#i want them to have a meal with each other

[drdemonprince]

if sex is no big deal and just a normal thing like having dinner with someone, how do you square that with the belief that children can't consent to sex? Like idk this whole thing of "sex is a normal act like any other and we shouldn't treat it differently" makes me soo uncomfortable because i feel like it's really obviously not in a lot of situations? Otherwise what's the difference between being told by my boss to have lunch with one of our prospective clients being told by my boss to blow one of our prospective clients? :/

let's take your dinner example to its logical conclusion, because you are on to something here, but I don't think quite in the way that you think.

children are forced to eat food that they this really dislike (due to sensory issues, allergies, or just run of the mill unfamiliarity) quite regularly by their caregivers. they are also sometimes denied the right to eat because they didn't behave the way their caretakers liked, and sent to bed hungry, or barred from eating food that they can handle, and instead left to go hungry because they won't eat food they can't handle.

treatment like this causes a lot of food issues and trauma to children. It exacerbates eating disorders and erodes a child's sense of their own body autonomy. It can also cause children to have nutritional issues and a scarcity mentality around food that can be really damaging to them.

similarly, people are forced to share meals with people who they are viscerally uncomfortable around all the time too, often to extreme negative effects. employees are forced to sit down with clients who debase them or harass them. Young people in particular are forced into sharing tables with relatives who have crossed their boundaries, insulted them, abused them, bullied them, and whom they want nothing to do with. people in recovery from eating disorders are surrounded by co-workers, family members, or friends at meal times who speak about calories and weight loss and comment on their own bodies and other people's bodies in incredibly invasive and triggering ways that often make them feel way worse, and make taking care of their own bodies far more difficult.

when a powerful institution wants to exert control over other people, they also often do so using food. prisoners are given almost no control over the kind of food they eat, and are often given very low quality food that is in a disgusting condition, or that violates their own nutritional requirements or religious beliefs. patients in hospitals and in mental institutions are also subjected to such treatment, and people in poverty are expected to eat anything that they are given without complaint. It is an extension of their dehumanization to control and limit the kinds of food they're allowed to access, and how and when they are permitted to eat.

each of these experiences surrounding food can be incredibly violating and harmful. food is quite frequently a tool of control and abuse. yet it is not because there is some magical quality to food or to dinners that make them uniquely fraught with the potential for trauma. these experiences are traumatic because they involve a violation of a person's body autonomy, and a lack of social power.

sex isn't any different from dinner. we just have a series of cultural beliefs surrounding it that make the pressure involving sex something that's both a lot more acknowledged, and mostly encountered in the private realm.

Sex is treated as an almost magical thing, at once both sinister and sacrosanct, and so people are primed to see the potential for harm in it, and it is frequently used as a tool for harming people because it is so loaded, but that doesn't mean there aren't abuses involving every other mundane human activity that we simply are conditioned to ignore because doing so is so normal.

People's body autonomy surrounding food is violated traumatically all the fucking time. unfortunately because we consider dinner to be a neutral activity and sex to be this incredibly fraught and almost magical one, we ignore the massive amounts of coercion, pressure, and violation surrounding food.

your boss shouldn't be able to force you to get dinner with someone. and people are uncomfortable with discussions about body autonomy that neutralize sex, because it forces them to confront how little freedom we actually have in every facet of our lives.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ two girls in the cut ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anon┊edit creds to ilovemode1ling ˚₊ ⊹

ft. kang sae-byeok, se-mi x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ how sae-byeok & se-mi would compete for your affections in the games┊1.5k words

setting: season 2 timeline!! au where sae-byeok is also a winner!! contains: gay gay homosexual gay, useless lesbians be upon ye, jealousy, reader is an oblivious sweetheart

➤ author's note: god, imagine them as a duo together, they would have been so powerful!!

╰₊✧ when sae-byeok reluctantly agreed to return to that damned island with gi-hun to put an end to the games, she expected to be faced with more blood and death, but not to find herself falling for the cute girl she saved during “red light, green light.” she knew she was done for when she looked into your fearful eyes and felt crushed at the thought of you being unable to make it without her, and despite telling herself she wasn’t going to get attached like she did last time, she was unable to push you away or keep her distance when you ended up following her like a lost puppy. behind her stoic demeanor, she quickly developed a noticeable soft spot for you where she was mostly stone-faced around others and kind towards you (noticeable, as in, everyone around her noticed this except for you because you didn’t know if she was kind in a platonic way or a romantic way because that’s sapphic experiences for you).

╰₊✧ and as if grappling with her complicated inner feelings and trying to ensure that both of you (and her basically adopted father and everyone else in the alliance, but especially you) survived, she soon noticed that there was another young woman who was also smitten by your charms and was out in an open attempt to woo you. she can’t remember any moment she took her eyes off of you for you to meet se-mi without her noticing, but one thing is for certain, and it’s that if she didn’t start making moves of her own, she would see you get swept off your feet by this new girl.

╰₊✧ se-mi is bold and flirtatious, confident in herself, making her advances clear as day, and being damn good at making you flustered with a single statement. it would almost be impressive if the twisting feeling of jealousy wasn’t there every time her treasured time with you was interrupted each time she came to join your guys for every meal, and of course, you welcomed her with open arms each and every time because you didn’t know about their little unspoken rivalry. 

“they don’t give us enough food in here,” you whined, shuffling around the grains of white rice with your chopsticks, “you would think that with the millions and millions of won we could win, they would give us more than one meal a day that isn’t overcooked… i’m still hungry…”

as soon as that last statement left your lips with a pout, sae-byeok grabbed her unopened carton of milk and turned to hand it over to you, only to find that se-mi was also holding out her given milk for you to take. there was a moment of awkward silence between the two as the feeling of competition hung in the air, waiting for you to give the point by accepting one of their pints over the other.

however, you simply took both of them at the same time with a wide smile, completely oblivious to the tension, “aw, you guys are so nice to me! are you sure? i don’t want you guys to be hungry just because i took both your milks.”

“don’t worry about it, i’m lactose intolerant anyway,” se-mi assured. “i’m pretty sure everyone else here is too, that’s korea for you.”

you hummed cheerfully as you opened up the little thin cardboard package and drank the milk inside. usually you wouldn’t drink so much of it and you weren’t sure if it was healthy, but your stomach was grumbling like you were testing in a quiet classroom back in high school so you didn’t think it would be too bad to drink some extra to fill up for the couple of days you would be here.

all the while, the two women are staring each other down, one with a little smirk on her face, and the other with a blank glare. 

╰₊✧ every time you ask to use the restroom, you’ll magically find both of them at your side arguing as calmly as possible about who should go with you. outside of the island, girls already go do their business in pairs or groups for safety, but it’s especially true here because most people are too scared to be vulnerable here alone when they are being watched by guards with rifles, even the men. while they quarrel over this one stupid thing, you probably end up going with jun-hee who also needed to go while they’re unable to make up their minds.

╰₊✧ sae-byeok is maybe a tad bit insecure about her mannerisms compared to se-mi’s. she’s expressionless most of the time and struggles so much to put how she feels into words, often coming off as not caring or sometimes even brash. thankfully, you don’t take it the wrong way and understand without her needing to tell you that she cares in her own special way. if she didn’t, then why would she bother making a beeline for you every game to ensure that you were safe with a hand possessively wrapped around your waist? she’s more than willing to put herself in danger to protect you because she already knows what to expect having played these games before and also has the alliance looking out for her.

╰₊✧ speaking of the alliance, they all know about her crush on you although they are too intimidated by her to tease her directly for it. dae-ho gives tips on how to impress you using his experience growing up with his sisters and hearing about their dating lives. gi-hun blatantly asks you if you have a boyfriend, and when you bashfully say you don’t, he then asks if you have a girlfriend because you guys could die any day here, why bother to play the long game? (sae-byeok definitely smacks him though because she feels like she could die from embarrassment, but at least she got the answer “not yet” which means you’re open to dating another girl.)

