in our chest, our bones too, would rust over with the musky scent of trouble.” - Fisher Rupkal

“Hey man, look, the powerful will tell you you're nothing, but doesn't that mean you're free to become anything?” - Derrick Furmusa

“I'm just a curious spirit walking home in the dead of night, passing old identities by like stumbling strangers, knowing all I wanna do is walk through the front door of who I am and embrace this person I've become. And sure, as I walk inside claw marks etch the wallpaper and there might be one or two shadows hiding in the corners of my sanctuary. But this person I am is home, he's me, and I'll never let that change. All these hallways and doorways of me tell a story dotted with trouble and love that builds who I am from scars and memories.” - Derrick Furmusa

“I was never strong, but I've always figured the most important kind of strength is the kind that walks in your heart and your mind, rather then the kind that resides in black eyes and broken knuckles. I've got a lot of fight left in me, so I think it's high time I face the cruelty of this world with a crooked little smile and a few quips and jokes.” - Derrick Furmusa

“Someone once asked me why in the face of death, I smile. And maybe it's because I never saw death as a foe, or something to fear, rather just another part of life coming and going as the wind blows on by.” - Derrick Furmusa

“I's got a cold shoulder, but it's all I got to lean on, holdin' on long enough for it ta haunt me. My daughter says that it's okay, ta be me, but bein' me has only ever made me regret who I am. And so I let this person I am drift away from the cigarette smoke, wishin' a princess would come and save me. Cause I sit here in my eyes like Rapunzel, lookin' out her stained window'a glass and regret, wonderin' why she can never leave her tower. And I only ever let down my hair to let those that hurt me inta my mind.” - Julianne Hufflesburg

“My lips taste like lies whispered on a cold afternoon, my love feels like a flickerin' spark driftin' from the cigarette, and my heart, in the hand'a someone who cares, feels like not the rose, but the thorns from it's stem.” - Julianne Hufflesburg

“I must remind myself that life is a slow and insidious killer, drainin' the soul and heart outta ya before ya ever get a chance ta fuckin' live.” - Casimir Heartfull

“When I first met Remana she asked me who I was prayin' ta, and I sparked up a cigarette and told her truthfully? I was prayin' ta the silence hopin' I'd hear sumthin' in the echoes 'a my prayers. But now I look back at all these memories'a her and I see a red eyed ghost, lost in addictions and some delusional 'ope that she could crawl 'er way outta hell. I tried ta help her, but who I am simply weren't enough, so I took our kids and I ran from 'er ghost, wonderin' if I did the right thing or the cowardly thing.” - Casimir Heartfull

“I'm just a waste'a fuckin' life, sippin' on whiskey and lies in hopes ta bury this man I am six foot deep beneath liquor, cigarettes and sex. But part time pleasures never saved a man. Only made 'im forget who he is. I've got midnight rain swimmin' in my heart, growin' a garden'a regret and weeds in my soul. And God damn, man, I forget the way her fingers feel on my skin or the way her lips tasted on mine. And I gotta wonder if she misses me when I ain't around, or if she wishes she'd never met me and saved herself the trouble'a rememberin' me.” - Casimir Heartfull

“I was stolen away in the night by wolves in the dark, and now I grasp at who I am, clutching only air, wondering how I'm to bloom in gravel and bark.” - Candie Scavell

“The thing bout life is, it ain't fair. And it ain't never going ta be, nor will it ever be. We're all born different, given different lives and opportunities, so ta say life treats all as equals would be a lie. But that don't mean we can't treat each other, as equals.” - Vernon Crazendale

“I've been a wild, country rockin' ramblin' soul for a long time now, dancin' under the sunlight with cheep beer on my breath and just another reason ta live in my heart. But when that beautiful woman caught me up in her arms and tangled her way inta my heart, I knew it had been trouble and nuthin' I'd been livin'. Bobbi's a kind, gentle and wild soul, singin' her heart out, never afraid ta share her melody. When she places a hand on my cheek and tells me we'll brave this storm together, I always git this feelin' we'll walk out the other side, all be it scarred, and damaged. But still intact and fightin'.” - Vernon Crazendale

“I've never been a blind man, but it feels like, when Bobbi presses her lips against mine, she taught me ta open my eyes. I wouldn't want anybody but her lyin' on my chest when I fall inta sleep, I wouldn't want anybody but her tangled in my sheets. She's this beautiful guardian angel and I'm always swearin' up and down she was sent from heaven on peace's wings. She always chuckles and says she's human just like me, but I always figured that's what angels were.” - Vernon Crazendale

“A place an orange capped revolver under my chin, breathing in, breathing out as with the click of a plastic trigger, I let my imagination kill me.” - Alvadia Crow

“I often wonder if trouble kisses her knuckles before they hit my cheek, or if she loves the man she torments. I've crossed my heart and vowed to die, trouble looking me up and down with hungry eyes, my faith pinning me against the wall and stealing the mercy from my lip. I have a menace in my bed, he tosses and turns, nightmares plaguing him, faith killing him, and he is me, he's always been me. And so long as I am me, I shall never truly be. How cruel it must be to live under the shadow of love and faith, falling in love with all the things that want to kill you.” - Alvadia Crow

“I am beginning to fear God watches over me not as a loving mother or father, but as a watcher and tormentor, learning the ins and outs of me before she learns the cruelest ways to kill me. Perhaps it was never God's voice I heard, but a steady and aching silence I mistook for guidance.” - Alvadia Crow

“With trembling hands and shaking fingers I place this orange capped revolver under my chin, closing my eyes with a mind so weary. And as I slide my finger gentle against the trigger, and place my hand cruel against the hammer, I whisper to the sorrowful sinner that is I, "I think I better go before I try something I might regret." - Alvadia Crow

“My head's cloudy and my mind's up in the empty sky, soaring like Icarus toward their death, knowing as they fall, clutching at the world with tears in their eyes and freedom in their smile, they died themselves.” - Juno

“My father was everything to me, you know? He was like this hero I could always look up to when my mind treated me cruelly, and when I let the truth spill from my words, he accepted me as I am and pulled me into this warm hug that smelled of leather and acceptance with the slight tinge of smoke. It honest to God feels like I'm crumbling without him, and as villains and bastards swarm around me, I cry out to a grave to save me.” - Juno

“I just wish I could have one last hug from my father, one more kiss goodnight from my mother. But as I close my eyes and fall back into my mind, it's not their smiles that greet me, it's their graves that come to haunt me.” - Juno

“I'll always stand as a whiskey burning question, wisping and fading away like cigarette smoke on a cold afternoon.” - Tristan Ripburn

“I sink ta the bottom’a my thoughts and begin ta wonder who all the bones at the bottom’a the sea belongs ta. Only ta learn they was me, they was always me.” - Alaric Alistair

“I look up at grey eyes, wonderin' who I am as my tears and sorrows disappear like silence in the rain.” - Alaric Alistair

“I was just a boy with nuthin', tryin' ta make a somebody outta himself until I met the man that'd kill all the things that made me Alaric Alistair. He always tells me it's my fault that I continue ta live in his shadows and lies, and God damn, he's right. I pass by guns in the nightstand but never pull the trigger, I walk past him as he sleeps and don't kill the monster in my head, and as he tells me ta kill another soul and enact another consequence, I do as told.” - Alaric Alistair

“I'm a skinny and starvin' dog that never learned how ta bark, and so I rile myself up and leave no warnin' for my bite, always leavin' teeth marks and claws in everythin' I ever let go.” - Alaric Alistair

“I wonder what my mother would say if she saw me today, old bat slung over my shoulder, wicked grin lyin' crooked on my lip. I ain't the boy she rose no more, just the boy that fell.” - Alaric Alistair

“All that's left of me is an old chalk outline laying at the bottom of the streetlight, knowing that it was a knife in the back that killed this man I am.” - Maxlion Saltkal

“Some men will claim themselves good, some men will claim themselves bad, but I don't think I've got a definition for me. Cause I've been good, bad and everything in-between, wondering who I'll be when that first bullet flies. It was in the flashing and colored lights of the nightclub that I met my demise. There he stood, dancing to dead melodies and sins, not knowing, as the two of us met, fate had decided both of us would die.” - Maxlion Saltkal

“Bits and pieces of me have died throughout the years, and as I realize I can't carry all of them in my arms, I regretfully shove them into my empty chamber, slinging six broken pieces of me at the man that shattered me.” - Maxlion Saltkal

“I can never tell if I'm the hammer or the nail, but when we stare each other down, pistol's eye to pistol's eye, the smoke that leaves the gun shall determine who we are.” - Maxlion Saltkal

“Carva was just another justice bound soul until we met, and in my eyes she saw something wild, something reckless, but more importantly, she saw the possibility of us. She didn't care that I was a fucking lowlife livin' the outlaw life, because all she saw when she looked at me were the beautiful things I built my scars of. I've got blood on my hands and regret in my mind, but when she takes me by my hand and tells me I'm good enough for her, I can't help but think I'm on the path to redemption.” - Mika Hammerclub

“All cruel men who ever walked always left some kind of death in their stride, gunshots and echoes always following wherever their bootprint lied. But to all the cruel men of this world? I'm a cold fucking reckoning. Because God damn, I stand for justice these days and my chamber's full of names.” - Mika Hammerclub

“I'm a finger trembling on a dead woman's trigger, knowing I've no bravery left, only the emptiness that comes with sorrow.” - Kecia Brightburn

“It feels as if, in someway, my heart has become vacant in my chest and my demons rent out rooms in my head. And here I lie under the shadows of the bed, waiting for my monsters to slide their ankle over the edge. And as they do, I drag them under, hoping I have the courage to do what I must. But I always stare back into the eyes of my son, wondering if it's right of me, to kill the monster that stares at me with eyes I used to love. And so I let him go and sit like a shadow under the bed, knowing above me lies a wicked angel sleeping gently in his chaos.” - Kecia Brightburn

“In the span of a few days I lost my life, and now I swing from the hook skinny, starved and silent, wonderin' who I'd be if I never met all the things God's come ta fear.” - Markus Caesar

“In my small town'a secrets and lies I found an angel watchin' over the remnants'a Eden with a flamin' sword and sorrow in 'is eyes. And there he stood, defendin' the serpent for he was just another victim ta the lies'a the wicked. I used ta damn the man who bit down on his tongue ta keep secrets in the dark, but I's learned we're all victims ta the cold, hearts beatin' empty in a heavy and burdened chest.” - Markus Caesar

“I look up ta the empty sky, wonderin' what my aunt would think if she saw me now. She were my light in the dark, really, but now that she's gone my restless head's been singin' the damn blues and I'm lost on the silent highway ta freedom and grace. When ya lose your guardian angel, what are ya 'sposed ta become? I sit here like a regretful dog, layin' at his owners' grave, wonderin' when she'll come back. But it's bones and soil I'm lovin' and hopin' on.” - Markus Caesar

“A thousand dreamless lives sit heavy on my heart, howlin' for justice, but the beat'a my heart's become just another sound, and my bravery's fadin' like sparks in July.” - Markus Caesar

“The way I see it death has always been mercy. The moment a man falls he's been spared of the misery life tends ta bring, and whosoever lives on shall die a man they're not. After all, it's what happened ta me, eh? I stared into the unblinking eyes of death, but she turned my gaze to cruelty and shut my damn eyes.” - Zachary De’Lillium

“I bite down on bullets etched with my own fucking name.” - Max Tripp

“I've been a bad, bad man, and as I look at the sky and see the sorrowed eyes of my love in the clouds, I know she died ashamed of this man I am. I was her last mistake, and now here I sit like a flickering remnant of who she was, wondering when I'll get the justice I deserve. But I never find karma at the bottom of the glass, I never find redemption in the burnt stump of the cigarette. It's impossible to find who you are when you've always been blind, huh?” - Max Tripp

“Me and my demons play this funny little game of two regrets and a lie. I let her down, I whisper, I loved another, I shout. I'm a good fucking man, I weep. And there the demons sit in my mind, laughing and clapping, for they always know the lie.” - Max Tripp

“In the shadows of the wood I met a wolf, and with childlike glee and curiosity I followed him as he tossed rose petals on the ground. I built a rose from his lies, not caring for the way the thorns bled my palm. And just as I began to realize all wolves lie, he ripped me away with hungry eyes and carved my innocence into darkness.” - Carrie Howl

“I've got a few scars beatin' in my chest, whisperin' in the melody of my heart that I don't deserve these things I've got. But family ain't about deserve I reckon, it's more about who sticks by your side even when you don't really deserve it. When my rifle becomes too much ta bear, and my sins sit too heavy on my shoulder, I've got my family ta lean on. Cause it's when you're at your worst, that family's love is at it's best.” - Despevada Solace

“I've got prayers sittin' on my cowboys' sleeve that never made it ta God, and I wonder if he sees these words I scrawl on the scarred leather and linen'a who I've become.” - Despavada Solace

“I've got demons in my fucking head, man. They stand there just in the edges of my sanity, always leaving scratches and bites on the inside of my skull until pieces of them bleed into me. I've never been someone worth while, just another sad boy whispering lies to himself that everything would be okay. But look at me now! I've got power and insanity on my side, and I can't help but think these wicked things are what I should build my name off of.” - Wulf Azari

“In the shadows of murder and the light of sin I met a devil like me. She sits quiet and still with a festering rage in her heart and when you dare think she's a sheep, she'll smile and show you her fangs.” - Wulf Azari

“I've said goodbye to myself too many times, it's time I met who I'm not.” - Wulf Azari

“The world will remember the boy it forgot.” - Wulf Azari

“I am a quiet strangulation hidden behind words like, "No need to worry bout lil' ol' me.” - Hildon Crowrappha

“I was just another man on the streets, consuming part time highs, filling myself full of substances that would kill me. But as the angels started carrying me back home on wings of glass and fragile prayer, I had this horrible realization that I had never lived, for it had always been through death I walked. And so, kicking and screaming I tore myself from heaven, condemning myself to a life on Earth.” - Hildon Crowrappha

“I'm standing under the shadow of another woman's damnation, wondering why, if God is watching over us, she is allowed to exist? But perhaps God never had a plan for us, and all he could do was observe us like a dream, wondering why it was never lucid.” - Hildon Crowrappha

“It feels as if I carry a cross in my heart, and slowly but surely, it is turning itself upside down.” - Hildon Crowrappha

"I'm drownin' under the trouble I created, and I can blame my problems all I like, but it's my mind workin' against me, so in a sense, I've got an enemy inside my head and he looks like a God damn mirror." - Stefanio Dogvalk

"You wanna kill a man? Well then God damn, brother, just give 'im a reason ta hate." - Milo Horvinshay

"Something sinister lurks deep within his kindness, for it is just another masks he wears like gossamer and silk." - Maddox Spelfellheim 

"Even the farmer stares at the coyote through the scope of a rifle." - Alfred Godsel 

 "And so when fate finds itself at the crossroads of two promises, which do you think it'll choose? Because from where I'm standing it sure as fuck seems like fate don't vow for the conquerors." - Mac McVale

"Sometimes life bats around the good people because it doesn't trust them to keep good hearts in their chests, so it dares fate to make the good hearts black." - Coby Mackentime 

"I'm pretty sure the soul is a concept we made up ta answer the uncertainty of our morality." - Lockman Pierce 

"Fear is a very funny word, it runs through many a man's veins, bringing them so gently to death. But death was never a friend, nor was life, nor fate, nor mortality. It was always just another way God could keep us trapped, for the day we sinned, immortality flitted away into nothing." - Calzell Flickerfeid 

"A threat is a threat, the words matter not, the intention breathes through the blood in the air." - Calzell Flickerfeid   

"Life is lived right up until the moment it isn't." - Calzell Flickerfeid 

“Crazy only exists in the eyes of the well man." - Comodus Kalchamber  

"Staring into my eyes, you see every man who fell like an angel from the sky. I used to believe God stood by all who worshipped, but I now know he only stands by those who worship right. I knelt at the altar, heart empty in my bones, and I prayed to a God who could never hear the quiet whispers I spoke. For he was never there, it was just who I am shouting in the corner of my mind." - Alvadia Crow

Man dun'it make a sound as he falls apart." - Oswin Sealock 

"You think me a crack in this castle of glass? Brother, I'm the fucking hammer." - Lorenzo Storm 

"My monster looks at me through the edges of my eyes, he's corrosive like poison, seepin' into my thoughts, my actions and the way I speak. Because in the end he's apart'a me, and ain't nuthin I can do to change that other than hope he leaves with the driftin' smoke." - Rustin Threadpatch

"I don't fear. I analyze, I come to understand. Then I damn, I fight. I condemn not what I don't, understand. But what I do." - Rustin Threadpatch 

”I’m falling apart like a 1965 photograph. I’m faded and torn at my edges, little pieces of me missing, like a puzzle that you know ain’t never gonna look right. They can put little pieces of me back together, stitch my edges back against one another, but in the end I’m the still the same old photograph, caught as a ghost in a single frame of time.” - Rustin Threadpatch

"Some people like to think that getting away with it is another form of mercy. This is untrue! You didn't get away with it, my friend. The world simply forgot you did it. How unfortunate for you that I didn't." - Lieutenant Stenbarge 

"People are, monsters at best, human at worst." - Rustin Threadpatch 

 "He walks confident like a loaded gun with the hammer pulled back and ready." - Rustin Threadpatch   

"A delusion is only beautiful if the mad gives it a reason to be." - Maureen Chiseldowe

"Thing bout second chances, Graham. Is that they give the spared man the wicked fuckin' idea, that he can get away with it." - Henry Sinix

"Mankind does not believe the broken man. In the whole we trust, in the broken we condemn." - The Crow

"Be it God or man, we are always looking for someone to blame. Unfortunately, I am the blade others fall onto." - Arasill

[nevermore-ocs]

Parents

Author’s note: SO *claps* We got something pretty serious this time y’all, about 2.4K words, a story from Rayne’s past but this has REALLY SERIOUS topics in it, SENSITIVE STUFF IN IT, seriously if you CAN’T read it OR IT’S TOO DIFFICULT TO, you can totally skip it, Rayne’s story is the most REAL one and it was difficult for me to type it not gonna lie, I’M GONNA TAG WHAT’S IN IT HERE AND ALSO IN THE TAGS FOR DOUBLE PROTECTION-

SO, WARNINGS HERE: tw // blood tw // abuse tw // violence tw // homophobia

The car was hot now.

The windows, once clear, now had a layered sheen of condensation on them from the inside. Determined little beads of built-up water steadily rolling down the glass in a silent race. The car reverberated with the low rumble of R&B playing from the radio just to set the mood, she figured. Rayne, her face tinted with a light crimson to her cheeks, gradually sat up in her side of the backseat while she panted out, she licked her lips, she could still taste her essence tainting her mouth and printing itself onto there. Allison, this, brunette haired, blue-eyed, long-legged, and slender girl that went to the same high-school as Rayne was laid out next to her. Her trembling legs were still spread apart, too sensitive to even think about closing, her head was leaned back against the door. She gasped out harder and louder than Rayne did for she was coming down from the orgasmic high that had hit her harder than a speeding bullet train. Rayne settled her hand on one of Allison's knees, "You gonna get up?" She muttered with a twinge of impatience, pushing the other girl's legs closed for her practically, Allison huffed, "Can't you give me, like, fucking 10 seconds, Rayne, Jesus!" She snapped, harsher and quicker than she originally intended. She glanced down the seat and caught just in time of Rayne glancing away with narrowing eyes and a furrowed brow, she stared through a gap in the fog on the window thanks to her wiping it away with the side of her fist. The brunette, drifting her eyes away for a moment, looked back at her and she gently sat up, "I'm sorry," Allison murmured, her hand going to Rayne's shoulder to provide some sort of comfort, she even gave it a tender squeeze. Rayne, without even giving her another glance, snatched her shoulder out of Allison's grasp, "Least I can get you to fucking cum anyway," she growled, taking a hold of the door handle, she pushed the door open hard, and before she closed it, she leaned in once more, "Last time I checked, Jack can't do that for you right?" She shot, and she slammed the door close, leaving Allison inside with her stunned and terrified expression at the sheer mention of her boyfriend. Rayne glared once more at the condensed and covered window, staring it down in a way before turning and beginning to trudge in the opposite direction when the car turned over and drove away. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out an open, crinkled, and an almost empty box of cigarettes, along with a blue lighter that had noticeably low fluid in it. She flipped open the lid when she raised the box to her mouth and she caught one of the smokes in between her lips. Whilst she slid the pack back into her pocket, it took a couple of tries, but the lighter awoken with a bright, burning orange flame and she held it to the cigarette, lighting the end of it and taking a deep and much-needed drag of it. She held the cigarette in between her index finger and the middle one, taking it out of her mouth. She breathed the smoke out in a deep sigh, letting it leave her lungs for now.

She longed this walk, this rut she's imprinted into the sidewalk, she knew it like the back of her head and she hated the destination. She tapped the built-up ash off of the cigarette and put it back in between her lips and let it hang loosely there as she got closer and closer to her house with every hesitant step. Her home didn't feel like a home anymore, so, better to call it a house than ever a home. As she approached the porch, she glanced towards the illuminated living room window. She studied it, the tv was on and playing some kind of sporting event, it looked like football but she didn't care a single bit. All it told her was that he was awake, and was probably a six-pack down already. She took the cigarette out of her mouth and put it out by grinding the lit end against the wooden rail of the porch, then she crumpled the stick up and threw it to the side, in the garden barely attended to anymore. She's done this process so many times now there was a small build-up of extinguished, thrown-away smokes and small, black, circles brunt into the cedarwood. She haltingly stepped up the porch stairs, she knew what was going to happen, it was inevitable, it was every day now, like clockwork, right on the dot too. Rayne stood at the door, her eyes glared down at the worn in welcoming mat. "Welcome to our happy home!" The bold, elegantly inscribed words taunted her silently.

Happy home. What a bunch of shit.

Turning the doorknob, the front door creaked open and she stepped inside, letting the door shut behind her. She didn't even bother to lock it as she was already hurrying to the back of the house to the rooms. "Where the Hell were ya tonight, girl?" Her father, a slim man, more skin and bone than muscle with his hair shaved down to a buzz-cut and dressed in a white tank-top and shorts glared over at her. His words were slurred, the simple sentence seemed to be a struggle for him to even think of. Rayne scoffed, barely looking over at him, "Like you fuckin' care," she retorted, already hearing him begin to shuffle and stumble around when he tried to pull himself out of the sofa. She never wanted to see him. She couldn't stand him, his smell that always reeked massively of liquor, how disheveled he was, he was like a leech just sucking the dwindling life-force of what once was a pleasant and happy home. That seemed like such a distant memory now. As she approached the target door, she fixed her hair with a simple brushing of her fingers going through the somewhat black, tangled hair. She tugged on the front of her flannel shirt, fixed the collar, and took in a deep breath, and let it out to calm down her infuriated nerves. She wanted to at least seem happy for her, she didn't need any more stress on her heart. With a firm grip on the golden doorknob, she gradually turned it and creaked open the door open, it squeaked with its minuscule movement, the invading light of the hallway seeping into the dark room. When there was a big enough gap in the open doorway, she stepped in and closed it behind her, this time she did lock it behind her. She didn't want anyone disturbing this time.

"Hey mom." She murmured gently, her words had a minor waver to them at the sight of her mother, swaddled up in two or three blankets with her head buried in a bevy of pillows. Her once beautiful, wavy, red hair, now lazily put up in a messy bun, unkempt and rarely cared for. She glanced at her mother's face, her tired eyes looked sunken in like she got clocked in both of her eyes and had little life after the hits. Hearing Rayne's voice, however, seemed to have sparked her engine a little. Weakly, she lifted her head from the pillows and glanced over her shoulder at Rayne before relaxing again. "Hey baby..." Her words were so quiet, if it weren't for the stillness of her bedroom she wouldn't have heard her speak up at all. It pained Rayne just to stand there, shifting on her feet, unable to do anything about the illness that ran rampant through her body, destroying everything in its path to leave nothing but an empty shell to deteriorate in a black box buried six feet deep in the ground. "How was today? Any pain?" She always asked this question and always got the same answer, "Same old, same old, sweetie..." Just like clockwork. "Right, yeah," letting a defeated sigh escape her lips, she trudged over to her mother's bedside. Every step closer brought tears further to the dangerous brink of pouring out of her eyes as two steady, strong rivers.  She loomed over her at her bedside, she didn't want to cry despite it being so tempting to, she was sure that her mom wouldn't be mad at her for it, even understand it. However, she wanted to be strong for her, even if that meant bottling up every true feeling and everything single thing she wanted to vent out and scream and cry and shout for all to hear, and putting it away, and locking it up. Just to lessen to worry on her heart. Rayne leaned down, she pressed a chaste, little peck to her mother's forehead, and let her own rest on the side of her head for a few moments. She didn't want to leave, if she could, she'd stay in here for the rest of her life just comforting her mother, to ease her through the pain, to remind her to take her medicine, and just hope that one day, she'd just sit up in bed all vibrant and happy and laughing, and just be herself again. Nowadays, hope was dwindling, her old family became a fragment of a memory to be dusted away, to never be remembered.  "I'll see you later, okay?" She muttered, she leaned back up, turning, she trudged back to the door, shaky, stuttering breaths slowly seeping out of her mouth, some impatient tears coming up to the corners of her eyes and they ran down her cheeks, "Love you, little rain cloud..." hearing her childhood nickname come from her mouth as weak and as quiet as it did was the final, killing stab in her gut. It made her stop in her steps, right at the doorway again. It took a few moments, to stir up the strength in her to even attempt to say goodbye, she glanced over her shoulder a little hesitantly, her eyes glossy with tears, "I love you too, mom..." She whispered, closing the door behind her with a heavy heart.

She needed a drink. She wanted to go into the kitchen, grab one of the cheap bottled beer from the numerous six-packs littering the fridge and just forget about her troubles for at least tonight. Who was going to stop her from that? Taking hold of the fridge handle, she swung it open, grabbed a beer by the neck of the bottle, and took it out of the fridge. She twisted it open and tossed the metal cap to the side, she raised the bottle up to her lips about to take a drink but stopped midway when she saw him at the door. Her father. She chuckled, irritation already leaking into her tone, "Thought it started to smell bad in here," she muttered, staring at her father who stalked at the doorway, "You didn't fuckin' answer my question earlier," he grumbled, the drunkenness evident as clear water in his voice, he lumbered up to him, if it weren't for the wall to prop his hand up against, he would have fallen flat on his face and hopefully knocked himself out. He got close enough for the stench of the hard alcohol to invade her nostrils and take over her air, it made her turn her head with a grimaced expression. "Where the fuck were ya tonight?" He growled, and with a sigh of annoyance, she slammed her bottle down on the kitchen table and snapped her head back to him, "I was out, with friends, why do you care?" She retorted, "You trying to get good jack off material from them, you don't need to know everything about my fucking life!" Shoving him away with her hands pushing against his chest, she started to hurriedly walk around him and towards the exit. "Get yer ass fuckin' back here!!" Her father launched his hand swiftly to the back of her head and grab a fistful of her hair and he tugged her back, hard. "Ah, fuck-! Let me the fuck go, you fuckin-" Her words were silenced, he threw her down onto the tile floor hard enough for the back of her head to crack against the hard surface, causing her to curse out loudly with pain. "Ya know what I think you were doin'? Ya were with that little slut again, weren't ya," he stomped to her side and propelled his leg forward in a strong kick, right into her gut, causing her to lurch forward and hug her abdomen while she coughed out roughly, her eyes threatening to water, "Yeah that fuckin' little Allison slut, ya were with her again, ya fuckin' faggot! Chokin' on her cunt again, fuckin' disgusting!" Rayne was gradually sitting up, the kick having knocked the wind out of her, but when she was at least sat up, her father glared back down at her and pulled his fist back. He sent his fist right at her mouth and it connected in a hard right cut, it sent her back down onto the tile in a hard slam, the corner of her lip sliced open, and a steady deep crimson stream of red blood poured out of it and dripped onto the floor. Standing over her, her father stepped to the side and grabbed her open beer bottle, and took a deep swig of the alcohol. When the bottle lowered from his lips, he let out a heavy, relieved sigh at the numbing liquid, he glanced at her, raising the bottle, he turned it to its side and let the alcohol pour out of the glass and down onto her and when just drips were left plinking onto the side of her face, he casually rested the bottle back on the table. "And clean yer shit up," he rubbed salt in the wound every time, he would have done more to make her feel lower than dirt if it weren't for his team playing against their all-time rivals in the playoffs on tv right now. He stepped out of the kitchen and left Rayne there, her eyes were blurry and her chest heaved with wheezing breaths, she stared the best she could at the growing pool of red blood building up around her head so monotonously, so slowly. It would stain the tiles, she was sure.

What a happy home, right?

[lilwenney]

london boy (pt. ii)

pairing: will x female!reader warning(s): mention of alcohol, swearing word count: 4.1k a/n: part i can be found here / creative roadblocks aside, i loved writing for this tiny baby of a series way too much. i got to live vicariously through the reader in both her travels and endeavors if i’m honest. i hope you all enjoy x 

Their feet moved briskly along the pavement in sync, matching the beat of the traffic, mixing in with the sounds of the rushing water from the boats along the river. Will took her right to the spot - a bridge with a blue iron railing between posts that overlooked the canal of Little Venice. Boats rested along the sides or moved at a slow pace, people in kayaks sloshing the water around, and the sun bounced off the ripples. 

(Y/N) smiled, her hands gripping the edge of the railing before taking a step back and moving with Will. They walked down a tree-lined street, along the river, enjoying the slight breeze and any conversation that came to a head.

“You’re from California, yeah?” Will asked, hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket. 

Her eyes left the river and landed on him, and she nodded. “Yeah,” she said, “I moved to Huntington Beach when I was young and really don’t know anywhere else besides there.”

“Typical of a lad from London, but I went to L.A. with a few friends a couple of years ago.” 

“Yeah, like most people,” she sighed playfully, “I noticed that here, if you say you are from California they immediately think of Los Angeles. I don’t mind it because the place is so fucking big you can’t really be bothered to learn all the places.”

Will scrunched his nose. “Yeah, can’t be asked really.” 