╰₊✧ oh god, mingle is a nightmare because the two of them refuse to part with you during the final round, their voices ringing clear above all of the music and chaos while they have a tight grip on both your arms. sae-byeok ended up being the bigger person and running off with someone else as se-mi pulled you into safety. 

╰₊✧ they bicker constantly over the little things when it comes to you, which is surprising considering how chill they seem in terms of attitude, only letting up when you start pouting and offer a compromise which they begrudgingly agree to. 

╰₊✧ se-mi is well aware that sae-byeok also has feelings for you, evident by the way she always lingers behind you like an overprotective guard dog and not–so-subtly stares daggers into her every time she approaches you, but doesn’t mind a little competition. she actually finds it to be a nice distraction from everything going on, living out the life as the second female lead in a yuri love triangle fanfiction. in another life where you met in different circumstances, se-mi would take courting you a lot more seriously, but her main goal at the moment is surviving, and whatever comes next is an afterthought. 

“you know…” se-mi started, staring up blankly at the ceiling, and catching sae-byeok’s attention. this was the first time they had a conversation without you, one-on-one, while everyone else was dead asleep. “i don’t really think all three of us are going to make it out of here together…”

similar to how they couldn’t decide who should accompany you to the restroom, they also couldn’t decide who should watch over you in case a fight broke out like in the last game. in the end, they both stayed up sitting in their bunks next to yours, focusing on not falling asleep before the other did because it would determine who was fit for the job. 

she stayed silent as the weight of her words sunk in, allowing se-mi to continue, “if anything happens to me, you’ll look after her, right? i don’t plan on going anytime soon, but… anything can happen in a place like this…”

“... only if you take care of her in case anything happens to me…”

her eyes wandered in the dark, first fixating on your slumbering body with your chest steadily rising to the beat of your breathing, then meeting the eyes of se-mi. there was a mutual understanding that didn’t need to be said, and then the two of them finally sighed before going to bed. there’s a certain relief in knowing your loved one is in good hands if the universe has other plans for you.

╰₊✧ what they don’t know is that your oblivious nature is a facade, you’re freaking out because of the insane gay panic these two ridiculously attractive women are giving you and you would be unable to choose if held at gunpoint. in just a few more days, you hope, you’ll able to come to terms with your feelings and decide who you really fell in love with when you care so intensely for both of them. all you have to do before then is survive, which shouldn’t be too difficult, right?

hey guys, imagine if sae-byeok actually saved se-mi and then they all run out together and have a happy poly relationship yipee

request was as follows:

okay hear me out. im a se mi and saebyeok girly.. i was wondering if you could make a cute little semi x reader x saebyeok (s2 squid games timeline maybe? ur choice :3c) where semi n saebyeok are in a bit of a rivalry because they both adore reader! they might fight over things like who would have night guard duties with reader, offer reader food at the same time, etc! (i love ur writing sm btw ♡)

[nightghoul381]

Honey Charm & Spicy Curse

Ellis Twilight ~ Spicy Curse

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories! And I promise this one is worth buying because the voiced lines make it so much better 🥵

Explicit Content | Smut | NSFW | MDNI

CW: Curse Play (aka bondage), mention of sexual objects, nipple/breast play, clitoral stimulation, rough sex, mention of death

The night after completing a certain mission.

After we got ready and got into bed together, Ellis gently pulled me into his arms.

Ellis: “I’m glad the mission ended safely. Shall we get some rest today?”

Kate: “Yeah, goodnight.”

He gave me a comforting kiss on my forehead, and I buried my face in his warm chest.

But—the image of the mission site we’d just been at was still stuck in my head.

It was a mansion where men and women, regardless of who they were, could meet in secret and engage in lustful interactions.

The room we entered contained tools for that purpose—some of which we had no idea how to use.

They were covered in various liquids and scattered about.

I found myself caught up in the atmosphere of the room, created solely for the enjoyment of pleasure and casting aside all reason—

(Anyone could use any tool…)

(Ellis… I wonder if there are times when you feel like doing something like that too.)

(…Even if that were the case, I wouldn’t want it to be with anyone other than me.)

(Wait, I can’t believe I’m even thinking about something like this.)

The feelings that had seeped out of me at that time came back to me, and I closed my eyes in a hasty attempt to suppress them.

Ellis: “…Can you not sleep?”

A comforting voice fell over me and my head was gently stroked.

Kate: “Ah, yeah… I just felt excited.”

Ellis: “…Me too. I don’t think I can sleep.”

Kate: “Ellis, you too?”

When I gently raised my head, I was greeted with a troubled smile.

Ellis: “Today’s mission… I’ve been to those kinds of sites many times.”

Ellis: “Until now, I’d only thought of them as places to carry out missions.”

Ellis: “But today, when I saw you shocked by what you saw in the room, I was stunned too…”

Ellis: “…I started imagining what would happen if I did something like what was going on in that room with you.”

Ellis: “I’d like to see you doing it too.”

The seductive whisper sent chills through my eardrums.

Kate: “Actually, me too… Ellis, I was wondering if there are times when you feel like doing something like that.”

I confessed without thinking—

Ellis: “…Well, I’ll tell you.”

Kate: “Huh? Nngh.”

He kissed me passionately and his desire flowed through me.

As I felt my desire gradually growing—

He grabbed the top of my head and snapped both my wrists together at my chest.

Kate: “Ahh.”

Ellis: “I’m sorry, I thought that I would be unable to stop today, so I tried to hold back, but… I just couldn’t.”

Ellis: “Kate, you’re too cute.”

He was on top of me and my wrists, still joined together, were pinned tightly above my head.

I was a little taken aback by his forceful behavior, which left no room for argument.

Ellis: “We don’t have any equipment like in that room here.”

Ellis: “So, with my power… I can restrain you.”

Sensing a faint hint of madness seeping out, my heart trembled and became excited.

Ellis: “But, what I want to do is something that will make you happy, Kate.”

Ellis: “I want to go shopping with you, eat delicious meals with you, and sleep with you.”

Ellis: “…This is how we seek each other.”

He gave me a light kiss, but the twilight-colored eyes looked down at me were consumed in the faint darkness.

Ellis: “This is what makes me happy… How about you?”

Ellis: “Are you…happy right now?”

--The sin of his curse is bondage.

It was my joy to share that sin with him.

Kate: “Yeah… I want to do things that will make you happy, Ellis, and I want you to do the same.”

Ellis: “…Good.”

He smiled happily and carelessly tore off his clothes.

Ellis: “Maybe, I was being selfish today.”

Kate: “Nngh…!”

He quickly sealed his lips over mine and stirred his tongue carefully around my mouth.

My tongue, jaw, and the hot, melting sensation all the way to the back of my throat made my head feel hazy and foggy.

Ellis: “…I like that face.”

The palm of his hand crept up my thigh in a seductive way.

Caressing the lines of my body, he rolled up my negligee, pulled it over my head, and tied it around my wrists.

My bare skin was instantly exposed to the air but was soon covered by the heat of his large palms.

He grabbed the exposed curves of my breasts, licked, sucked, and rolled his tongue over the prominent peaks.

Kate: “aAahh…ngh!”

He smiled blissfully, as if enjoying my reaction to his tongue.

My body began to ache deeply, and my breathing became sweet and humid.

I unconsciously tried to rub my inner thighs together, but his knee was in between us and stopped me—

Ellis: “…Do you want this place too?”

My beloved’s fingertips ran along the base of my thighs, finding the spot I desired.

Through my underwear, he pinched the bud that was swollen with anticipation.

Kate: “Aah! Ungh…”

Ellis: “No? Should I stop?”

The fingertips that still held it were tingling, driving me into a corner and leaving me with no way to resist.