She laughed. “It’s fine. I love L.A. though. I was there every other weekend visiting friends at UCLA and stuff. I walked into a dorm room to see David Dobrik once so that was one of the better experiences.” 

“Aw, no way man, that’s fuckin’ sick.” 

“Yeah, yeah, he was a usual around there.” She brushed it off. “We used to sneak into clubs a couple of years back to see people perform.” 

They dodged someone riding a bike along the path and then stepped back in closer together, shoulders almost brushing as they walked. (Y/N) heard the rustle of the tree leaves above her when the wind picked up just for a moment, carrying under her jacket, giving her a slight chill. 

“We went to uh, I think it was Avalon? In Hollywood?” Will said, his mind swirling with memories from the brief trip. He drank so much he could barely remember anything other than the view from their Airb&b and the inside of a toilet bowl. 

“Avalon is a good place.” She nodded quickly, remembering the nightclub name well. “I went about three years ago, and someone jumped to the DJ booth-” 

Will paused in his tracks, eyes softening as he looked at her. (Y/N) paused a couple of steps later, turning around to look at Will, and he tilted his head to the side. “And the DJ kept him up there when security came for him, and the bloke played-” 

“Dancing Queen,” she finished.

The two shared a second of realization before laughing. Who would have thought that years ago, they would have been in the same tiny club in West Hollywood. Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe it was a test of fate.

When they began to walk again, they didn’t make it far before (Y/N) paused, pulling out her camera. She stepped up to the ledge near the railing and brought her camera to her eye, taking a few photos of the way the light hit the boat on the water, of the petals that slowly fell from the trees, marking the near end of summer. When the clouds covered the sunlight, she paused and her eyes searched for something else to photograph.

After moving another few feet and taking some photos, she spun around to look at Will to make sure she wasn’t annoying him by stopping every few feet. He was standing just behind her, his hands in his pockets while staring up at the trees. 

She quickly turned her body to him, bringing the camera back to her eye, and taking a photo. Over the sound of scooters flying by, Will heard the shutter of her camera and he glanced at her to see the lens pointed directly at him. He laughed and his head turned to the side, an arm stuck out, shying away from the photos she had snapped.

“The guy who makes videos of himself for a living is camera shy?” She asked teasingly, dropping her camera and joining him on the cobblestone pavement once again.

Will licked his lips, still smiling. “Of course Marg ran her big mouth about that. How much did she tell you?”

“Just enough,” They began to stroll together, reaching the end of the street, but they turned to walk across a bridge. “She didn’t say much, only that you moved here for YouTube stuff, but I never went snooping.” 

“That definitely saves me some embarrassment. Don’t think I can really explain some of the questionable things I have done.” He paused. “So you know why I’m here, but why did you decide to move here? Why London out of every other place in the world?” 

(Y/N) hummed, watching the pavement move between her feet. “Well, besides it being the only option to study abroad in, I always wanted to visit.” She said briefly. “It’s so drastically different from the palm trees, beaches, warm weather I’m used to. So it’s refreshing in a way.” 

“So it wasn’t the footy obsession and the Tesco meal deals that did it?” 

She was versed enough in the culture to understand his jokes, so she laughed. “No, afraid not.” She said and watched him smile - the small dimple forming in his cheek, and she smiled too. “I love it though. I love the diversity, the architecture, everything about it. I still might be in the honeymoon phase with the city, but I don’t think that will change.” 

They crossed the street of cars and immersed themselves between the trees of Regent’s Park. She held tight onto the side of her camera, feeling the urge to snap a photo, but instead she loosened the grip and let it catch around her neck. She was slowly learning to admire the moments she was living rather than photograph them and feel bittersweet about truly enjoying it later on.

Above them, the heavy overcast broke and the sun peeked through, covering the green grass, the trees, and fountains with light. While she lived in the constant summer of Southern California, she was appreciating the weather in different ways now. It was like how she once appreciated the rain, the snow on her previous holidays. She appreciated the London sunshine and her new life the same - like a breath of fresh air.

“Would you come back? You know, after you’ve left?” Will asked after a second as they began to walk along the manicured path of trees near the water of the small lake. 

“Oh, of course,” she said quickly. “I can definitely see myself living here in the future too.” 

“Well then, I have all the time in the world to show you everything.” 

It was a sweet sentiment she was going to reply to before a loud shriek filled the air around them. Their heads snapped, following the sound to the boating lake where a goose had attacked a woman on a small pedal boat, the man next to her on the boat laughing as she fended off the goose from her head.

“Oh my God,” she said between quiet chuckles. “I would be so embarrassed. I feel so bad.” 

Will ran his fingers through his hair. “Bloody ‘ell, imagine what a day you would have if a goose attacked you.”

“Think I would just pack up and go home after that.” 

“All the way back home?”

“All the way back home,” she laughed. 

“Well, before you do that, I think I have a couple more surprises up my sleeve for you.” She looked at him with a raised brow, and he didn’t even give her a chance to ask or to question him. “Just got to trust me.” 

“I feel like I’ve been trusting you a lot today.” 

“And it’s worked out well for ya, hasn’t it?” 

She licked the inside of her lip knowing that he was right. Someone on a skateboard rolled by them and they picked up speed with their steps, and Will led her back onto the pavement off the park. Dodging traffic and across the street, they walked just a bit further before stopping at a small shop with a row of Vespa’s parked in a row in front of it.

(Y/N) looked at the scooters, then back to Will, and then back to the scooters, and then back to Will.

“We are not-” 

“Oh, we absolutely are.” He said pulling out his wallet to prepare his ID and other information to rent a scooter for the remainder of the day. His eyes met hers and he pressed his lips into a smile. “Be back in a second,” and he stepped up and walked into the small shop.

No less than five minutes later, Will emerged back from the shop with two helmets and a smile that made (Y/N) shake her head again as she kicked herself off the wall to stand next to him. “Alright, pick your color, we got it for the rest of the day.” 

“You are incredible. And I don’t know how to deal with it.” He chuckled. 

As cars and bikes whizzed by, she stepped down off the pavement and to the Vespa’s, scanning over the range of colors, and she settled on the white one. She walked over and placed her hand on the black leather seat and turned to look at him. If she was going to ride on the back of a scooter with a random British boy in a foreign city, it was going to be on that one. 

“This one okay?” 

“Perfect,” he held the black helmet under his arm, handing out the shiny, cherry red one in her direction. “So where to now?” He asked, placing the helmet over his head, adjusting his hair under the front. 

She hummed, plucking at the straps to secure under her chin. “Lunch? I could go for food after you made me walk bloody forever.” 

He smiled at her words. “Bloody forever,” he teased and she rolled her eyes. “Already becoming one of us, yeah?” 

“Guess you have a bit of influence on me.” 

Will fumbled with the small key in his hand before throwing a leg over the bike and settling down on the seat. He started the scooter and a second later, (Y/N) stepped over, placing a hand on his shoulder for balance while she threw her own leg over and settled down on the back seat. She could feel the warmth of his legs against hers and she cleared her throat.

“So, where are you going to be whisking me off too?” She propped up her feet from the ground, finding footing on the side of the scooter, positioned right behind his. 

He gripped the handles, but looked over his shoulder to her. “Have you ever been to a beer garden?” 

“Nope, not yet.” 

“Well, I know a place…” he said turning on the small scooter, allowing the engine to rumble beneath them. He adjusted his helmet and leaned back against her gently. “Might want to hold on.” 

(Y/N) complied and tucked her camera into her bag, and she leaned forward, pressing her chest against his back, and she slid her arms around his torso, hands resting just below his chest. Her nose grazed his back and she smiled, raising her chin to meet his shoulder. 

“Was this your plan all along?” Her eyes scanned over his side profile - from the gentle stubble on his jaw to his long eyelashes, and the way that his eyes crinkled when he laughed. 

Will chuckled and walked the small scooter backwards and onto the street. “You know me better than I thought.”

(Y/N) laughed and felt a rush of adrenaline shoot through her body, from her head to her toes, as Will clutched the handle and sent them riding through the streets. She felt the wind slap at her cheeks, the air running through her hair. 

When he took a corner a little sharply, she gripped the material of his shirt in her hand, and they both laughed. 

Through the windy and packed streets, she admired the throngs of people, of tourists in their brightly colored clothing, she admired the way the sun bounced off the skyscrapers. It was experiences like these that she longed for, that she dreamed of when imagining her time in London.

And that adrenaline raced right to her heart and bloomed, making her feel alive. 

***

The place that Will had in mind was a rooftop beer garden in the middle of the city. 

Walking through the restaurant and taking the stairs up to the third floor, Will opened the door and allowed (Y/N) to step out first. Instead of stepping into a small greenhouse filled with wooden benches and iron chairs, greenery hanging down from the ceiling in baskets around a bar, and through the fogged glass, she saw the skyline of Central London at its closest. 

The Culpeper was in Central London, and Will knew that she would love it. And she did. They sat under the sun at a wooden table on the roof, sipping draft beers in frozen glasses and sharing a plate, but (Y/N) couldn’t keep her eyes off the view around her - she admired Heron Tower, 100 Bishopsgate, and St. Axe Mary which Will told her was called “the gherkin” and she laughed, shaking her head. 

“So,” she took a sip of the beer, her lipstick staining the rim, “where’s your place? Top of the Shard with that 360 view from that YouTube money?” 

“Never been more clear that you haven’t watched my videos,”

Will craned his head around, looking in the direction of his place before turning back to her. He could see himself in the reflection of her red-rimmed sunglasses, he could see her eyes smiling back at him and he smiled too.  

“It’s in Canary Wharf - back that way,” he motioned to where he was looking before, “but you can’t see the building for literally every other building in the way.” 

“I’ve been to Canary Wharf once, but only in an Uber pick up Margot. She didn’t tell me she was at yours though or that’s where you lived.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Will took a sip of his beer, “I just moved to a bigger flat.” 

She perked a brow, holding up a chip, “so the YouTube money is pretty good?” She popped the chip into her mouth.

“Ah, guess so,” he chuckled, “good enough to split rent with a flatmate.” 

(Y/N) smiled at the group of friends that walked onto the rooftop and they shuffled by to another row of tables across from them and then she looked back at Will. “So who is your flatmate? Another YouTuber?”

“Gee is, fucks sake, don’t even know anymore. She hasn’t uploaded in about five months, but guess you can call her that.” 

“Gee?” She questioned, her mind flickering back to a girl who went by Gee that was in her commercial editing course. During class introductions, she said she made YouTube videos but wanted to get better at editing in her free time. “Does she have blue hair?”

Will cocked his head. “You know Gee?”

“I think she is in one of my classes. She goes to King’s College?”

“God, how small is London?” He whispered under his breath and she laughed.

“Apparently a lot smaller than we both thought.” 

They both paused for a moment - (Y/N) reaching out and grabbing another chip, Will, leaning back in his chair and running his fingers through his hair. With the lunch rush, their hidden solace on the rooftop became hectic with larger groups coming in every few minutes, the traffic on the streets picking up, but they remained. 

“So you’re doing that culture, media, and creative stuff too?” She nodded. “What do you want to do with it?”

“Always wanted to be a journalist, but now I don’t know, I’m finding a lot of open doors when it comes to commercial editing.” She swirled her beer in the glass before taking a sip, and then tsking with a smile. “If you ever need an editor though, I’m have some services to offer,” 

“Really?” 

“Oh-” 

“Rah, I have been thinking about getting an editor, you know.” He leaned up to the table again, his elbows meeting the edge. Her eyes widened, fully expecting him to take it as a joke because well, that’s what it was intended to be. “Would that seriously be something you’re up for?”

She thought about her schedule, how she had a few free hours during the day and at the end, and if she really wanted to, she could make it work. Her school load would get lesser as the semester went on, when she had to start working on bigger projects, so she could make time.

“You really want me to see all your uncut footage?”

“As long as you don’t blackmail me.” 

“Could never,” she giggled. “But yeah, I would have to watch a few of your videos to get a feel of how you edit, but I would be up for it.” 

“How much you want a video? A tenner?” He saw her eyes narrow at him through her sunglasses and he laughed.

“Be careful,” she teased, “you’re the one giving me the blackmail material.”

“Ah, fair,” 

He looked at her and he smiled, and then she smiled back, a laugh following from her lips. It was a sweet sound, to him, one that mingled with the birds in the sky, that felt as golden as the sun. He looked away bashfully with the same smile. 

“Okay,” she leaned forward on the table with a smile, “can I tell you a secret?”

Will leaned in closer, smirking. “I’m honored for you to even consider.” 

(Y/N) took another sip of her beer. “When I drink or get drunk, I adopt the accent of whoever I am talking to.” 

He laughed, leaning back in his chair again. He wasn’t expecting that to be her secret, but he also couldn’t be surprised. “Alright, give it to me. Give me your best mockery.” 

She cleared her throat and threw out what she knew was the most basic, stereotypical British phrase she could think of. “Oi, mate, we can go ridin’ around on my scooter...” 

“Fuckin’ mate,” Will cursed with a loud laugh. “Is that really it?” 

She laughed too, her shoulders moving as she found herself more than amused by his reaction. “Yeah, and what about it, mate?” 

“I would have to say it was the cutest mockery of the British accent I ever heard.” He admitted, and when their eyes met, they both smiled. 

A handful of minutes later, they were jogging down the stars of the restaurant’s inner lining, and they stepped out onto the busy street. With helmets strapped on and her arms around him, Will drove them out to the outskirts of London, to Walthamstow. The last stop on their bucketlist for the day was a hidden gem on the corner of a street - Gods Own Junkyard. They zoomed past cherry red double-decker buses and through the narrow streets between townhouses, landing at the base of a building disguised as a regular shop. 

With a small thank you as Will held the door for her, she stepped into the room filled with neon, glowing lights. Pinks, blues, reds, yellows, everywhere she looked, in every corner. She beamed, feeling as if she had just stepped into outer space. 

Will watched as she walked ahead of him, finding herself lost in the array of colors and the vibrating atmosphere, and he smiled, lingering behind with his hands tucked in his pockets. He liked watching her get excited about the things he found so minuscule. When she turned around and looked at him, pointing to one of the signs with a smile, he found a new way to look at it. What was a place he had once been before, he was now seeing through new eyes alongside her, and with a new appreciation.

(Y/N) held the camera up to her eye and she snapped a photo of the wall plastered with signs that read - LOVE & LUST and SEX DRUGS & BACON ROLLS along with red glowing hearts and the Union Jack flag around them. 

Moving past the groups of people around certain signs, she found Will sitting on a small decorative chaise lounge against a back wall. It had a wicker table in front of it, a yellow fire hydrant to the right, and it was littered with Union Jack throw pillows, and another of the Queen’s crown. He smiled when their eyes met, and she noticed the glow of the blue sign just above his head - Love at Dusk, written in cursive blue lettering. He watched her slowly bend down at the knee, and she held her camera pointing directly at him, snapping the perfect photo as he laughed. For someone to make a living in front of a camera, he was shy when others were the ones snapping the photos. 