Kate: “ngh, No… Don’t stop… Aaagh…”

My underwear quickly became damp and his fingers ran over it, feeling the shape of the tight folds.

Kate: “Mmmnnn…. Ghhh…”

Ellis: “…It feels good… I love your honesty, Kate.”

He whispered with slightly ragged breath, and then deftly removed the damp underwear that was clinging to me.

Instead of a finger, he pressed something hotter and harder against me.

Ellis: “Me too… I’ve become so honest with you too. Only with you.”

While scooping up the honey with his swollen tip, my folds were prodded and crushed.

The air was filled with lewd, squelching sounds.

There was almost more, so much more, but he wouldn’t give me anything more.

Kate: “…don’t make me wait… don’t…”

Ellis: “Tell me, what do you want me to do?”

Kate: “…I want… I want it deeper.”

Ellis: “Mmm… I understand.”

My inner thighs were spread wide, and I felt a heavy, stretching impact.

Kate: “---AAaahh!”

Ellis: “Can you relax a bit? It won’t go in all the way.”

The gradual push of his heat into me slowly melted my insides.

Kate: “Aah.. There….”

Ellis: “Nnh, it’s stuck…Mmmnngh.”

As if to penetrate further into the spot he had found, he slammed his hips into me violently, making the bed creak—

Ellis: “Hey… Tell me.”

Ellis: “Who is the one pushing into your right now and making you feel so good…?”

Kate: “Haah.. It’s.. you…El-lis…!”

I nearly forgot to breathe, but I desperately tried to give an answer.

I was at the mercy of the stimulation at the place we were joined and felt myself clenching him tightly.

Ellis: “…Fhh, your insides… are responding too…”

Ellis: “That’s right… There were toys in that room, right?”

Ellis: “…What did you imaging doing with me…?”

Kate: “Hnngh, that’s…Ha…Aah!”

The desire and shame that I had been trying to suppress back then mixed together and oozed out again.

I was being torn to pieces by his passion.

Ellis: “I’m much better than some toy, right?”

Ellis: “Hnngh…”

Kate: “Gaah, Aaah…AAanggh…!”

Ellis: “See… I know the best parts of you…”

It was as if his feelings were being planted along with the accelerating desire that he drove into me.

The fragrant scent of a man, the lewd, wet noises, and the drops of sweat that fell on my bare skin every time he moved…

It was driving me more and more crazy.

In my daze, I instinctively asked for the words I wanted to hear.

Kate: “El-lis…are… are you happy…?

He focused on me and gave me a melting smile.

Ellis: “…Yeah, I’m happy.”

Ellis: “I wouldn’t mind dying like this…ngh, Aah!”

Both of us burst with excitement at the same time.

Kate: “---, ….gh!”

The throbbing inside of me was proof of his happiness.

I was trapped in the bottomless darkness of those dusk-colored eyes,

And I prayed for an eternity where the thorns that cut through me would never wither.

[thechy-fychannel]

Little domestic hilson things aoigh

Wilson talks with his hands a lot, all dramatic pointing and arm moving. House holds one of his hands whike he's ranting about sports scandals or whatever and its just. Nice and domestic and sweet. House can secretly admit to himself that its nice how Wilson doesn't let go even in full rant mode.

House plays both guitar and piano, and its sort of a private thing for him outside of diagnostician stuff (e.g. that ep with the guy who was piloting only half a brain but was good at piano). The piano is the most private to him i think, and seemingly the most emotional/vulnerable. For Wilson and house, it started out by accident- Wilson came home one day and heard house playing and it was beautiful. So, he practically snuck into their house and sat and quietly listened to house playing, in awe at his skill. House finished the peice, and almost jumped out of his skin (expecting some cruel joke or criticism) when he noticed wilson sitting and listening; wilson clapped sincerely instead. So, house only plays piano on purpose around wilson- and lately has been including singing while playing to the mix, making both him and Wilson sappy happy.

They cook meals for each other they both know the other will love, as both have skill in the kitchen

Hugs, rambleanon

This ask is everything to me okay domestic hilson is EVERYTHING TO MEEEE 😭

The part about them holding hands is canon in my heart and soul. To me they are absolutely holding hands everywhere and they don't let go unless they have to. I love that you mentioned wilson talking with his hands, I love the idea of him going off on a tangent, his hands everywhere, and house's hand going everywhere with him alfjalfk. I like to imagine that it started small, wilson taking house's hand to pull him somewhere he wants him to go and then one day they just didn't let go. Or maybe it started when they would get drunk bc wilson is a wanderer, so house would hold his hand to make sure he didn't wander away. And they just. loved it so much. It felt so good, so secure to them that they just started holding hands everywhere, whenever they can.

I also love love love the idea of house only playing piano for wilson, otherwise it's a very private thing for him, especially if he's working on a piece he wrote. I have a HC that wilson's only real request on his birthday/christmas/hanukkah is for house to play the piano for him while he goes to sleep. House spends most of the year writing a new piece specifically to play on those occasions bc nothing makes his stomach flutter more than hearing wilson sleepily murmur "that's pretty. you wrote that?" And he doesn't know that not only did house write it, but it's named something like "Saint James" or "Dear, Jimmy" or "Wilson's Serenade". I really love the idea of house singing for him a little bit too, it would be so soft and sweet omg.

And them cooking for each other yes !!! I wish we had gotten more of them cooking for each other. Cooking with/for each other is one of my favorite domestic activities, I think making food for the person you love is just such a beautiful thing, especially when you both have an appreciation for food and you can have fun together with it. I love thinking about them not only enjoying each other's cooking, but also total fail moments bc I think failing together is just as cute and domestic as succeeding together. House trying to make something very complicated and ambitious and completely destroying the kitchen and the food turns out terrible, but they spend the rest of the evening cleaning the messy kitchen together and end up sharing a pizza and beer on the couch after. Or of course the classic HC of house making something super delicious that wilson just absolutely loves and then poor wilson starts seeing fairies or some shit an hour later bc house dosed it aldjalgksl. And in retaliation, wilson makes the most delicious brownies that are for house and house only. House who eats half the pan before he finds the empty packet of laxative chocolate in the garbage can aldkalfkwlfsmsjfl.

Thank you for this, my heart feels full now 💕

[ominium]

do i look like him?

character : geto s. context : suguru want satoru but satoru not there >:(  pov : second (you bruh) content : angst no comf :( never comfort :( also written with lyrics/song-based (some verses are skipped) + one (1) curse word

note(s) : got flooded with ‘like him’ edits (tyler, the creator), so here you go. also i’m alive soz for not posting >.< ++ not edited, if there's a part that looks confusing buh! +++ i know 'like him' is abt tyler's relationship with his dad...i'm taking the lyrics very face value here

—

Mama, I’m chasin’ a ghost 

Every morning, you woke up in the estate to an empty bed. Stretching your limbs, you get ready for the day to do what you did yesterday: walk around, and be a trophy. 

I don’t know who he is

Some days, you would stroll around the garden, counting each blooming flower for the millionth time. Others, making small talk with the people.

Mama, I’m chasin’ a ghost

On a good day, you would get to share a conversation–maybe even a meal–with Suguru, who always seemed busy with his ‘cause.’ Most of the time, though, you seldom even get to see him: always going to bed alone, always waking up alone.

I don’t know where he is

One thing you did notice, however, is the interesting amount of photos littered around the estate: almost none. You had taken some with your beloved partner, but you’ve only ever seen them as your own background…and you weren’t allowed to take a peek at his device. 

Mama, I’m chasin’ a ghost

“Hey, I need to talk to the people tonight. Can you join me?” Suguru asked, taking another spoonful of his soup. You ponder, staring down into your untouched bowl. The both of you know that you have no plans…you never do. So why the hesitation?

“Alright. I will see you then.”

Do I look…

At the event that night, you sat next to Suguru at the main table, nodding and clapping along as you needed to during his speech. Eloquent words spewed from his mouth, seemingly filled with passion and raw emotion; emotions that you wished could reach you again. 