“Oh, come on, don’t be shy now.” (Y/N) giggled, stepping around the table and falling onto the chaise lounge with him. He allowed her to sit close, his arm stretched along the back. “Look at these,” 

She pulled the strap from around her neck, clicking the small buttons on the camera with the pad of her thumb and showing him the screen. Over the course of the day, she had taken at least a couple hundred photos of the river, the view from the rooftop beer garden, the streets, and of all the lights. 

“And look at this one,” she sunk in closer, her hip resting against his as she showed him the photos and they laughed together at the blurry ones or mistaken ones. 

Will looked at the screen to see a photo of him standing on the street in Little Venice, the bloomed trees above him as he turned his head with a laugh, a hand stretched out in her direction to stop her. A couple photos later, he saw himself again, this time at the beer garden. He was sitting across from her at the table, bringing his beer to his lips, and he could see her in the reflection of his sunglasses. 

The last photos were of him - a zoomed-out shot of him taken just moments ago that captured his whole body as he sat on the lounge, but the last photo was zoomed in, capturing the way the blue light bounced off his dark hair and jacket, how it brought out the features in his face. 

(Y/N) handed the camera to Will and he took it in his large hands, allowing him to look at himself and the other photos.

“Might have to tag you along as a camera operator as well as editing,” he said looking at the photos she had taken over the course of the day, “you’re proper good at it, you know.” 

He handed the camera back to her and she looked at him with a small smile. “Well, it’s pretty easy when you have a great muse.” 

He turned to her, perking an eyebrow, and they looked at each other for a beat. They both felt a surge of forwardness, of bravery given after spending the day together with flirtatious smiles and teasing in between. They were able to bounce off each other, to talk without stopping, which was something that made them think maybe, just for a second, that their new-found friendship could be more than that. 

“Are you flirting with me, Miss California?”

Have been all day, she thought. (Y/N) laughed, her head tilting to the side, “and what would you do about it, London Boy?”

Will turned his body to her, their knees grazing, but his eyes never left hers. He cracked a smile, unable to hold it in as he leaned in closer, “guess yous just have to trust me.” 

Under the bright blue lights hovering above their heads, Will tilted his head down as he leaned into her, her eyes flickered back and forth from his eyes to his lips and then back, her own head tilting to the side and meeting him in the middle where their lips locked. 

It was sweet, a kind kiss that filled your heart with joy, and (Y/N)’s was overflowing. She thought of it like she thought of London, the sunshine - a breath of fresh air. 

Will reached up and placed a hand on her cheek, holding her face, and she pecked his lips again before pulling back just slightly, the tip of her nose grazing against his and she laughed. 

“Trusting you really has done me well.” 

“I told you this tour would be worth it.” Will chuckled, his thumb resting at her cheek, fingers sliding behind her ear. “And if you’re willing to pay, it will be another five dollars added on for that kiss. It’s originally a tenner but you get that special discount.” 

“So all it takes is a kiss to get the special discount?” She teased. “What do I have to do to get the whole tour for free?” 

Will hummed, eyes squinting. “The accent was pretty cute, so if you do it again I might consider.” 

She playfully rolled her eyes. “Alright, mate,” she heard his laugh and she leaned forward, kissing Will again with a smile. 

[mychemicalficrecs]

could i get a rec list of long (30k+) frank-centric any pairing fics? (preferably not in first person, and if there's smut with bottom frank)…weirdly specific but at least i know what i like?

Being specific is totally fine! Depending on what it is you’re looking for, it can even be super helpful :) I originally thought this would be difficult, but it turns out I already had all of these in my bookmarks. It didn’t specifically check for bottom!Frank though (sorry).

Frank-centric Longfic

Gerard Way's (Vampire) Detective Agency by jjtaylor, Pennyplainknits, mainly Frank/Gerard, 164k, Mature. Pete, in Decaydance Mansion, with a yarrow stake. Frank and Gerard, in the greenhouse, with a plant of questionable origin. Bob, everywhere you look, with a gang of assassins for justice. Vampires, valets, pamphlets, haunted furniture, dub-thrall, disembodied voices, zombie couriers, and sinister rituals.

Nightswimming by waxjism, Frank/Gerard, 141k, Not Rated. My Teenage Romance

Unholyverse by Bexless, Frank/Gerard, Ray/Mikey, 187k, Mature, Explicit. Religion! Horror! Exorcisms! Piercings! And Gerard is a priest.

Illyria (King and Country) by tabulaxrasa, Frank/Gerard, 57k, Explicit. Today, they'd woken up and Gerard was King of Illyria. Frank hasn't really been a stable boy since he ended up in the archduke's bed, but now Gerard's exile is over and he's king. Frank has to survive court, politics, and scheming nobles to figure out exactly what he is now.

Stunning Someone by morbid_beauty, Frank/Gerard, 82k, Explicit. Frankie, a tattoo artist living in Brooklyn, has basically everything ze wants...except, like, someone to cuddle with at night. As lame as that sounds. Gerard, an art student living in Manhattan, meets someone of questionable gender and starts a friendship with an unrequited crush. (Or: the one where Frankie is genderfluid, Gerard is kind of ignorant to much of the queer community, and sometimes you just fall for a stunning someone.)

Envision the Magic by innocent_wolves, Frank/Gerard, 69k, Teen And Up Audiences. Gerard is a talented magician, responsible for much of the success of the famous Envision Destiny cruise ship. He's also one of those people. You know, one of those people who just seem to take up all the space they come across with their arrogance and confidence. You wouldn't wanna touch their personality with a 10-foot pole, but still people admire them. That is beyond Frank. Working behind the cruise ship bars and seeing Gerard pretty much every day, he can't understand what's so great about him. Besides, everybody else doesn't have to deal with his snide remarks and rude comments. Because if there's one thing Gerard seems to love, it's the act of constantly pestering Frank.

Truths That He Learned by gala_apples, Frank/Mikey, Patrick/Mikey/Pete, Ashlee/Patrick/Pete, 37k, Explicit. It's Frank's senior year, and it seems like he's constantly having new experiences, at least half of which come as a complete surprise to him. He falls in love, comes out, and has sex, not necessarily in that order.

Fit to be tied by maryangel, Frank/Gerard, 56k, Explicit. Frank is a bartender. Gerard is an alcoholic. They were clearly made for each other. Also, Frank is a werewolf.

Only Going One Way by ataratah, jjtaylor, Frank/Gerard, 73k, Mature. Crossover with due South. Constable Gerard Way of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and Detective Frank Iero of the Chicago PD team up find Mikey Way in a city where bowling alley score cards hide secret codes, where the good guys are either lying or undercover (and sometimes lying about being undercover), and where criminal bakers make drug-laced frosting.

James Cameron Got It Wrong by ladyfoxxx, Frank/Fun Ghoul/Party Poison, 57k, Explicit. In which 2005!Frank and Fun Ghoul get it on. Then Frank accidentally winds up in 2019.

Rock and Roll Never Looked so Beautiful by corruptedkid, Frank/Gerard, 58k, Explicit. Gerard Way is a rising solo artist, set to become the next big thing in the alternative scene. Frank Iero is a trashy punk with a reputation of his own as the frontman of Pencey Prep. When their paths cross, a love story is born, only to come crashing down when Gerard hits it big. As Gerard ascends to the A-list, Frank adjusts to life on his own. He almost manages it - until two years later, when fate puts him face to face with Gerard once more. Everything has changed, but the connection between them is still there. Their story has ended once before, but if they're lucky, they just might make a new one.

I never told you what I do for a living. by not0-fuckin-kay, Frank/Gerard, 60k+, PG-13 to NC-17. Frank Iero, male nurse at Pete Wentz's private hospital and possibly more to one new patient he can't keep his eyes off of. When a new pateint is brought in with amnesia, just days before Christmas, and with nothing but the clothes on his back and a strange drawing, it's left to Frank to find out who he is and what happened to him. When he does, it changes Frank's life forever, as he's thrust into love and health scares he never thought would complicate his life. This is the story of how he tries to make it through, juggling his job and his love-life and just trying to make things better. With Patrick the doctor, Bob the ward supervisor, Travis the unlikely therapist, and Mikey, the sometimes wannabe homicidal geek.

and me here on the ground by ohnoktcsk, Frank/Gerard, 32k, Explicit. Frank's worked hard to build a life for himself in the city of Jersey, where dragons swoop and dive over the river, and every day is divided by the ringing of the city bells. He knows the streets of the city like he knows the the tattoos on the backs of his hands, and he's content with what he has: a job as a bike courier, friends who love to give him shit, and a crush on a professor of art history at the local university. But he's also got a secret—one he's been running from for a long time. But all it takes is one delivery to a mysterious, quite-probably-magical bookshop to show Frank that there are some things you can’t outrun. Especially since he’s finally found a place that he doesn’t want to leave.

Companion by onceuponamoon, Frank/Gerard, 34k, Explicit. A workplace AU. There’s a dude sitting in one of the high-backed chairs opposite the reception desk. Mostly obscured by a fake ficus plant between them, the guy probably wouldn’t have been noticeable save for the lazy sprawl of his legs, the Chucks contrasting against the floral rug.

Your Heart The Only Place That I Call Home by dear_monday, Frank/Gerard, 30k, Explicit. When Frank and his crew of morally ambiguous ethernauts (pirates, as Imperial law would have it, but that's such an ugly word) fetch up on the doorstep of the fabled Sanctuary, they aren't expecting to find much - least of all a long-lost brother, a garden in a box and the key to an ancient riddle.

Give Me a Reason by mistresscurvy, Lindsey/Frank/Jamia/Gerard and most variants thereof, 38k, Explicit. July 2007. Frank is fucking stoked for the next tour. This one will be the best ever, because his wife's gonna be with him the entire time. They've been married for less than six months, and he still can't fucking believe he got to marry her. This summer is going to rock. But life never happens as he plans.

In Repair by autoschediastic, Frank/Gerard, 33k, Explicit. "Shit," Frank mutters, and shoves both hands through his hair. He looks around the kitchen like he's gonna find what he should do scratched into the old linoleum, then looks back at the bot. He gnaws on his lip. Fuck it. He already knows what he's gonna do. He's just gotta do it. Getting down on his knees, he braces a hand on the edge of the crate and leans over the bot. It's dressed in a plain white tee and matching drawstring pants like an escaped mental patient. Frank rolls his neck and cracks his knuckles, shaking the ache out of them before carefully laying his palm against its cheek. He's pretty sure his voice is steady when he says, "Activate." Nothing happens. Fucking shitty packaging-- the thing's busted. But Frank keeps his hand where it is, jumping a little when he feels the surge of energy beneath it. The robot's skin goes from room temperature to lukewarm, then warm. Frank watches it open its eyes, the light behind them adjusting until they're a pale sort of brown. It looks at him and asks, "Am I dead?"

Promises, Promises by silentdescant, Frank/Gerard, 31k, Explicit. "Sources on our investigative team say this was a bank robbery gone wrong, and that, when faced with a police task force surrounding the building, the suspect grabbed the nearest person and is now holding that young man at gunpoint as he makes his getaway."

Cover To Cover by silentdescant, Frank/Gerard, 32k, Explicit. You've Got Mail AU. Frank owns The Shop Around The Corner, which specializes in classic and rare books, and Gerard is opening up a large branch of Way Books & Café down the street. They meet online and fall in love.

Love: The Package Deal by jjtaylor, Frank/Gerard, Lindsey/Frank/Jamia/Gerard, 30k, Mature. Gerard gets a special kind of amnesia. Frank gets to reexamine his idea of acceptable relationship structures. Lots of people fail to communicate effectively, but they all sure remember how to kiss.

Let The Darkness Lead You Home by rivers_bend, Frank/Gerard, 49k, Explicit. Vampires are in charge and most of the humans on earth are prey, so Frank Iero's parents have him train as a cyber tech to protect him. Leaving the family he's born into may have saved his life, but his parents never could have expected the lengths he'd go to in order to find a new family to call home.

Gross roomies by turps, Frank/Mikey, 36k, Explicit. Frank loves living with Mikey. Sure, the apartment is a mess, the kitchen's a toxic wasteland, and there's something growing in the refrigerator that's just a day or two away from becoming sentient, but other than those minor inconveniences, it's all cool. Or it is until Mikey decides to embark on a journey of sexual discovery and adventure and Frank's left at home with nothing but the fridge monster for company. To make matters worse, Mikey insists on telling Frank everything he does with his new kinky friends, right down to the tiniest detail. And now suddenly Frank is best friends with his right hand and he can't stop thinking about Mikey in ways he never has before. The really big problem, other than suddenly being in lust with his best friend, is that Frank isn't sure why.

Of All The Hidden Corners by moneyes, Frank/Gerard, ~44k, PG-13. An epic, adventurous tale filled with alternate universes, lords, mischief, magical powers, snark, boyfriends, and luck of the bad kind.

Church of Hot Addiction by spleenjournal, 0nlymemories, Frank/Gerard, Frank/Mikey, 36k, Adult. When Gerard Way gets transferred to Our Lady of Peace in Arlington a few weeks into his Senior year, he thinks it's his chance to be cool. Too bad his idea of "cool" is no cooler than it was in 3rd grade, even if there aren't any green tights.

Paradox 'verse by stoplightglow, Frank/Gerard, 42k, Mature. You know the saying. The best part about hitting rock bottom is that you get to meet a hot psychic.

[headoverhiddles]

Matrimony - Pope x Reader (Let Me Make You A Martyr) [Part II]

Synopsis: Tensions rise with Pope, but you both have a common goal. Or, you believe it to be common. 

Notes: Second part of three! Enjoy loves. 

Tagging: (ask to be added) @peachynun​ @elrosew​ @livelifewondering​

PART I 

PART III

You wake to the sound of your alarm. 5:30 am.

You get out of bed, and pull on your jogging clothes. A run should clear your head. On the way down, you sneak one more look into Pope's bedroom. You can't see much through the dark, but the bed looks empty. He must be downstairs skulking around somewhere, unless he enjoys a nice refreshing jog before the sun comes up... which you doubt. 

Out on the path, the sun starts to rise through the pine trees. You jog along the road that you arrived on, smart enough not to jog in the direction of Pierce's cabin alone. Slipping your earbuds in, you listen to Marilyn Manson's Odds of Even, the thunk of the beat in time with your steps.  

You’re not thinking about Pope that way. You’re just interested in him. Interested in the idea of him. He’s an interesting man! Who... you’re interested in. 

So, you've got feelings for Pope.

Not feelings, per say, but... an intrigue. And there's definitely a physical attraction there, though you can't tell if he returns it. Probably not. Sex and romance probably weren't even blips on his radar. All he probably thinks about is killing people, disposing of their corpses swiftly and without hassle, and jacking off when and if he feels lonely.

You bite your lip. Damn, that's hot to imagine. Why do you always fall for people who either hate you, want to kill you, or just plain aren't nice? 

If you even mess up a little on this hit though, he'll kill you. Literally. He will not hesitate to take you out as well if you fuck up. But you're not going to fuck up. You may not be a hitman, but you deal with creeps like Daegland Pierce all the time in your job. You know how they think, and that's an advantage Pope doesn't have.

You return to the cabin, breathing heavily. A thin sheen of sweat covers you, and you look around. Isn't there a river somewhere near here?

You approach the rushing brook, grateful for the already cool mist rising from it. You peel off your top and bra, and do the same for your shorts and panties. There's no one out here in the brush, so you don't have to worry about that.

You toss your stuff on a nearby log, and get into the stream. Oh yeah. Yeah. That's nice. You float for a moment, staring up at the sky and listening to the birds. Then you hear another noise. A much closer noise.

You get your ears out of the water, and listen... then you nearly drown in fear as you hear a loud thwack right behind you. Whipping around, you turn to see--

"Holy shit!" you scream.

"Morning," Pope says. He brings an axe down on another piece of wood.

"I'm...! Oh my god, you didn't say anything, you--"

"Well," he pushes up his glasses, "I figured I wouldn't bother you in your morning activities, and you won't bother me in mine." He gestures to you with the handle of his axe. "You do have some pretty tits, though."

"Jesus fuck," you whisper, covering your chest. "Don't... look!" Pope shrugs, and goes back to splitting wood. "Why are you even out here?!" you demand, trying to swim back to the shore inconspicuously. 

"I'm sorry, is this restricted land? Do I require a fuckin’ permit?"

"You-- just, what are you doing?!"

"It's cold at night here," he mutters, "And any sensible person would seek warmth during the dark hours."

"Excuse me?!"

"You're excused, you know I don't mean whoring around with you."

"Right. If I came into your bedroom at night, opened up my bra and sat on the edge of your bed, you'd tell me to fuck off?"

Pope smirks. "Aww. Princess doesn't like the thought of that, does she?" You gasp, crossing your arms. You stop crossing your arms when it's apparent that just makes your boobs look even better. "Look, kid. Unlike you, I didn't come out here to screw around. I came here to kill a motherfucker, and get paid. That's what I do, that's what I intend to do."

It's futile arguing with him, and any headway you made tolerating each other last night at dinner (however small) had now been wiped clean. You'd show your worth on your own-- and you've got nothing to prove. Not much, anyway. There is zero part of you that wants any validation from Pope at all. Or praise. Or a... a "good girl." A "good... good little girl... yeah, babygirl, just like that..."

Shit.

---

"Do not make one wrong step. He can't know we're here."

You follow closely behind Pope, trying to get his attention.

"Hey. Hey! Why are we doing this now? Why don't we wait until--?"

"You have to get to know everything about a person's environment before you kill them. You need to know any possible traps they've set up, any kind of security or backup they've hid up their ass."

"B--"

"Stop speaking, no speaking. Shh. For once, shhh." He holds up a hand, then when he's sure the coast is clear, he beckons. "Follow me."

You do. He points to the other side of the house, but you're already ahead of him, back to the painted wooden panels. It's a better looking cabin than yours, obviously furnished and newly renovated with millions of dollars in dope cash that should've gone to home growers like the business you work for.

You snake around the back of the house, and check the window. It's cracked open an inch. Looking around, you push it open a bit farther, and carefully, ever so silently, you climb in. Pope is already in the house, in the living room. He's got his back pressed to the wall, and his head tilted to look up the stairs.

You're about to turn to check the kitchen, when you feel something in your back. You turn slowly, preparing to meet the barrel of a gun and your untimely demise, but you just find the end of a dirty wooden spoon in a soapy pot.

"Oh," you breathe, putting a hand on your chest. You hear a gun cock at the back of your head.

"What the fuck you doing in my house?" You look behind you, and maneuver around. It's him. It's Daeg. And he's in his bathrobe.

"Hi!" you suddenly say, the first thing popping into your head the option you're going with. "You must be the neighbor!"

"What?" Pierce growls.

You wave to Pope, who's staring at you with some mix of contempt and confusion. "Honey, come here!"

"What the...?" Pierce mutters, and points the gun at Pope as he reluctantly walks over to join you. "Who are you people?!" 

"We just moved into the cabin next to yours! We're Mr. and Mrs... Warner!" You pick a name off the top of your head. You grab Pope's hand, and the death grip you get back tells you he's not in support of this tactic. But, there's no going back now.

"Yeah," he grumbles, "This is my wife. Ain’t she a sweet little piece of ass?"

You give a giggle for good measure, tightening your grip on his hand in warning, and this guy looks so utterly dumbfounded, it's hard not to laugh.

"I'm gonna ask you this again, you stupid shits. What the FUCK are you doing in my HOUSE?!"

"Looking for sugar," you say.

Pope falls into his role. "Yeah. My wife here was... baking."

"I tried to tell him he gets enough sugar at home, but he wouldn't listen, the scoundrel!" You slap him lightly on the arm.

"Well. Just can't get enough of the girl. But that river flows both ways, don't it?"

You shudder slightly, but keep your smile up. Then it hits you. Ingredients... baking! You know just how you can get put of here without an ass full of this guy’s buckshot!

"Now, the reason we found your place, was..." you move in a little closer to Pierce, "I was looking for a certain kind of ingredient. If you know what I mean."

The man's demeanor changes. He looks around, tucks his gun. "How do y'all know about that?"

You wink. "I know lots of things."

"Now, sweetheart." Pope tugs you back, a little too roughly. "Remember to be modest. At least for my sake." His hand travels down to your ass, and you bite your lip.

"Of course, honey. Of course."

Is he getting a little too into his role?

---

You both can't believe you were able to make nice with Pierce long enough to get out of his house. It was a life-saving idea, but it also posed a problem. The two of you had been invited back for dinner the next night, to supposedly buy some of his ‘stock’.

"It's perfect! That's when we kill him!" you hiss, as Pope walks ahead of you through the bramble.

"The tone of this whole thing is fucked up. It’s not right. This isn't how things work."

"What, not used to having a fake wife along for the hit? A little imagination can save your life."

"Don't talk to me about life," he mutters, "I'm ready to end yours."

"Yeah. Fine. Threaten to kill me."

"Oh, I'm not just threatening."

"At least we didn't get shot to bits by the most notorious drug dealer in the American midwest."

"I do things my way," he replies calmly, "I don't need a little brat like you telling me how it's gonna be." You ball your fists and beat against a tree. He's infuriating!

"Will you at least show me how to cut the wood you were chopping this morning? You're right, we should stock up." He looks back at you, that same indifferent expression back on his face.

"You chose to come out here and bother me. Make yourself scarce, or I swear to God or whatever the fuck, I'll drive you out to the middle of the woods and leave you for the wolves."

With that, he walks inside, screen door banging.

You sit down on a log by the car. After a minute, you get up, start the car with the keys on the seat, and turn the radio up.

More honkey tonk wailing. Whatever. Maybe country was good for the soul, and all that.

You lay down on the log, and watch the forest flora sway around you as Hank Williams croons through the open air.

 ---

You open your eyes. It's dark out.

The car radio is still going, and you're not sure quite what time it is.

You hear footsteps behind you, and look up to see Pope walking over to the car. You sigh, rubbing your eyes and waiting for his complaints. "Sorry," you murmur, "I should've turned it off before I--"

"It's fine," he cuts you off curtly, and you give up trying to explain yourself, waiting for him to disappear again. This was such a mistake. Coming out here with him, wanting to be a part of this. You wanted to see the job done, sure, but maybe you are out of your depth. Christ, the guy is an expert sharpshooter, with the lack of mercy of a navy seal and the personality of a hermit. It's time to give up.

You look up again when you don't hear the door close. He pauses, walks over to you, and sits down. He takes his cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, puts one in his mouth, and lights it. He tilts his head up to look at the stars, and takes his glasses off, setting them down beside him.

"C'mere," he whispers. You sit up, frowning, and follow his line of sight. You inch closer to him in confusion, and settle in next to him to watch the sky too. He takes another drag of his cigarette, the embers glowing in the low light. You find the scent of him, along with his presence out here, comforting.

The night bugs grow in volume around you, and soon, you begin to hear coyotes in the distance.

"They're beautiful," you murmur. He hums.

"They’re dangerous."

"Like someone else I know," you whisper. If he hears you, he doesn't let on. He just exhales smoke toward the sky, and listens to the noises of the night. His voice, low and gravelly, rises above the sounds.

"You ever heard of a Wendigo, kid?"

"No," you tell him.

"It's an old legend my grandfather told me. He says there are skinwalkers out here in the forest. They can shapeshift, take the form of whatever they want. Animals, people. Strangely odd. Just a little too odd to be considered human."

"You think those coyotes are skinwalkers?" you ask softly. 

"Nah. The only things here pretending to be something they're not are you, and me."  

---

You wake up in bed, not quite certain how you got there. It's still nighttime... you don't know exactly what time it is, but you don't want to reach for your phone. You stare out the window for a minute, and frown. The scenery outside doesn't look quite right, like it’s too foggy to see. 

There's a slight creak in one of the floorboards, and you see a shadow eclipse the dim lantern light from the hallway.

You roll over in bed, and see Pope standing by the door. He hasn't got his glasses on, and his hair looks a little messed up, as if he's been sleeping.

"What is it?" you mumble, trying to sit up, "Something with Pierce? Did he... is everything okay?" Confusion fills you as he walks toward you, but it's replaced by desire with every step closer he takes. He looks like he's been kept awake by something. "Pope?"

"Shh." He sits down, making an indent in the comforter. "I want you, sweetheart."

You breathe out, and after a second, you lean forward slowly. He meets you halfway, reinforcing the kiss, and you moan softly against his lips. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and he lays you down, resuming the kissing once he's got you against the pillows. "Couldn't get you outta my mind," he whispers, "Couldn't get this... outta my head."

"This feels strange," you murmur, "You hate me."

He doesn't respond, just moves a hand down beneath the covers to stroke between your legs. An exhaled prayer of his name falls from your lips, and he presses a kiss to your chest, tongue swiping out every so slightly. You look down at him again, and reach out, starting to unbutton his shirt, all the way down. With each button, more tattoos are revealed, even though they appear blurry to you, as if your mind is trying to fill them in for you. Must be the dark.

"You're so fucking sexy," he whispers, and pushes your panties aside.

"Please," you beg.

"Let me give you what you need, baby girl. That's it." He looks into your eyes with his own dark orbs. "Trust me now?"

Your chest rises and falls quicker as he adds another finger, rolling your clit with his thumb as he pumps in and out. He's making soft noises as he does, grinding his erection into your thigh on the bed. You start to gasp as you feel your orgasm coming on.

"I'm... P... Pope, oh god, I'm... c-c--"

He strokes you just right with those rough fingers, and just as you come undone, your eyes open.

Pope is gone. You're alone, in bed. You stare at the headboard, realizing you're on your stomach. Shit, you've been grinding into the mattress. You regain a little more consciousness, the events of your dream all fresh in your mind.

 Giving a disoriented moan, you flip over, lying on your back. Your hips wiggle, and you tug down your panties, dipping your own fingers into your soaking wet heat. You didn't think he had this kind of effect on you.

You moan to yourself softly as you quickly curl your fingers in a hurried motion, hips arching slightly. Yeah... yeah, like that. You gasp, and finally cum hard thinking of Pope on top of you like that, kissing you, touching your body, sending you over the edge.

You come down to earth, head spinning in the cold, dark bedroom. You can hear soft snores from the other room. He must have brought you upstairs and put you in your bed before turning in. If any of that outside was real. What if that was part of the dream?

No. You can still smell the faint scent of Pope's lingering cigarette smoke on your jacket, which is still on. You shake your head, taking it off and tossing it on a chair across the room. All you need is a good night's rest.

[un-official-artist]

A Man is a Horse, of Course!

Rdr2 centaur au

Pairings: Charles Smith x Arthur Morgan

Parts: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

Arthur began to pant and slow. “Charles, I can’t...” he gasps, “I can’t go anymore...”

“It’s okay, Arthur.. we’re far enough away now,” He patted Arthur’s back and let him rest, “...where are we, anyway?”

They were in a wasteland of nothing but rocks and dry grass. Outlining the area was a poorly built wooden fence, and in the center was a small shack made of sheet metal and wooden planks. Arthur pulled his map out. “Somewhere called Beecher’s Hope.”

“We could stay here,” Charles suggested, “It’s secluded and away from dangers like Micah.”

Arthur sighed. “I.. I guess you’re right... it’s better that we’re away from the gang.”

“Hey,” Charles said as he put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, “it’s alright. I’m sure we’ll meet up with them again someday.”

“But would it be safe to?” Arthur looked up at Charles, “Micah wanted to kill us back there...”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Arthur.”

“I don’t know... I just...” Arthur huffed and crossed his arms, staring at the dirt to avoid showing the tears in his eyes, “I just don’t want you to get hurt...”

Charles blushed. He stared at Arthur, gazing at the man’s rugged face. He was still beautiful, even like this.

“Arthur, I...”

Suddenly, the men heard loud shouting. Their ears pointed back towards the river. It was a familiar voice, that struck deep into Arthur’s memory. Arthur got up and walked towards the voice.

“...Touch me again, and I’ll fuckin’ knock your teeth out!”

“Watch your mouth, boy!”

The red headed boy in question was being shoved up the canyon by bounty hunter.

“Charles, is... is that Sean?” Arthur asked.

“It is. I would recognize that hair anywhere.”

“How do we get him?“

Charles looked at the canyon. He studied the path and the bounty hunters that held Sean captive. “There,” he pointed to a large camp at the end of the valley, “Thats where they’re taking him. I recon, once they bring him there, we go in and take out as many people as we can.”

“We only have so many bullets, Charles,” Arthur commented, “Plus now we’re bigger targets to hit.”

“But we’re also faster targets,” Charles smiled and began to move up the canyon walls. Arthur sighed and followed him. This is such a stupid plan, he though to himself. He wasn’t sure why he was even going with Charles. Maybe it was because he felt like he needed to protect him. Maybe it was because he liked Charles. Maybe it’s because I love Charles, a thought told him. No! No. I don’t love Charles.

The two men continued up the canyon, and waited just outside of the bounty hunters’ camp for them, hidden in the bushes.

“Uh.. you sure we’re well hidden enough?” Arthur asked.

“It’s enough so that they’ll just think we’re regular horses. We spring out once they notice us.”

“This don’t feel right...” Arthur sighed and shook his head. Suddenly, they heard Sean’s familiar shouting grow closer. Their ears turned towards the noise, and Arthur slowly poked his head up to see where the kid was. They had tied him upside down to a tree limb, leaving him dangling in the air and unconscious.

“Hey, y’all see them horses over there? In the bushes?” Arthur heard one of the bounty hunters speak. He began to walk closer to the two men, and clicked his tongue, making Arthur and Charles’ ears flick in his direction. “C’mere, horsies! C’mon!”

“Now, Arthur!” Charles yelled as he pulled out his shot guns. He ran out of the bushes and started firing with his shotguns at the bounty hunters, who were shocked, startled, and fearful of what they were seeing. Arthur followed him, pulling out his revolvers and taking out as many people as he could.

“Charles, grab Sean! I’ll hold them off, then we run!” Arthur instructed his friend. Charles nodded and headed for the boy, pulling out his knife and cutting him down. He turned to see Arthur, who was skillfully taking out the bounty hunters with hardly any effort. He leapt over crates as rocks that their enemies were using as cover, and took them out.

Charles’ eyes shimmered as he stared at the man. He was so beautiful, yet so dangerous. It had never occurred to him that Arthur, a man so kind and gentle, could kill easily without hesitation.