At some point, Suguru had wandered away from the table to share conversations–most likely with the top financial supporters. All you could do was watch from afar, sipping your lukewarm tea every now and then. People-watching wasn’t new to you, and being a trophy partner certainly wasn’t new at all during events like these. 

As you looked around, analyzing each attendee, your eyes fell to a shine to your side. With widened eyes, you dare to keep a straight face while staring down at the cell phone. ‘He’s never left it unattended…’ Your thought trails off, eyes wandering out to find him. 

With his attention completely focused on a large group of people, the urge starts to creep up, stubborn to breach your mind. You trusted Suguru, right? You followed him out here because of your trust, right? Because he cared for you just as you cared for him?

You wouldn’t look through your partner's phone out of distrust, right?

Slowly, your thoughts shifted to self-manipulation: it’s perfectly fine to look through your partner’s phone on a whim–out of, say, boredom. You knew of the trust between the two of you, so it wouldn’t have mattered if you looked through his phone or not…even if you’ve never done it before. 

(Like what?)

You grasp the device, palms getting clammy…the device feeling heavy. Is this right?

Like him 

You look back up to make sure he hasn’t moved. Why would you check though? Why did you check? You shake the thoughts out of your mind, looking back down at his phone. 

I would never ever lie to you

Clicking the power button, your eyes stare dead into the screen. Your first instinct was to move to Suguru, who filled up half of the screen. He looked as beautiful as he was right now, his long hair tied back, an unfamiliar yet natural smile adorning his face. The tiniest smile crept up onto you, seeing what you thought was a great look on him.

You ain’t ever gotta lie to me

I’m everything that I’ve strived to be

Your smile finally falters to near-horror seeing not you, but a white-haired man sharing a similar grin. A feeling of confusion, realization, grief, and despair swirls around you all at once. 

It was Gojo Satoru. Gojo. Fucking. Satoru. Your eyes widened more, staring at the picture as a whole. It was a selfie of the two of them, looking happy, as if the world wasn’t going to tear them apart. It was taken before that mission.

It was taken when Suguru was happy. 

So do I look like him?

As you put away the phone in haste, your eyes wander back to Suguru, who had moved on to another group of people. How long has he been like this? How long had Gojo been at the forefront of Suguru’s mind?

Was what Suguru felt to you real?...or did he just replace who he couldn’t have to someone he could.

Do I look like him?

Your mind wanders back to the garden, lined with the blue Forget-Me-Nots and white Lilies. You think back to every meal shared…they, ironically, always fell on the same day of every month: the 7th. You think back to last December, reminiscing about the more-extravagant dinner that he had set up. “It’s to celebrate Christmas early, honey. You know I get busy around that time.” You think about all the other 7th of the months you had eaten with him. “I just had free time today.” “The world seemed a bit brighter today.” “It was a striking blue, with a few of the whitest clouds I’ve ever seen.”

It all made sense now.

(Like him, like him, like him, like him)

You stare at Suguru with despair, frustration…disappointment. He was happily chatting away, unbeknownst to the new knowledge you’ve uncovered. Each passing second, you think back to every speck of affection he had shown you. The bouts of doubt that he would erase with one caress, one hug. 

The candy bowl that was never empty.

The assortment of cakes you were able to eat wherever, whenever.

The signs. They were there. They were always there.

I don’t look like him

The evening was over…to you, at least. With the music seeming to not end, the conversations not dying, you decided it was best there and then to leave. To escape.

There was no point in finding reason. There was no need to put in the effort to understand. What was missing? What could’ve fixed it all? That it was all just a mere coincidence?

You left the event hall, each stride heavier than the last. Your mind was foggy, but you knew one thing: you wouldn’t sleep until you got away.

(Like him)

[rebelliousstories]

Roses

ValenFics

Relationship: Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 1,891

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: There is only one person in this world that James Logan Howlett is soft for. Anyone else who finds out, very quickly learns not to blab.

Consider Donating: Here

Everyone at the school knew one thing, and they knew it well; Logan does not do holidays. At least, not in the traditional sense. He will show up for the parties occasionally, and he may even give a gift in public at Christmas. But for the most part, he liked keeping that part of his life private. And not because he did not trust anyone, but rather, that was just how he was.

With Valentine’s Day right around the corner, the school was busy putting together cards for their valentines, or simply working up the courage to ask the object of their affection. Pink, red, and white hearts littered the walls, with paper garland of the same colors on the banisters. Punny drawings were hung outside of classrooms. All in all, the whole school was in love.

“Come on, Logan. Just tell me. What are you doing for her?” Storm pleaded, following after him as he made his way to his girlfriend’s classroom. The sounds of music and singing began pouring out of the room the closer the pair got.

“And as I told you, Storm. It’s no one’s business but ours.” He protested, leaning against the wall next to the door. According to his watch, he only had another couple of minutes before she would be free for lunch.

“Yeah, but-”

“Storm, seriously. If it makes you happy,” Logan cut her off, “we’re going to have a small date night in our room.”

“Are you going to come to the Valentine’s Day party?” He groaned. If it had just been left to Wolverine, he would not be going. He would take his girlfriend on his bike, drive somewhere far away, and spend the weekend together without any distractions.

“I don’t know.” Thankfully, Logan was spared from any other questions as students began to file out of the classroom. Nodding towards the white- haired woman, he ducked inside, smiling at the kids. Kindergarten grade music was a good class to come in on as all the kids were young enough to just view Logan as a big, scary, teddy bear. They knew he was someone to fear, but that did not stop them from happily exclaiming his name as they left.

“I was wondering why there was a commotion outside my door.” She smiled, rounding her desk once she saw her boyfriend walk in.

“Thought I’d come get you for lunch.” He muttered softly, hands going to her waist, and lips going to her own.

Pulling away reluctantly after a moment, she smiled. “I could do with some food.”

During their lunch together, the couple sat in a peaceful, and comfortable silence. After so many years together, and being with each other nearly every second of every day, sometimes they just needed some silence. However, shockingly, it was Logan that broke it.

“So, Storm was asking about us going to the Valentine’s party they’re throwing.” He began hesitating, like he was unsure of how to breach the subject.

“Yeah…” her eyebrow arched at his words. “Do you want to go?”

“If you want to, I won’t stop you.” Logan replied.

“That’s not an answer, Wolvie.” She protested. “If you don’t wanna go, we don’t have to.”

There was a long period of silence after she finished. Piercing her chicken with a fork, she continued to eat while her boyfriend was pushing his own meal around. “We can go.”

Looking at him, she was hesitant to accept that answer. But Logan just kissed her forehead instead, and then got back into his sandwich.

The closer the fourteenth got, Logan began trying to think of what he wanted to get his girlfriend. He did not want to get her something perishable, but he knew that she did like flowers. What did not help was the fact that it seemed everyone and then some in this school was interested in knowing what he was going to do.

Purely from being in the kitchen at the right time, he knew that Jean was going to be getting Scott a specialty pair of his iconic red glasses. Storm was badgering him about what he was getting his girlfriend. When he finally decided on what he was going to get her, he did not tell anyone. Regardless of how much the women bugged him about it.

Which is why when Rogue found an order meant to go to Logan on the doorstep of the school after her morning jog, she was extra excited. The massive bouquet, snuggled inside of an earthenware style vase, was in her hands, and a smile was on her face as she strutted through the school. She really did try to find Logan, but that did not mean that she stumbled upon him first.

“Who’s the secret admirer, Rogue?” Jean pondered, coming up to the young girl.

“It’s not for me. A certain Wolverine got these.” She proclaimed proudly.

“Oh. Let me know how that goes.” The older woman teased, noticing that mischievous expression on her face.

Rogue continued on her merry way through the school, finally finding the big burly man that she needed to. To make everything better, he was in one of the studies with Storm and Charles, going over something that looked like intel on Magneto, but she could not be sure.