Charles shook his head and hoisted Sean onto his back. “Arthur, I got him!” he yelled.

“Good, now go!” Arthur replied. The two men took off galloping back towards the plains. They were nearly in the clear, when suddenly a gunshot rang from across the land. Arthur screamed in pain as the bullet implanted itself in his shoulder. He managed to drag himself across the river and back to Beecher’s Hope, before collapsing onto the ground.

“...Arthur, Arthur! Wake up!” Arthur heard Charles yell as he slowly opened his eyes.

“I’m... I’m awake...” he groaned.

“Oh thank god,” Charles sighed in relief, “Arthur, I’m going to need you to take off your shirt.”

Arthur turned shocked at Charles’ blunt words. His expression suddenly turned seductive as a blush crossed his face. “Oh really now?” He asked Charles in a flirtatious tone.

“Arthur you are literally bleeding out!”

The pain suddenly kicked in, making Arthur groan in pain. He quickly used his good arm to unbutton his shirt and take it off. Charles pulled out a knife and dug the bullet out, causing Arthur to almost scream.

“It’s alright, just stay calm,” Charles reassured him. He pulled out one of his shotgun shells and began to poor the gunpowder into the wound. Charles pulled a match out of Arthur’s satchel and lit it on his hoof, then cauterized Arthur’s injury.

Arthur put his hand over his mouth to keep from screaming in pain. It hurt, and now it burned. But he wasn’t scared. He put all his trust in Charles to make sure he would be alright.

Charles pulled away the match and dug inside of Arthur’s satchel. “Do you have bandages?”

“N-No..”

“Why do you not have bandages?!” Panic started to infect Charles’ tone of voice, and his eyes were full of fear. He shook his head to regather himself, then grabbed Arthur’s shirt and tore off the sleeve. He quickly wrapped it around the wound and pressed on his arm to stop the bleeding.

“There...” Charles said as he leaned back, “It didn’t look like it had hit any bones, just muscle. I think you’re gonna be okay, Arthur.” He smiled and offered his hand to help Arthur.

Arthur took it and pulled himself up with a groan. “Well, this is a bitch of an unfortunate situation...”

“How do you mean?” Charles asked.

Arthur stared at Charles. “How do I- what do you mean how do I mean?!” Arthur yelled, “There’s only one of us that can actually do stuff! I can’t just rely on you to do everything!”

“Well, there’s not just me,” Charles looked behind him. There, lying on the ground, was Sean. He was bruised, and knocked out, but nothing looked to bad. “...We should wake him up now,” Charles suggested. Arthur got up and walked over to Sean. He leaned down and shook him with his good arm.

“Sean? C’mon, kid, wake up-“ Sean’s eyes shot open, and he instantly started screaming. He kicked Arthur in the face in a desperate attempt to get away.

“Shit!” Arthur yelled as he put his hand on his nose. He shook his head and looked at Sean, who was standing and had a gun. Arthur’s gun.

“W-Who the hell are you?! What the hell are you?!” He yelled as he pointed the gun from Arthur to Charles.

“Sean, please,” Charles held his arms out and slowly approached him, “It’s us, Arthur and Charles. We don’t mean you any harm.”

Sean stopped panicking and looked at the other men. He didn’t speak for a few moments, which was a rare occasion in Arthur’s life. “By god, it is you too!” Sean yelled and he tossed the gun to the side, “What the fuck happened to you two?! Why are you back near Blackwater?”

“Charles and I managed to get ourselves cursed by some witch up in the Grizzlies a couple weeks back,” Arthur responded as he stood up, “And we’re here because..”

“Dutch kicked us out for being dangerous.”

“You two? Dangerous?” Sean laughed a bit, “I could take the two of you out with my bare hands!”

“Arthur and I both attacked Micah when he got on our nerves, Sean,” Charles informed him, “Dutch had the right to make us leave...”

“Dutch ain’t got no right to make you two leave! It almost sounds like you were doin’ the gang a favor by killin’ the bastard!” Sean replied. Arthur smiled a bit. Sure, Sean was annoying, but he had always been like family. And, he reminded him of the gang, whom he missed so much.

Sean looked at Arthur’s shoulder. “Say, you don’t look too good, Arthur,” he said.

“Well, I got shot when we were rescuing you.”

“Aw, you almost died to rescue little ol’ me? I’m honored Arthur, truly,” Sean teased, “In fact, to show my gratitude, I’ll take care of you boys!”

“Take care of us?” Charles asked as he crossed his arms.

“Yeah! You two can’t go into town to get supplies, you’ll be killed!”

“And you think you won’t?” Arthur snickered at Charles’ response.

“Not Blackwater!” Sean told him, “We’ll go run into the desert! We can go find a nice place to lie low, and live out the rest of our days. I hear Tumbleweed is a lovely place!”

Arthur looked at Charles, waiting for a response. Charles relaxed and smiled a bit. “Why not?”

“Charles, you’re not actually considering fleeing into the desert?” Arthur asked.

“Why not?” Charles asked, “It’s a good plan, plus if the law tries to track us down, we can always head into Mexico.”

“Alright!” Sean cheered. Arthur stared at Charles in disbelief. “We ride at dawn!”

[thiswasinevitableid]

.. for mermay.. 8, indruck nsfw?

Here you go! Duck’s design is based on a rudderfish.

Authors note: since prompt 8 is “drunk,” drinking is mentioned in this. It’s also implied Indrid is doing some self-destructive behaviors to cope with trauma.

The party is a splendid success, as was the book launch that preceded it. Indrid has done what he does best, lined his pockets and those of his agents and editors, and gotten everyone talking. 

“Did you see the one of the pyres?”

“The one of the hurricane aftermath, the look in the girls eyes is so haunting.”

“Personally, I found the jeweled mummies a bit much, but the emergency room shots? Stunning.”

This is why Indrid is sitting on the rocks on his private cove, and will not be going back up to the house until he’s polished off all three of these heavily spiked bottles of eggnog. It’s better than the time he emptied most of a bottle of vanilla vodka, but not by much. 

He was tipsy when he snuck out the back door and down the path to the sea. So when the empty bottle rolls away, all he can do is whap at the air close to it and wave as it plonks into the water.

“Oops. Hic, oh, hic, well, what’s one more piece of trash in, hic, a dying world?”

He yelps, knocking his remaining bottles into the sand as the lost one flies through the air towards him. Or he thinks that’s the trajectory; it’s hard to tell. The point is, the bottle is back and he’s clutching his chest like an old man in a silent movie.

“Look, man, I know it’s temptin to just leave trash everywhere, but there are signs up and down this beach sayin not to litter.” A man floats in the water at the foot of the rock, black hair plastered to his forehead and muscular arms crossed over a bare chest. 

“It, hic, it was an accident. And I am, hic, in no condition to retrieve anything from the water.”

The man frowns, “shit, if you’re that drunk, you oughta get off the rocks. It’s deep here, you might drown. Go sit on the sand, it’s safer. Warmer too, still holdin heat from the sun.”

“I, I’m fine, hic, don’t, don’t need some wet man babying me.” He stands to prove his point, nearly falls face first into the water, and sits back down, “see, m’fine.”

“Get off the rock.” The man says, sounding for all the world like a cat owner two seconds from grabbing the spray bottle. 

“No.” Indrid huffs. 

Water splashes his face and he sputters.

The man pulls his hand back, preparing to send another wave at him, “Get.”

“Fuck you” 

The splash is much more intense this time and he curses, scrambles sideways, and falls to his knees in the sand. 

“That’s better, now I don’t gotta worry about fishin your careless ass outta the water.”

“If, if we are, hic, t-talking careless, you, you shouldn’t say a thing. You’re, hic, swimming in cold water with, without a wetsuit.”

The man shrugs, “Don’t need one.” With that he floats on his back, bringing a dark-scaled tail into view. 

“You’re, hic, you’re a merman.” He crawls forward, breathless, “that’s so cool, wanna, gotta photograph you, so handsome, gotta-”

“Nope” The merman swims back into deeper water, “no pictures, those can end real bad for us.”

“But, but you’re so beautiful. If, hic, if pictures are no good, I, I can draw. I draw good, even if no one likes it.”

“Uh, you really wanna sit on a cold beach paintin my picture instead of hangin out at that shindig?” He points up the hill to the brightly lit house. 

“No, nonono, hic, don’t, don’t wanna go back up there, s’awful, hic.” 

“Awful?” The merman sounds concerned, and in the patchy moonlight he swims close enough that Indrid can see the details of his face, “is someone up there hurtin you?”

“No” He shakes his head, “it, it-”

“Indrid!”

“Damn it.” He mutters as the merman retreat beneath waves. As his guests grow closer he stands, carefully picks up all three bottles, and heads uphill to meet them.

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

Indrid shuffles through the house, head pounding, decides he hates the following people, in this order:

-His agent

-Himself

-Whoever mentioned it was a shame there were no Plata River Bridge photos, causing Indrid to drink a whole martini in order to bite his tongue.

It’s not until his third cup of coffee that he remembers the merman. God, he was really rude to someone who was just trying to keep him from drowning.

Very, very carefully, he makes his way to the beach, sketchbook in one hand and thermos in the other. 

“Hello?” He calls across the water. No reply. Of course there isn’t; the merman has the whole ocean to explore, there’s no reason for him to hang around Indrid’s house. He sighs, sits down on a piece of driftwood, and draws. Normally the cold would drive him back indoors, but today it’s bracing, blowing his hangover off of him and down the sand. 

“Glad to see you’re in one piece” 

Indrid sits bolt upright. The merman waves to him.

“You came back?”

“Yeah? I mean, this is part of my rounds, so I come by here at least once a day. More surprised you’re down here when it’s all cold and grey.”

“I, ah, I wanted to apologize for last night. I was being stubborn and rude.”

“You were, but I was kinda grumpy too. At the end of my shift and all that, but I shouldn’t have splashed you.” He smiles, swims closer, “do you, uh, remember any of the other stuff you said?”

“I have a vague memory of begging to photograph you. Or maybe draw, it’s all very fuzzy.”

“You did. I, uh” the merman’s cheeks turn pink, “you were really, uh, well let’s just say you were excited at the idea of drawin me, so I thought maybe, if you wanted to..”

“Yes”  Indrid shifts down into the sand so he can rest his back on the log, “can we do it now? You said you were on rounds, and if you’re working I don’t want to interrupt.”

“I’m done for the day. Should I get on a rock or somethin?”

“Can you come on the sand at all? Oh, ah, it seems you can.” Indrid scoots back as the merman slides gracefully ashore. In the daylight, his tail is a rich green-brown, his hair streaked with grey near his forehead. His eyes, one green and one brown, regard Indrid with curiosity as he turns to a new page. 

“You got a name?”

“Indrid. Indrid Cold.”

“Duck Newton. It’s a nickname.” The mer stretches his arms and tail, and were Indrid in a self-flattering frame of mind he’d say he was flexing for him, “I gotta pose?”

“No, as long as you don’t move too much, I should be fine.”

Duck nods, shifts onto his belly with his tail dipped in the surf. Indrid sets his pen to paper, asks Duck what he does for work and when the tunnel vision of his project dissipates, it’s dusk.

“Oh my, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so long.”

The merman yawns, “S’okay, it was nice talkin with you, and I got to birdwatch some. Can I see?”

Indrid turns the sketchbook. Mis-matched eyes widen. 

“Holy fuck. You made me look damn good.”

“I simply captured you as you are.” Indrid feels a blush moving up his cheeks as Duck scoots closer. 

“You gonna do this tomorrow?  If, uh, if you don’t wanna draw me again, I can bring you some interestin stuff from the water. If, uh, if you want.”

His schedule for tomorrow starts with a phone interview, after which he was planning to sit in a dark living room and watch mindless T.V.

“That sounds lovely. Thank you, Duck.”

The merman beams, waves, and then pushes back into the sea, raising his tail once in farewell. 

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

“...now, Juno thinks it’s-holy fuck ‘Drid, was that your stomach?” Duck raises his head from where he’s been sort-of-napping, sort of talking.

“Hmm? Yes, I suppose it was.” He has his watercolors out today, a surprise stretch of sunny days rendering the beach and hillsides in glorious technicolor. 

“When did you last eat?”

“..............”

“Oh my fuckin god, ‘Drid, no wonder you look like you’re close to passin out.”

“I’m fine.” 

Duck has that look on his face again, the one he got when Indrid admitted to walking the cliff-side trails when he’s coming back from the roadhouse on the edge of town. When Indrid says he hasn’t slept in two days. 

The merman says nothing, goes back to reading the book of nature essays Indrid brought him. A buzz cuts through the air and he groans, shuts off the alarm on his phone, “I need to go get ready for that interview.”

“You wanna meet up tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Great. But, uh, seem to remember you promised me some of those cookies you say are the best in the world.”

Indrid smirks, “I suppose I did.”

“I want some. But not for dinner, with dinner. You feel me?” There’s an edge in his drawl, as formidable and unyielding as the nearby cliff-face. 

“Alright, I'll bring you some other things to try.” Indrid smiles, suddenly looking forward to a grocery run. 

Duck, now in the water, looks over his shoulder, “Good boy.”

Indrid shivers even as heat blooms in his chest. 

When sunset graces the beach, Indrid is busy setting out a half dozen take-out containers and many plastic boxes of cookies and fruit.

“Damn” Duck slides and wiggles his way onto the sand by the blanket, “you went all out.”

“You wanted a meal. I brought you one.”

“Sure did.” Duck sniffs the air, taps a carry-out bowl of soup, “what’s this?”

“Umm” Indrid peers at the label, “french onion soup.”

“Can I have it?”

“Of course.”

The merman downs the soup as fast as temperature allows, munches happily on the orange segments Indrid peels and samples the cookies. 

“Ahhh” He flops his head into Indrid’s lap, “that hit the spot.”

The human nods, bottle of pineapple soda on his lips. He’s so happy and full. 

Wait.

“Duck? Did you suggest this just so I would eat something?”

The face in his lap only looks a little chagrined, “Kinda. I been meanin to suggest this, and today seemed like the right time. And, uh, I know sometimes I have a hard time lookin after myself for me, but if someone else tells me to do it, or I have to do it as part of lookin after them, it’s easier. Thought that might be goin’ on with you. I, uh, I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to.”

“Nono” Indrid sets a hand in his hair, stroking it so Duck rubs his cheek against his thigh, “you’re right. It was easier to do the kind thing for myself when you told me to. Would, ah, would you be willing to do it again.” 

Duck meets his eyes, gaze bubbling with something dark and alluring, “Sure thing, ‘Drid.”

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

“Before you go, I wanted to give you this.” Indrid holds out the small camera. Duck, perched on a rock, takes it with a puzzled frown. He adds, “It’s waterproof. You mentioned you wish you could take pictures of the things you see in your home. I couldn’t think of a better time to give you than your trip.”

“Thanks, ‘Drid.” Duck leans forward, rubbing their cheeks together, “you remember your instructions?”

“Yes.” He whimpers when Duck pulls back. 

“Good. Want you in good shape when I get home.” Duck’s voice returns to normal, “should be back in a week. I’ll see you then.”