“Logan!” She called, practically floating over. Peaking above the line of the flowers, the expressions Rogue saw was priceless.

Storm was impish. Charles looked intrigued. And Logan… well, Logan was mortified.

“Where did you get those?” He hissed, storming over to snatch the bouquet from Rogue’s grasp.

“They were on the front porch. Found them after my run.” Rogue shrugged, sitting down at the unoccupied seat.

Charles, from his spot observing everything, simply chuckled. “Go put those in your room, Logan. Somewhere she won’t find them.”

Sending a glare towards Rogue, and one to Storm for good measure, Logan followed the professor’s advice and left. Thankfully, his girlfriend was not in their room when he got there, but he still snuck around. He could only hope that Rogue and Storm would keep their mouths shut about this. It was not that he cared terribly for his image, but it did help to keep up appearances.

For a couple more days, Logan checked on the flowers, hidden in his closet. And that entire time, he kept his ears open. Waiting to hear the rumors start up from the bouquet being delivered for him. Waiting for people to start calling him a sap or soft. But nothing of the sort came of it. Everyone operated normally. It did not stop him from being a little paranoid, but it never panned out. By the time that Valentine’s Day came, he had not heard anything that he could attribute as to coming from Rogue or Storm.

That morning, he had awoken extra early. With her still sleeping, Logan kissed her forehead before crawling out of their bed. Getting down into the kitchen, there were no people in there which was a blessing. All he was able to do was some simple bacon, toast, and eggs, but it was going to be enough. Grabbing a small bowl of fruit to go along with it, Logan tried to balance the food on a tray as well as a coffee for her on his way back up to their room.

When he got back in the bedroom, she was already up. Rubbing her eyes, she smiled sleepily up at her boyfriend as he came in with a tray full of goodies. “Hey, Log.”

“Hey, princess. Set your legs out straight for me, will ya?” He guided gently, watching her close. Once she set her legs out, the tray was placed on top of them and Logan came to her other side.

“Ooo, full spread. You are spoiling me.” She complimented, leaning up for a quick kiss.

“Anything for you. Eat up.” Passing her some utensils, he grabbed his own to also begin eating. Wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders, Logan enjoyed pressing kisses to her head while they ate. As much as she enjoyed kissing his scruffy jawline.

“Oh, Log, I’ve got you something.” She exclaimed happily. Pushing the food into his lap inside, she got up and went over to the dresser where she kept the majority of her clothing. Well, everything that could be folded and did not need to be hung.

As cliche as it was, she began to dig around in the sock drawer before she finally pulled something out. Plopping back down on their bed, she passed over a box to his hands. Logan, with curious eyes and a confused mind, opened the box and was even more baffled by what he found. A small figurine of something that looked like a badger.

“What is it?” He asked finally after a few moments.

“It’s a wolverine.” Her words were proud as she showed it off. The figure was no larger than a piece on a chess board, but it was still incredibly detailed.

“Thank you,” came his whisper. Logan nuzzled his nose into her cheek in acknowledgment. He was a man of few words, but he preferred actions anyways.

“Wait here.” It felt like a game of musical chairs but with the food tray. He passed it back to her, and then got up himself. Grabbing the gift that was just inside the door of his closet, underneath a flannel he used in case she needed something from inside, Logan came back.

She gasped once she saw what was in his hands. “Oh, Logan.”

Her eyes twinkled when she saw the vase and flowers. What appeared to be roses sat in a clay- type vase, but they were not normal roses. Scrunching her brows, she looked up at her boyfriend with a question behind her eyes.

“They’re resin coated. Supposed to make them last forever. They’re not supposed to wilt or decay.” Logan explained. In an instant, the food was moved to the foot of the bed, the flowers set on the floor beside them, and she launched herself into his arms.

She kept repeating her thank you’s over and over, pressing kisses to her boyfriend’s skin where ever she could. He just chuckled, letting her get her expressions out. Once she began to lose steam, he just grabbed her to kiss her lips.

“Thank you, Logan. I really appreciate these.” She repeated.

“So you’ve said. Glad you like them, princess.” Howlett whispered huskily, reaching a hand up to caress her cheek.

“I love them.”

Later in the evening, once all the classes had been finished, the Valentine’s party was in full swing. Hanging near the back, Logan had his girlfriend tucked underneath one arm, and a beer in the other hand. They had enjoyed a peaceful night, and talking to their friends. At one point in the evening, Rogue, Storm, Jean and Scott all came to hang out with the couple.

“So…” Rogue drawled, getting an impish grin, “how did she like the flowers?”

“Huh?” She questioned, looking up at her boyfriend.

“Rogue, if you told anyone-”

“I didn’t, okay!” The southerner held up her hands in defense. “But now that you’ve given them to her, can I talk about it now?”

“No.”

“Okay. Bobby, come here!” She yelled, rushing off before Logan could stop her.

[bybobbysbeard]

Sharp Edges

Day 7 for @bucktommyfluffebruary: love notes/letters. read on ao3 read other days here

Tommy’s phone buzzes repeatedly. He’s been sitting in his truck for the last 32 minutes. He knows it's been that long, because he checked the time when he parked in the driveway. He should go inside. His neighbors are going to worry.

EB: Lucy texted EB: I won’t ask if ur ok. R u home?

If he doesn’t answer, Evan will probably call. That’s the last thing he wants. Tommy might be an absolute wasteland of a human being, but he’s physically incapable of ignoring a call from Evan. 

TK: I’m home. EB: K EB: Bobby took us offline for 1 hr. Call if u want

God, he can’t even think about seeing Evan right now. Evan is good and kind, and would talk him through the guilt he’s feeling. Evan would understand, because he does the job too. It wouldn’t be like before, with an ex that didn’t get it, or friends that couldn't relate. Rationally, he knows that, but he still can’t make himself pick up the phone. 

Tommy is a champion at licking his wounds in private, and today was a hell of a wound. Some dumbass weekend warrior, completely unprepared for Mt. Baldy. Ignorant or arrogant, he dragged his two kids down with him. The youngest was technically still alive when they finally found them, but only by the definition of the word. Melton did what he could in the back of the chopper, but Tommy would bet the little girl won’t make it through the night. The four hours they spent on the search could have made all the difference. 

If only he had looked a little closer. They were in the first fucking quadrant. 

It wasn’t until they were running on empty and crossing back over the start of their search grid, that Tommy spotted the bright blue windbreaker, down at the bottom of a ravine. Again, rationally, he knows the crevice was nearly invisible coming from the other direction, and Melton was the one with the binoculars. But Tommy was in charge, Tommy was flying, and Tommy was the one that finally spotted them. He can’t help but feel responsible. 

He can’t help but feel like he failed. 

He forces himself to unbuckle his seatbelt and head inside. On autopilot, he drops his duffle in the foyer, kicks off his boots, and heads for the master bedroom. He’ll have a shower, do some laundry, and complete his meal prep for next week. He’ll ignore the voices in his head that sound like his father, like his COs, like Gerrard. When he doesn’t feel like all his sharp edges are one crack away from shattering, he’ll message Evan again. Share a little more. They’re trying to be honest with each other, but Evan’s at work. He doesn’t need Tommy’s self-pity to distract him from a potential emergency.

The ensuite is dim, lit only by a small skylight. He leaves the overhead lights off. Tommy knows what he’ll see when he looks in the mirror. 

He cranks the shower as hot as it’ll go, and peels off the rest of his clothes while it warms up. They get thrown towards the hamper in the bedroom and his phone and wallet land on the foot of the bed. Steam is billowing out of the shower stall when he gets back into the bathroom and shuts the door. Stepping under the spray makes him gasp, inhaling heavy, humid air. The water is scalding, and he can feel blood rushing to the surface of his skin. Calloused fingers scratch through his curls and catch on a few tangles. He showered perfunctorily at Harbor, but he still feels grit under his nails. He ran out of his usual soap this morning, so Evan’s fancy oatmeal-coconut bodywash will have to do. He scrubs and scrubs, until he’ll flushed all over, futilely trying to wash the day away.