Indrid waves goodbye, keeps waving well past the point where Duck could see him, even if he surfaced. Then he grabs the basket of fresh oysters and heads to the house to call Barclay. 

The phone calls and dinners with one of his few friends in town are part of his agreement with Duck. The mer told him he couldn’t meet every night, so maybe Indrid should find other forms of company. He also helpfully supplies Indrid with fresh shellfish that he has no idea how to cook, but his friend the professional chef certainly does. This dovetails nicely with his promise to Duck to eat at least one full meal a day.

It’s not just the strange dynamic they’ve hit upon that’s improving his life; it’s Duck. The merman makes him feel so safe, like someone cares about the real him and not just the him that makes them money or feeds their morbid curiosity. Not to mention he’s even more handsome than Indrid first thought and he spends plenty of nights jerking off to the thought of a cool, strong tail between his legs. 

He does well the first five days Duck is gone. Barclay and Dani come over for dinner, he paints and draws prolifically, and he even reads up on whether it’s feasible for him to adopt rats (“those are kinda like otters, right?” “close enough.”). Friday night his agent calls, excitedly reporting that it’ll soon be the fifth anniversary of the Plata River incident and the magazine is getting requests for a feature on it and Indrid will be perfect. 

Indrid says he’ll think about it, hangs up, and opens the fridge. He promised Duck he’d only drink if it was with dinner or with friends. He grabs two wine coolers and heads into the living room. 

The next day, he’s idly fiddling with the dating app he hasn’t touched since December when a new profile appears. Very good looking, close by, clearly just passing through town, and interested in Indrid. He invites him over, spends the next half hour getting ready, and even cleans the bedroom because well, that’s what he’d do for Duck, he should do it for anyone else he brings over. 

Indrid opens the door at the second knock. The guy takes one look at him, shakes his head, and returns to his car.

Indrid downs the remaining wine coolers and goes down to the beach to sulk. He tucks his legs up, pressing his forehead to his knees, and rocks back and forth. He’s nearly sober when a voice drifts across the waves.

“‘Drid?” 

He looks up, glasses slipping down his nose, “Duck? You’re, you’re back.”

“Yep. It was fast goin the last ten miles. Brought the camera back, think you gotta be the one to get the pictures off, but I can’t wait to show you all the cool shit we saw.”

“Me neither” He stands and instantly pitches forward, landing on his hands and knees in the shallow water. 

“You been drinking?”

“Yes.”

“You and Barclay have a good time?” He’s giving him the benefit of the doubt, giving him an out, and Indrid decides that isn’t what he wants. 

“I wasn't with Barclay. I got horrible news last night, and today I tried to get laid and got rejected, and I’m at the point in my life where I nearly called after the guy that he could keep his eyes shut and I’d just blow him so he wouldn’t need to look at or touch me. So yes, Duck, I’ve been drinking.”

Duck’s expression swims between concern and disappointment, then comes to rest on neutral steel, “That ain’t what we agreed.”

“I’m aware. But I don’t care, I don’t” he aims a splash at Duck, “it doesn’t matter, nothing matters, nothing will come of it, same as always.”

The merman cocks an eyebrow, “You really think that? You forgettin I said there’d be consequences if you broke the rules?”

“Oooh, I’m so scared.” Indrid splashes him again.

Duck smiles, reminding him that all his teeth end in points, “Didn’t say anythin about scarin you. You really wanna believe that nothing matters, you can head home. Or” he points to a nearby rock, “you go get on your hands and knees, facin the cliffs.”

Indrid crawls gracelessly to the designated spot. It’s dangerous to turn his back on the ocean, but a gentle voice in his mind reminds him over and over that Duck is here. Duck won’t let him get hurt. 

There’s a splash as Duck pulls himself onto the rock. Then a whoosh of air and a sting in the right side of his ass. He yelps, startled, and looks behind him.

“If this ain’t okay, need you to say so now.” Duck’s eyes are wide and hungry, but his hands stay on the grey rock. 

“It’s okay.” He can’t believe this is happening, can’t decide if he should tell Duck this is not remotely a punishment. 

Another sharp grin, “Eyes front.”

Indrid’s barely obeyed when the next strike comes. Duck is strong and makes no attempt to hide it, hitting him hard enough that his knees jolt forward in the sand. The pain lights him up each time, forces the thing knotted in his chest up towards his throat. 

When the blows stop he whimpers, pushing his ass back in hopes of more.

“Don’t worry, ‘Drid, I ain’t done with you by a long shot.” Cold fingers undo his fly, bring his pants and underwear down to his thighs. He’s expecting another hit, wiggles his ass in anticipation. 

What he gets are teeth sinking into his skin.

“AH!GOD” He yells loud enough that his throat hurts.

Duck chuckles, “Holler all you want, we both know no one can hear what goes on on this beach, especially with all the wind.” He bites down again, Indrid thrashing and moaning as teeth sink into already reddened skin. Duck growls in reply, savaging the meat of his as and grazing his teeth along his thighs, dangerously close to his balls. He’s already getting hard, the process expedited by warm breath and lips on his body. 

He moans embarrassingly loud when Duck shoves his ass apart.

“Damn, you really did get all prepped for that fella. Shame, he didn’t know what he was missin.” The plug hits the sand to his right.

“You, you don’t have to flatter meEEEoh, oh Duckohmygoodness.” His fingers dig into the sand as the merman teases his rim with a flexible tongue. There’s a muffled laugh, but Duck doesn’t respond beyond that, too busy threatening him with a good time as his tongue gives an experimental push. 

Then it retreats and he turns his head left and right, delivering quick bites to either cheek before his tongue returns. He alternates between the delicious, teasing licks and painful bites, the shift never coming when Indrid expects and causing him to cry out every time. When the mer releases one side of his ass in order to slap his thighs while he continues licking, kissing, and nipping his way across bruised, sensitive skin, Indrid lets out a strangled sound, the thing in his chest now trapped at the back of his throat. 

“You make such cute noises, but they ain’t the ones I’m lookin for. I ain’t stoppin until you apologize.”

Indrid opens his mouth, intending to say something about how this is the wrong way to make him do so. 

“I, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t be angry with me, don’t leave, don’t leave me here, I can’t, I, I don’t want to think about it, Duck please, I’m sorry, so sorry” he;s hunched forward, sobbing into the sand, when he realizes he’s fully clothed and Duck isn’t behind him.

“No” he squeaks, “no please don’t go.”

“I ain’t goin anywhere.” Duck slides up the sand next to him, pulls him into his arms, “I’m so sorry darlin, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I took it too far, I ain’t mad, not really” he eases Indrid’s glasses off and sets them out of harms way, “oh darlin, c’mere, it’s okay” salty kisses dot his forehead and green scales pet his legs. 

“It’s, hic, it’s not your fault. I, I l-liked it, but this has, hic, been building up for months. Years.” He hides his face in Duck’s chest.

“Years?” Duck grabs Indrid’s sweater from where he cast it off, draping it over the human. 

Indrid sniffs, “You know I’m a photographer. But I’ve never told you what I photograph. I, I made my name recording disasters and their aftermath. For a long time I took pride in it; someone has to document those things, so we can’t erase them, so we have to confront them and try to make things better, or try to keep such tragedy from reoccurring. I was so good at recording it I became famous. Wealthy. And I learned that most people like to gawk at horror and then go about their days. I, I tried branching out and...and I ended up with a disaster anyway. A bridge collapse, I chronicled everything from the instant it started to the funerals and it, it was too much. Ever since then I’ve felt trapped by my work. At times, by my life. My agent wants me to go back for the fifth anniversary, he told me so last night.”

“You ain’t goin, right?” 

“I don’t think I can.” 

Duck nods, rests his chin atop his head, “tell me what you wanna do instead.”

He does. He tells him about his other art, about the pitches for childrens books and the plans for a real vacation, about the life that, for the first time, feels in reach when he speaks about it. By the time he’s done the stars are out and he’s much calmer and clear-headed.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? That, that you thought I was attractive?”

“Every damn word.” Duck rolls them so Indrid is on his back, kisses his cheek, “thought so since that first night. But, uh” his gaze flicks down to Indrid’s crotch, “if you want more proof I’m happy to give it.”

“Please?”

“Get your pants off and lay on your sweater.”

Indrid complies, shivers when Duck guides his shirt up and off. 

“Fuuuuck” the mer rubs his hands up and down his torso, “when it warms up, you’re gonna swim out with me so I can get my fill of this while you ride my dick.”

“Yes. Ah, I, I did prep, but it’s been long enough now that lubrication may be an issueOOOh, ooohyes.” He release into the sand as Duck grinds his tail against his cock. The scales feel as lovely now as they do when he pets them, and he wonders if Duck will let him get off by humping his tail one of these days.

“It won’t, trust me. Lemme just--there we go. Open your legs. Heh, eager little thing.”

“I’ve wanted this too long to play coy.”

“Good.”

“Eeep!” Something slick and squirming presses into his ass, “do, do you have tentacles?”

“Kinda? They’re just the tip, for this exact reason. It, uh, it feel okay?” Duck smiles reassuringly and that, combined with the genuine concern in his voice makes Indrid moans and nudge him closer. 

“VeryOH, oohgracious” two more tentacles join the first, pulsing and scissoring him open, “how many are there?”

“About eight.”

He moans louder and Duck laughs, pushes his hips forward, “glad you like it, darlin’. Because from where I’m sittin your ass is fuckin amazin and I wanna be as deep in it as I can.”

“Yes, absolutely, pleaseAHHnnn” enough tentacles now that he can’t keep an accurate count, “please use it as you see fit.”

“As I see fit huh? That’s a tricky question. See, sometimes I wanna, fuck, wanna shove the whole thing in you at once and make you scream while I leave my mark on your neck.”

“AHHnnngod” A firmer shaft pushes in, ridges rubbing all the right places as the tentacles continue exploring him. 

“Other times, think it’s better to tease you with the tip, maybe make you blow me first and jerk you off until you’re beggin for my dick.”

“Yes, yesyesyesyes”

“But tonight” Duck bottoms out with a groan, “I’m gonna take it nice and slow, show you just how fuckin wonderful you are. How much you mean to me. My Indrid.”

“Yours” Indrid twines his limbs around him, “god, Duck, it feels so good, you’re so good, you always look after me.”

“That I do. Because you deserve it. And” the tentacles find his prostate and he nearly howls as Duck continues, “you deserve to learn how t’be nice to yourself. And I, ahfuck, know that ain’t easy, but I’m gonna be here to help.”

“Yes, ohgod, yes, you’re, you’re so perfect, aaAAAhnI, I’m, close sweetheart, you fill me so well.”

“Damn right. Gonna, nnngh, gonna find every fuckin way to fill you, make you feel fuckin amazin, fuck, that’s it darlin, ohfuckyeah” as he starts spilling into him, Indrid cums with a shout, splattering their stomachs. Duck moans at the sight, wriggles his hips as his shaft continues rippling and pulsing. It turns out mer orgasms are long, so long that Indrid is whimpering from overstimulation by the time Duck pulls out. 

A gentle, salt-soaked kiss to his lips, “Lookit you, took it all. You’re so good for me, darlin.”

“Mmmhmm” He doesn’t want to let go, cold, wind, and damp be damned. Duck seems to understand, holds him and whispers sweet promises in his ears until he’s shivering.

“‘Drid, your teeth are chatterin.”

“I kn-know, I s-should g-go home and w-warm up.”

Duck kisses him again, “sooner you go and rest, sooner we can do this again.”

“An excellent p-point.” He stands, blows a shaky kiss towards his future, “see you tomorrow.”

[bunnymossmakes]

Woo Your Woman [WIP]

[Sharky Boshaw x Francine “Franny” Mayhew]

Rated T for Language and Sexual Content

-

If there's two things Sharky Boshaw knows like the back of his hand, it's how to start a fire, and how to woo a woman.

Okay, there’s one thing he knows, it's arson. Fire enthusiasm.

But the wooing women part, well. There's some learnin' to do. Specially with that hot-shot Rook out there snatching up all the fine ladies of Hope County. And really, who wants to bang a catch like him when there's a fuckin' cop with loose morals storming around blowing up Peggies like the fourth of July? Used to be he and Hurk could at least catch a wink or a kiss, if not the occasional drunken bathroom blowjob.

And god damnit if he ain't gonna shoot his shot for precisely the latter, from that blonde badger-looking broad across the bar.

“Well honestly I was thinkin' about maybe goin' down to the river by my mama's place and catchin' frogs again after dark, if yer feelin' up to it,” Hurk elbows him just hard enough to bring his bleary-eyed focus over to his cousin, “you wanna maybe pick up some beers and call the Dep and-“

“Man fuck po-po, okay? Well actually don’t, that'd be weird, he's like. Your business partner, man,” Sharky interrupts, tugging on the bill of his cap, “just… sorry cuz. I'm trynna get laid and Rook's gettin' all the bitches. He's got asses bouncing at him left and right and I just wanna see what that girl over there tastes like, you know?”

Hurk blinks once or twice before the tinge of pink flushes his cheeks, certainly not from the excess of shit beer he’s been knocking back, and opens his mouth to retort before deciding another drink is a better option. After one big swig, which Sharky gladly matches, he musters up the proper response.

“Cuz, I don’t think you wanna go down on her right there at the bar-“

“Aw shit man, not what I meant,” he grimaces, “ain’t done that in ages. A pretty gal like her don’t deserve my half-ass attempt.”

“Just ask her h'wat her name is first,” Hurk says simply, tipping his beer bottle towards the very blonde in question, who raises an eyebrow at the two of them.

Never in his damn life has the Spread Eagle suddenly felt so hot. Like, not fire heat, no, that shit's tolerable and preferable, to whatever suffocating swamp is bogging down his lungs and making his face burn red. She’s looking right at him and she doesn’t seem to give a shit. She's looking right at him and fluttering those pretty lashes and – by god she just belched.

Open-mouthed chest-thumping cockles-of-her-soul belched.

Oh god he's in love.

“Pretty lady what's your name?” he blurts before his thoughts have come even halfway back round in his skull, and she stiffens in surprise.

“Me?” she says, and her voice is gruff like sandpaper and oh god he's in love not drunk, in love damnit.

…a little drunk maybe.

“Good job Shark,” Hurk encourages with a pat on the shoulder, and Sharky swats out blindly to hush him up.

The blonde across the bar looks between the two of them, then at herself, down at the dirty t-shirt she's wearing, and back up into his eyes. Can she see into his soul? Is she actually a witch or some shit? Was that belch her wicked mating call, and she’s gonna lure him back to her evil swamp lair and bite his head off like a praying mantis? He swears one of her eyes is a little off kilter but she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

“Francine,” she says, almost sounding surprised, but that’s fine, her name is lovely, “er. Frannie.”

He can't even speak. How does he respond to that? Where have his words gone? He definitely passed third grade English. Maybe. Probably not. God damn this bar feels like a sauna.

“Niiice to meeeet yeewww, Frannciiine,” Hurk hisses, “you gotsta respond dude.”

“You're hot,” is what he says instead, “or. It's hot. In here. Cuz you’re. Pretty. I like your shirt. Nice belch.”

Chances ruined. Shot deflected. What the fuck came out of his mouth? This is why he can't get his dick wet.