When he steps out of the shower, the bathroom is filled with steam. Something by the sink snags his attention when he goes to grab a towel. His reflection in the mirror is distorted, blurred by the foggy glass, and murky in the dim lighting, but there's something there, some pattern on the surface that catches his eye. He hits the light switch.

There are words. Written on the mirror. Sections that stayed clear through the steam from his shower. 

You’re everything to me.

And below that:

I love you.

He stands there for a minute, trying to comprehend what he’s looking at. Evan stayed at his house the night before last, and he locked up after Tommy had to leave for work yesterday morning. He must have showered before his shift, and while the bathroom was still warm, wrote a love note on the glass. 

Tommy looks at the letters, written with a blunt fingertip, proof of Evan’s feelings for him. An ephemeral, temporary proof, but proof nonetheless. He stares, knowing his own reflection is there too, but it's buried behind Evan’s writing. After today, he expected to look in the mirror and see a failure. Instead, all he sees is love.

Heat builds behind his eyes, and he feels that telltale itch in his throat. He inhales, trying to hold onto control. The bathroom smells like coconut, like Evan. 

All of a sudden, being alone in the house is nearly intolerable. He wants Evan. The sound of his voice, the feel of his hands on Tommy’s body. Today sucked. And he feels like shit. And it wasn’t completely his fault, but that doesn’t stop him from drowning in guilt. For the first time since he was a child, he wants someone to comfort him. 

Dropping the towel on the floor, he strides out to the bedroom. He pulls on the first pair of sweatpants he sees, and grabs his phone. Tommy sits on the floor by the foot of the bed and pulls up his boyfriend’s contact. The bed frame digs into his spine. He hits the dial icon before he can talk himself out of it. Rapidly cooling water drips down his neck from his wet hair. It rings three times before it connects.

“Tommy! Are you- how are you feeling?” Evan���s voice is a balm. There’s some background noise, Eddie and Howie talking over each other.

“I… can you talk? Are you guys still offline?”

“Yeah, we’re still good for like 20 minutes. I can talk. Hold on, lemme go up to the roof.” There's a few huffed breaths and the sounds of a heavy door banging open. “Can I see you?”

“...Okay.” He turns the camera on and his boyfriend’s face fills the screen. Evan smiles at him. There’s no pity in his gaze, no blame, only love. Tommy knew he would understand, but it's still a relief. “I got your note. In the mirror. I love you too.”

“I’m glad it worked, I didn’t exactly test it.” He laughs softly. “I-I’m really happy you called. What do you want to talk about?”

“Tell me about your shift?”

Evan launches into an explanation about call involving a missing hamster and the brilliant plan to let a neighbor’s cat into the house to catch it, but of course someone thought the cat might eat the hamster, so a different neighbor’s dog was found to chase the cat out, and on and on the story goes. It sounds like a nursery rhyme, but Tommy knows it's an average Thursday for the 118. He leans back, resting the hand holding the phone on a bent knee, and presses his shoulders into the edge of the mattress. 

Evan’s voice washes over Tommy, soothing and smoothing his sharp edges down into blunt borders, fitting the pieces of him back together.

[xcaffeineandcuddlesx]

♬ i bet on losing dogs - mitski, your best american girl - mitski ♬

- evening, the undercroft -

“do you… think i’m good?”

the question stuns me. it’s not perplexing, nor unsurprising, but i’ve never considered it. of course, objectively, i believe he’s good. he’s sebastian sallow, for merlin’s sake. headstrong and making sacrifice after sacrifice even if it’s not his own because he’s relentless, driven by love. he’s always had good intentions no matter how he achieved what he wanted. even if it meant lying to his best friend. even if that meant manipulating people like me. even if it meant killing his uncle.

“i’m sorry?” i ask in return, unsure if i heard it correctly.

how could i not? it’s silent otherwise. merely a low crackle of a fire in the undercroft’s makeshift hearth and a ticking clock somewhere, but it’s just us. I shift to face him more directly as we lounge on a sofa, the tall stacks of books and some miscellaneous homework long forgotten as we had drifted into thoughtful silence.

i can see the misery, though. his downcast eyes being filled with such despair, such conflict.

“please, i need you to be honest with me. am i good?… am i a good person?” his voice cracks and it’s a painful reminder that things weren’t supposed to happen as they did. not that either of us needed another reminder.

the end of our fifth year is coming too quickly to an end. the classes are becoming shorter, more of a blur as the days fade away like smoke in the wind. it’s disorientating and the disassociation we’re experiencing is weighing heavily on every aspect of our lives. most days, it’s like i’m floating through the halls, like i’m in a weird sensory deprived dream as the faces and voices turn unrecognizable, like muffled buzzing, not even sure of the day of the week. the o.w.l.s came and went, i think, and now the both of us are left wandering the castle, trying to pick up the broken pieces of our youth.

the students are ecstatic about the upcoming summer, and every mention of their plans gouges a small part of me out, carving deep until i’m hollow. i hear them talk over meals about their family’s summer houses or trips they’ve planned, the promises of exchanged owls and slumber parties. all the while, i’m being congratulated by faces i’m not even sure i’ve seen.

my first year introduced into a world of whimsy and i become the “hero of hogwarts”. most have no idea the things i had to do to earn such a title. it’s made me sick. physically, mentally, emotionally sick. the late nights, overloaded course work, expectations, favors, expeditions with classmates, watching the cruelty of poachers, raids, battles, trials, death threats from adults in full confidence of them knowing i’m only a student, the blood on my hands.

i couldn’t just stop it once i had begun. i couldn’t just return to safety behind the castle’s walls and resume classwork as though the safety of every man, woman, and child in the school, neighbouring towns, and highlands were at stake and i was the only one trusted to, expected to, and even capable of coming to the rescue.

i didn’t sign up for this. neither did he.

we weren’t supposed to face the world the way we did. we weren’t supposed to do the adult’s jobs, no matter how grown we believed we were. we weren’t supposed to be heroes, we were supposed to be kids.

that’s what we are; kids.

he’s just a boy. a crestfallen, scared, mournful, alone, and traumatized boy.

so now isn’t the time to define what “good” means or to explain that the world isn’t comprised of black and white or “good” or “bad”, but of horribly muddied shades of grey that are entirely up to perception. he doesn’t want to hear about the intricacies of morality. he wants to be reminded he’s still capable of being loved.

i can’t possibly look at him the same way. nor can he look at me the same he did at the beginning of the year. i’m nowhere near a saint, but perhaps our histories is what makes us perfect for each other. after all, the pot shouldn’t dare be the one to call the kettle black.

“of course you are, seb,” i attempt to soothe him, mustering as much emotion as i could. he nods, hearing what i said, but not as through he believed it.

the conversation was difficult to hold after that. i knew he wanted to say more. he wanted to repeat his offenses and for me to kiss away the worries anyhow. he wanted to remind me of what he’s done and push me away, to self sabotage his growth to have an excuse to hide away like a recluse without shame. he wanted- no, he needed more. he needed someone, now more than ever. he needed me. needed to be told he’s human beneath it all, that his blood bleeds red the same as everyone else’s and isn’t tainted black like he believes. he needs to be reminded that he not only can be loved, but that he is.

it’s been especially hard since ominis has left us to our own devices for now, needing a break to rationalize his life and choices. neither of us can blame him.

i feel… nothing. nothing at all and everything all at once. i’m spread thin. i’m doing all i can to be here for sebastian and still preoccupied with my own life and loss. professor fig died. he died and i know it wasn’t because of me, but if only i was a little quicker, a little stronger, a little wiser. if only, if only, if only. i knew him for only a few months, but he’s been paramount to my new life. he was a beloved teacher that truly dedicated his time to the betterment of his students. i feel that his avoidable death is pinned on me. i was supposed to a savior and his blood has stained my hands like all the others have. what good are my abilities if i can’t even save those that help me? what good are they if i can’t even maintain normalcy?

nothing has been the same. not me, not sebastian, not ominis, not anne, not the faculty, and certainly not my relationship.

we’re closer than ever, i suppose, but how close is close when each of our minds are wandering light years apart?

sebastian fiddles with the corners of the parchment he’s been toying with for the last hour. it’s another drafted letter for anne. an apology, first step towards reconciliation, a goodbye, self-justification, explanation, i haven’t any clue at this point with how many he’s written.

he’s defeated and solemn, like how you would expect a kicked puppy to look: vulnerable and strangely still trusting despite it all. he looks the part, too. his close are wrinkled, eyes are sunken and devoid of the typical glint of happy mischief, cheeks stained with hours of silent tears, hair tousled, his nose reddened from the constant weeping-induced nose running, and lips chapped from dehydration.

there’s no book that could ever teach someone to manage this type of pain, this level of compiled guilt and shame. we weren’t born with the know how on gluing the pieces back together one by one when your entire world falls apart.

so i do the only thing i know i can to help. i take the note from him and set it down, the ink having long been ruined with blotched mixes of tears and ink, and pull him into a hug.

the sound he makes, heart wrenching, is never one anyone would expect to hear from him. halfway between a choked sob and stifled breath, he lets his face fall on my shoulder and unashamedly breaks.

his body convulses, racked with forceful and raw barks of pain.

i have to blink away several tears myself as he crumbles, what little composure he had left tearing and ripping at the seams. the lump in my throat is hard to ignore as i fear it may strangle me soon. he grips at the loose fabric of my uniform where he’s hugging me, grounding himself to the only constant he has in his life right now.

with one hand making small strokes up and down his back, i use my other to smooth down his hair, holding him close to me.

“i didn’t mean to… i didn’t want to become a bad person,” he manages through shaky breaths and hiccups. “ca-can’t even go home now. haven’t got anyone else to go to.”

“i know, baby, i know.”

i couldn’t maintain a brave face for him and began to sniffle. we were a mess. holding each other and breaking down like the world was ending because for us, it was.

when it’s just the two of us, hero of hogwarts and brave (former) best duelist of the castle, we could let our facade fall away, knowing nobody else could truly grasp the weight on our shoulders. we don’t have to be a formidable duo when it’s just us. we don’t have to pretend like the other isn’t broken seemingly beyond repair.

i eventually lean back, letting him lay across me as he cries until my blouse is soggy. until he’s exhausted and limp.

i try to quiet my whimpering to not wake him, but i can’t help but think of where i’ll go after this. even if i do go back home, my parents wouldn’t understand, they couldn’t possibly.

i’m so different from the person i was merely a handful of months ago. my hair is shorter, poorly chopped after being singed too many times in battle, and my hands are rough with callouses and scabs. i’m unsure how much of my former self i still resemble. at the very least, i know that i have more skin covered in scars than i do freckles and that i have new muscle growth from the running, climbing, borderline parkour, and combat.

i definitely don’t think, act, or speak the same way i did before. i’m not the same bright and eager little girl my parents had proudly gushed over when i received my letter. i can’t go home like this and risk breaking their hearts. i can’t just resume my life like i haven’t done the things i’ve done.

i remember reading of a spell called “obliviate”…

not too sure what i want to do with this yet, but i have an idea of where it’ll go ! i have a bit more in writing, so it may become a mini series of sorts? i’m not sure how well i like this prompt, but i wanted to put it out there anyhow because broken seb is my emotional support animal rn.

please give any feedback and tips you have !!

there’s so much potential with both of their stories and i know angsty seb is popular, but there’s more to him than masked anger and guilt. he would be hardest on himself and begin a downwards spiral, searching for validation that he’s not as bad as he thinks he is.

don’t get me wrong, i love a good seb x mc that’s joyful and loving, but i also love to put characters into hypothetical snow globes and shake it real hard.

stay happy and hydrated,

xoxo ellie

[theonlyonesora]

Chapter 18: Different Paths

The soft hum of chatter filled the upscale restaurant as Yuna and Nanami sat at a quiet corner table. A flickering candle cast a warm glow over their meal, but the atmosphere between them was anything but warm. Nanami had been unusually quiet all evening, his gaze distant.

“Are you okay?” Yuna finally asked, her voice gentle yet tinged with concern. “You’re quieter than usual. Is something bothering you?”

Nanami set down his fork, his movements deliberate as he took a deep breath. “I don’t think this is going to work out.”

Yuna’s expression softened with understanding, though her heart sank. “By that, you mean us, I imagine.”

“Yes,” he said simply, his voice calm but resolute.

She leaned back slightly, her brows furrowing. “Are you going to tell me why, or will I have to guess?”

Nanami hesitated for a moment before meeting her gaze. “I thought I was okay when you said you were helping Gojo with the kids, but it’s not just help, is it?”

Yuna’s heart tightened at his words. She nodded slowly, her voice steady despite the heaviness in her chest. “It really isn’t. But you don’t need to worry. You won’t have any work with them. The children are my responsibility with Satoru.”

“That’s the problem,” Nanami said, his voice edged with frustration. “I think it’s him I can’t deal with. This whole situation—it’s too much.”

Her eyes widened slightly, confusion flickering across her face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t think I want to have Gojo so deeply in my life,” he admitted, his tone sincere but firm.

Yuna’s stomach churned as his words settled over her. “Nanami, Satoru isn’t a part of this… us. He’s part of my past and the children’s present, but it doesn’t have to mean he defines my future.”

“I understand that, but the reality is that he’s always going to be there,” Nanami countered. “And I don’t think I can handle that dynamic. It’s not fair to you, to me, or to anyone.”

The conversation grew tense as they continued to unpack the complexities of their relationship. Yuna explained how she never expected Nanami to take responsibility for the children or compete with Satoru’s presence in her life. But Nanami’s concerns ran deeper. He admitted that the idea of navigating such an entangled situation wasn’t the life he envisioned for himself.

By the end of the evening, their understanding of each other brought clarity, though it was bittersweet.

“I don’t blame you, Nanami,” Yuna said softly as they walked out of the restaurant together. “We’re from different places, with different visions for our lives. It’s better this way.”

Nanami nodded, his expression calm but tinged with regret. “You deserve someone who can give you what you need, Yuna. And I hope you find that.”

The night ended quietly. What they had barely begun had now come to an end, and though the parting was mutual and without anger, it left an ache in Yuna’s heart.

As she returned home, Yuna reflected on how their paths had diverged. She didn’t blame Nanami, nor did she regret the time they had shared. She knew now, more than ever, that her life was filled with complexities that not everyone could embrace.

Even so, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was someone out there who could navigate those complexities with her—someone who could share in her joys and burdens, unafraid of the life she had built.

The late afternoon sun cast warm hues across the pavement as Yuna and Satoru walked side by side toward the school to pick up Megumi and Tsumiki. The air between them was calm, a rare reprieve amidst the chaos of their usual lives.

“How have you been this week? Are the kids giving you a hard time?” Yuna asked, glancing at him with a faint smile.

Satoru sighed, his hands resting in his pockets. “I’m fine, I guess. The kids are definitely keeping me busy, but I wouldn’t say they’re giving me a lot of work. It’s a different kind of challenge, you know? What about you, Yuna? How have you been?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “But I have a lot of missions right now. I miss the kids, and oh… I got dumped by Nanami.”

Satoru stopped mid-step, his jaw dropping. “Wait, what? He dumped you? Is he crazy?”

Yuna laughed lightly, shaking her head. “I guess the kids were too much for him. But it’s okay.”