But Frannie – blessed Frannie – smiles big as can be and hides behind a big swill of her pint. Slams it back down on the bar with froth on her upper lip like the most graceful mustache he's ever seen on a lady (and he’s seen plenty in Hope County.) She doesn’t even bother to wipe it off her face before she’s up out of her seat and heading for the door. But something about that grin on her freckled face says follow me not I'm noping the fuck outta here.

And so he does, with a celebratory if not preemptive whoop from his cousin.

“Git ‘er Sharky!” Hurk claps his hands together, and all he can do is snort as he stumbles off his own stool and after the walking embodiment of his deepest drunken desires.

Following behind her is like chasing a deer through the brush. Except he’s never done that, and she's drunk enough to stumble a little as she trudges out the front door. Granted, so is he, but he’s always carried himself well enough to get by. At least, that's what he tells himself. Hurk says he looks kinda like a bowlegged daddy longlegs when he's drunk, but what does Hurk know about majesty when he sees it?

“This way stranger!” he hears from outside on the porch as the door swings shut between them.

Barging through is easy, but catching up to her halfway across the street is hard when he’s this wobbly.

“Where you goin' Frannie?” Sharky calls, a little more high-pitched than he'd intended, and she laughs real quiet so he can just barely hear.

“Just come on, ballcap, got somethin' to show you!” she says over her shoulder, but he isn’t focused on her face when she angles it back at him, “just across the street!”

“Well alright, but I'll have you know I am a gentleman, thank you very much, and I'm not expecting no free peep show in the alley,” he clarifies, “a man of culture and chivalry only expects titty flashes in the open street, or in the privacy of someone's bedroom - doesn't matter whose.”

He sees her elbows bend, watches her hands settle on the hem of her t-shirt, and holy Bongo II is she gonna turn around and flash him did that just work hello God it’s me Sharky—

Frannie face plants in the gravel not two steps further. Tripped on her own damn feet or something. And in that moment, sprawled in the dirt, limbs akimbo, she may as well be a fallen angel. He can’t even help her up he’s too busy tripping over his own self, ogling at the sight before him. This woman is a mess, and he might be too.

Okay no he totally is.

Somehow he manages to stumble forward and get ahold of one of her hands, and in a semi-fruitless struggle Frannie manages to get her ass under her and up onto her knees with his help. She's got mud on her face, and a skinned elbow, and the lopsided grin she offers says she's just fine.

“Was gonna show you but I fell,” she says simply, and all he can do is nod like an imbecile, “but come on I really wanna show you this other thing!”

The two of them get Francine on her feet and steady enough to start walking, and the second she turns away and out of his loose grasp he panics.

“I’m Sharky nice to meet you Frannie,” he gets out all in one exhale, “you don’t have to show me your tits they’re probably real nice. But I’m too drunk to remember them tomorrow and I'd really want to you know?”

Frannie pauses in her stride and turns back to him, still wearing that wide crooked smile.

“How bout I show you tonight and tomorrow? Why not both?”

“I mean. I’m not gonna say no. But I don’t think either of us are in the right way to be doin' that shit as drunk as we are,” he says, and since when has he cared?

How many women has he let yank him to the bathroom or out by the dumpster to fuck around with after a long night of drinking? …not as many as he’d like to imagine. Maybe only like two. Okay, he's got a point.

His companion simply nods, fine enough with his opinion, and ambles back on down her path. This time he manages to catch up to her and match her stride, and before he knows it he's mustered up the courage to reach out and hold her hand. The whole thing is giving him butterflies, and if Hurk could see him now he’d probably tease him for a solid month about it. The great Charlemagne Victor Boshaw, reduced to holding hands with a cute girl, going off on some adventure.

Seems she's leading him to the water tower nearby, and he’s fully prepared to tell her he’s scared of heights, but she keeps on walking. Up the little hill, towards the outside of town, to the little patch of trees up the road. The thought strikes him that perhaps he's about to get stabbed, or shot, or stabbed and shot – or maybe she really is gonna bite his head off in her evil lair – but then she looks to him and smiles again, squeezes his hand, and, nah, he’ll be fine.

[mrsunderhill678]

The last one liners of 2020!! Let’s go!

“Discoveries of self are only grand so long as they give you a deeper meaning, but all mine have done is haunted me.” - Calliger Cougar

“Justice that harms the innocent is no justice after all.” - Calliger Cougar

“I fear I have yet to meet all of me, and if this sinful being is what I have met, I fear what I have not.” - Calliger Cougar

"I've spent life searching for a deeper purpose, only to realize, all I had to do, was be me.” - Espekarla Killovitch

“It took so long to accept myself, so long, that I believed no one would ever accept me.” - Espekarla Killovitch

“Life can beat you down and make you someone you don't like, but soar above that. See the stars, burn in the sun, become ash so long as it's you.” - Espekarla Killovitch

 “I am such a crime against myself.” - Duke Marston

“Loving me, I imagine, is a death sentence. Hold my heart only if you wish to place yourself on death row or the electric chair.” - Duke Marston

 “I am no brave little mouse, I am no Desperaux, it is as if I am Borticelli, a sewer rat, feasting on my grime, throwing the brave little mouse to the crowd, allowing them to cheer as the cat bats at him like yarn, watching him bleed, watching him fight, if only to keep my throne." - Duke Marston (If you get this reference I will fucking love you)

 How I yearn to be something other than this twisted creature, sitting upon a throne of other's blood and bone. But I never leave this throne, I never knock this life studded crown from my head. I guess that makes me haunted queen of the hill, fearing the descent yet staring down at the bottom, wondering what it would be like... To fall. But I fear my sister would catch me, deny this death wish of mine. She'd snag a cigarette from my lip if she knew it burnt my lungs. I fear myself, but she loves me, I'll never know why, I'm just a beast, a wicked creature of broken tusks and teeth. And my brother, he would carry the crucifix on his back and nail his palms to it's oak if he knew it'd spare me the trouble.” - Carlota Calico

“I am a cruel woman, my eyes glazed over with glossy regret, and yet all I do is weep the blood that I've spilled. I am a haunting of every grave I've dug, every life I took, and try as I may, it is never my blood I'll weep, but the blood of another.” - Carlota Calico

“My regret is spoken so much louder than my rage, it leaves me to wonder how my rage leaves more glasses shattered than my regret, when it's my hauntings that raise the decibels? They say to roll with life's punches, but what can a man do when the fists are his own?” - Max Tripp

“It was I who took my life and set it on fire. And everyone watched from the pyre as my ship sunk, and you know what? When this ship sinks, and I with it, I'll cheer along with those on the fucking pyre.” - Max Tripp

“I won't make it to heaven. I'd never pass the first step to the pearly gates, let alone a mile from the stairwell.” - Max Tripp

“I'm a gambling man, and I gambled this life of mine for a rusted lie and a nickel. Worth bout as much as me, I suppose.” - Max Tripp

“Raise a glass to the loveless man, raise a glass, for this shot of my tears and regret never runs dry.” - Max Tripp

“I'm tangled between my little flaws and my love for my children, I imagine my love for them heals me, I just... Wish it would heal, them.” Violetta Flint

 “Is the world, perhaps, just as self destructive as we are, causing pain to those who love it?” - Violetta Flint

“I wish I could've protected my boy, but life took him down the beaten path too soon. I was supposed to protect him from the thorns on the rose, but he gripped it before I could. He bled before I could bleed in his place.” - Violetta Flint

“Life can be so terribly cruel to the kindest of people, but don't let cruelty make you cruel. Remember that kindness is never forged from an easy life.” - Violetta Flint

“Revenge is a luxury I can't God damn afford, yet here I am, payin' the fuckin' price.” - Andraak Flint

“With a single snap 'a my fingers I killed the light that basked my soul, stepped on my own back ta reach heaven, just ta kill the man who claims himself a god above others. Oh he's above others alright, but when I meet him eye to fuckin' eye, sins on my wrist, with my rage and love he stole from my still tremblin' hands, he ain't gon' be nuthin' but below me.” - Andraak Flint

“You must inflict pain to know my wrath, and for a man that's inflicted more pain than the end 'a times, I reckon I ought to be more wrathful than the God that decided it fit for him ta live.” - Andraak Flint

“Revenge is a luxury I can't afford, because the price is this life I've lived and the corpse 'a the man I hunt. Ta pay the price, I got ta die, cause ain't no man damned as I am, seein' more sunrises than the devil he seeks. So be it, may the sun rise without me, so long as it rises without Quentin." - Andraak Flint

“Sometimes, crime is survival, and you can condemn me all you want, but all I'm tryin' to do is stay on the topside of the concrete. An old friend always said his corpse had already dropped, that he was already buried beneath the skyscrapers and subways, that he was just another corpse of New York. And I agree. We're all just corpses of New York city, because this place in of itself is a corpse of dead concrete goliaths and lost souls once filled with hope.” - Angeles Vance

“We are the revolution, built of scars and corpses of New York, and maybe one day, they'll hear our battle cry and call us heroes. But it's more often than most that heroes are labeled lawless and cruel, before ever, they put an end to the very tyranny that labeled them, enemy of the world." - Angeles Vance

“Evil is often a torch, passed down from one ruler to the next, but I've found, that we only take the torch, for we fear he who holds it, only to fear our own hand, in the end.” - Theodore Malrosa

“All you'll ever need in a kill or be killed world is a six shooter and your sins on your sleeve.” - Theodore Malrosa

“I'm a ragged bone man, with fur drenched over my shoulders like a tattered cape, but in the shade, all they ever see is the silhouette of a hero's torn cape. Shade hides all, my friend, even the most damnable of offenses.” - Theodore Malrosa

“He who mocks the peasant will find himself bowing to his feet miles down the road, just ask the brother's of Joseph. For they mocked his dreams only to realize always was he a prophet, in all his glory, and his coat of every color only aggrandized his robe of dreams and prophecies to be.” - Theodore Malrosa

 “I could drown in holy water and still, I'd be damned, all the holy water would do is grant me a painful death of scalding flesh and boiled blood. I wear a cross round my neck if only to remind me, I was once holy. But he who is nailed to the crucifix is often bled dry before ever he is forgiven.” - Arrow Holloway

“I sling these bullet casin's like regrets and charms, never knowin' what it is I'll get from this chamber. There's a spark in my chest, and I's long since learned, the spark in me chest and revolver are one in the fucking same.” - Arrow Holloway

“I am a hail of bullets in the crossfire, hittin' every soldier, I am the blood spilled and the bodies that drop. I suppose I'm everything death every grew, if only to be reaped for my simple existence. But it ain't simple, is it? Never were I 'spose, always was this life complex and bloody.” - Arrow Holloway

“I could face myself in a draw fight and still I'd lose.” - Arrow Holloway

“Take this ride 'a mine as you will, one of a wicked outlaw or a deputy corrupted by crimson burnin' justice, either way you spin the tale, you get blood spilled and bullets flyin', so I spose it don't matter which path ya take. It all ends the same. No matter what road you go down, there's a cliffside, a steeple or a river, and ain't none of em leadin' you ta salvation. Cause the biggest lie the preacher ever told is, "You're forgiven." - Arrow Holloway

“What is hope, really, but a single shared delusion of the human race? We cling to it so desperately, but it was never there, we were always battling ourselves and callin' a damn peace treaty. Cause when we fire against our selves, what do we call it? Freedom or murder of the highest degree?” Elliot Terminus

“We're either lambs or wolves, and only those with stained teeth'll make it through. We're already in hell, my friend, the demons are huntin' the angels and the sheep are bein' led to the slaughter. Ain't no sheep makin' it out with a white coat.” - Elliot Terminus

 “I'd gladly wash myself in the blood of the lamb if it meant soakin' the fields.” - Elliot Terminus

“You think the flock is safe just cuz there's a shepherd? He's as mortal as the sheep and he who protects the weak should be weary of the strong.” - Elliot Terminus

“This crucifix of secrets on my back weighs me down like the thought of my casket, I fear I shall carry this weight on my back for miles, only for none of it to ever matter in the end.” - Mason White

“It's often secrets lurk in those who have been silenced. These days, you can't cut off a man's tongue to prevent the truth from spilling out, but threatening all he loves does the same damn thing. When a man dares silence you, shout to the heavens, maybe God will listen and smite him down, render him speechless. No man can disarm you of your voice, it's the strongest weapon you've got.” - Mason White

 “For all who come for my sorry hide, tomorrow's an empty promise at best, and a threat at it's worst, cuz steppin' up to me is a losin' fuckin' battle. You wanna step up ta this plate? Then prepare for them pearly gates, cause ya meet the lord today, and ya don't got time for a fuckin' confession.” - Rafe Linton

“Honor ain't nuthin but a lie soldiers use ta steal the advantage, I'd rather cheat than die, and I'd rather scarper on my mah knees than be the poor sod bein' shot at point blank range for sins deemed worthy 'a death.” - Rafe Linton

“A man offers ta count ta three, shoot him at two.” - Rafe Linton

“Steppin' up ta me is a losin' fuckin' battle because I cheat, I lie, friend, only truthful word that ever come from my mouth is, I'm alive. I'd light a match and tell ya it's cold, I'd shoot a man six times in the chest and say he's breathin' just fine. The pearly gates await ya because you choke on all your truths, when a lie's the only thing that'll save you, these days.” - Rafe Linton

“The act of raisin' the dead is a simple act 'a redeemin' a man who's coffin lid is nailed shut. Yet for a man like me, it's complex as can got damn be.” - Alaric Alistair

“There was a time I believed the good guy always caught the thief, and the sun always rose, but look at me now, sittin' in the dark.” - Alaric Alistair

 “You could cut me down and I imagine I'd laugh, cause I can't imagine sumthin' darker than my life other than the end 'a it.” - Alaric Alistair

“I'm just roadkill on the highway that's risen, my antlers are broken, my fur matted and bloody, and I'm just fated ta pretend I'm still breathin'. But the breath from my lungs is stained from the blood on my teeth.” - Alaric Alistair

“In the end, it don't matter who ya were, what ya did, cause hell don't exist and devils were only myths of us.” - Alaric Alistair

“All I ever do is follow orders. I bark when told ta, I bite when aggravated or let off my leash, but the sad thing is, even the leash stabs inta me. The bruises and scars round my neck tell the sorrowed tale of a barkin' dog forced ta bite. This blood on my teeth tells the pain soaked tale of a dog, skinny and starvin', all because he bites, if only ta put another down." - Alaric Alistair

“For a man who's lost everything, I sure got a lot. My whole life I been swallowed by the fires yet remaining un-scorched, because all my life I've had love. For my wife, for my sons, for the lord, and even if many I knew are now nuthin' but a memory, I still find light in the intricacies of their smiles, cause I see em in my own.” - Balthazar Pennington

“We're beautiful creatures, really, holdin' one another ta show love, speakin' in languages so complex that not a word has ta be spoken to say, "I love you." - Balthazar Pennington

"Go on, kill us, kill us by the fucking dozens, Mr. De Niro. But you will find that the human resolve is a helluva lot stronger than your God damn conscious." - Cody Scarrow

"Oh I don't need savin' from me, brother. I may not be perfect, hell, I ain't even decent. But I can be damn proud of the fact, that I ain't you, and I never God damn will be." - Cody Scarrow