“What? What an idiot,” Satoru exclaimed, his tone a mix of disbelief and frustration. “He can’t handle kids? Seriously?”

“It’s okay, Satoru,” Yuna said calmly. “It’s no big deal. These things happen, and I already knew this kind of thing could happen.”

Satoru’s expression softened as they reached the school and waited for the children to come out. “You know, it’s been a while since we’ve gone out together. Why don’t we do something, just the two of us? Like in the old days.”

Yuna raised a brow, intrigued. “It’ll be nice. I think Shoko and Utahime can survive with the kids for a few hours for us.”

Satoru chuckled, his carefree laugh easing the tension. “Absolutely! Those two can handle the chaos just fine. We deserve some time to ourselves. So, is it a date? This weekend, we’ll get together and have some fun.”

“Just like old times,” Yuna replied, a flicker of nostalgia lighting up her face.

Satoru nodded, his chest tightening with the warmth of shared memories. “Yeah, just like old times. We’ve had some memorable experiences together, haven’t we?”

Before Yuna could respond, a joyful shout interrupted their moment.

“Mom!!! You came!” Megumi squealed, running to hug Yuna’s legs.

Yuna crouched down to hug him back, her smile radiant. “Hello, Megs. It’s good to see you too.”

Satoru watched the exchange with a fond smile. “Wow, Megumi, did you miss Yuna that much?”

Megumi nodded enthusiastically, clinging to Yuna as if he hadn’t seen her in years.

“Come on, let’s go home,” Satoru said, holding out his hands for Megumi and Tsumiki.

The walk back was filled with laughter and lighthearted conversation, the children chattering excitedly about their day. Tsumiki added her own anecdotes, drawing smiles from everyone.

As they arrived home, Satoru glanced at Yuna, his expression softer than usual. “Yuna always has a way of bringing people together, doesn’t she?”

Yuna met his gaze, her smile gentle but knowing. “We’re family,” she said simply, her voice carrying a depth that resonated beyond words.

Satoru’s eyes lingered on hers, something unspoken passing between them. “Yes, we are,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The moment stretched, charged with an intimacy neither could fully name. Satoru felt his chest tighten, a swirl of emotions he couldn’t quite articulate.

“I’m going to put them to bed, okay?” Yuna said, her attention shifting to the children.

Satoru nodded, watching her as she guided the kids inside. Even as the door closed behind her, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them.

As he leaned back against the wall, he whispered to himself, “I wonder if she feels it too… Maybe it’s just my imagination running wild.” But deep down, Satoru knew that whatever this was, it wasn’t something he could ignore for much longer.

[lovelypastelsweets]

♡{Onychinus' Kitten:}♡ [Part #6]

Sylus Qin X female!Cat-Hybrid!Reader

{Notes:}

This is my first fan-fiction, if you have any tip/suggestions please let me know!In this story, the 'reader' is NOT the MC, and is female(I don't have an issue with males reading, but I don't know anything about guys, and I want to be authentic. If you'd like a male-reader fan-fic please collaborate with me to deepen my understanding of the male-mind)

{Trigger-warnings:}

This story will contain mentions human-trafficking(not in-detail; Technically hybrid-trafficking), the experimentation of humans-subjects, mentions past-trauma. ALSO; The reader is described as having all limbs, having the ability to use all senses, and as having hair. I'm sorry if this is an issue, I'm trying to be as universal as possible, but if you'd like a specialized part, please message me.

After dinner, the man, who you came to know as "Sylus", ordered his henchmen to escort you back to your room. He referred to them as "Luke" and "Kiren", but he didn't explain which of them was Luke, and which one was Kiren.

You now sat idly waiting for the two to arrive, with the bare, jet-black oakwood table before you. The crimson-red placement-mat gently cradling your hands as you softly rested them upon the table.

Sylus had left soon after giving his orders, so now it is just you and your new-found crow-companion.

Time seemed to stretch on forever as you waited. You were part cat, of course you get bored easily. It definitely didn't have anything to do with having a lack of a maturity level.

Little did you know, this wait was too, a test; To see what you'd do if you were left alone.

As boredom crept in, you leaned forwards onto the table, reaching out to pet the crow that sat perched on the table.

Y/N: "Hey, little.. Uh..? Me-? Meo-? Me-thh?.. Ah, little guy. I-ah, ha.. I can't remember your name.. He, he.."

You put you fingers through the the crow's feathers; It felt as odd as it looked. The feathers had a metallic texture, it was like dragging your hand across the handles of lined-up, thin silverware. Each feather had a soft texture and had some give, yet they were sold and firm, like a folding-fan.

As you petted the crow, it made a slight machnial "Iiia" noise.

Y/N: "Aw, do yo- Ah!"

Suddenly, you could hear footsteps as you went to speak. There seems to be two people walking towards the dinning room.You jolted into a proper sitting-position, retracting your hands to sit in your lap; The reaction rote.

The door opens to reveal the two hooded people who escorted you earlier.

"Wow, you're still alive? The boss really does like you."

One of them said.

"Surviving an entire meal with the boss definitely speaks volumes."

Said the other one.

"It seems we've been tasked with escorting you, again. So, let's go."

As they spoke, they walked to you, then gestured with their heads to leave. If you weren't imagining it, One of them seemed more flamboyant than the other. Looking closer, you realize that on their hoods, they have differing numbers; "06" and "07".

As you walked down the same hallway you walk earlier, gained the courage to ask for the subordinates' names.

Y/N: "Uh, h-hey? Is it alright if I.. Ask for your names?"

"And, what would you do with that information?"

"Just telling you wouldn't be any fun."

"Yeah."

"Why don't you take a guess?"

They turned towards you, and leaned in.

These two, they seem to be the very definition of "Mischief".

Y/N: "Uh.. Um, You're Kiren and.. You're Luke?"

You pointed at each of them, guessing a random answer.

"Wrong answer! Try again!"

"You only have one chance left!"

They spoke as if you were a contestant on a game-show.

"Um, okay. Then.. You are Luke and you are Kiren."

You said, reversing who you pointed at.

"Nope! That's incorrect!"

They said in unison, laughing as the began walking again.

You let you a small "Wha-!?", before walking with a quickened pace to catch up with them.

As you continue to walk, you caught sight of a window that you were nearing; Going outside was such a scarce thing, only done for training purposes.

Luke and Kiren immediately lifted their guards when noticing your reaction when seeing the window; A glint in your eyes and your fluffy ears gave a twitch. But, after a moment, your expression changed; Eyes drifting downwards and looking dejected. After all, 'why would they let you go outside?'. The twins could understand. And, against their better judgment-

"Do you want to go over there?.. To the window?"

"We can let you."

They spoke with such fragility. They sounded nostalgic. They sounded so gentle. It was like they had just out a band-aid on a old, ugly scar, that was left as a gaping wound since it was made- Not just to cover it, but to treat it with the care it never received. Your heart, it felt tight.

It was odd, but you wanted to take this chance. It may not come again.

Y/N: "O..Okay."

They kept walking, changing the directory to stand in front of the window.

You stood in front of it, the twins stood silently behind you as you slowly came closer.

The window was clean; Shiny and reflective.

You took a glance backwards at the twins, the thought of someone standing behind you while your guard is down makes you uneasy, but they keep at a distance, which at that, you decide to move look back at the glass before you, moving even closer.

Looking at your reflection, you looked odd, but you liked it. You looked so different, you were hardly recognizable. You didn't mind it though, it.. It felt right.

You came even closer to the glass, to see the world beyond it.

Leaning in gently, you hesitantly put your hands on the glass- It's cold. You jerk your hands back at the unexpected chill. After a second, you return your hands on the glass, intakiing the coldness with curiosity.

The dark cityscape sits below. It's a marvelous sight. Your lips curved into a smile, driven by your awe. You breath comes out in little huffs, wonder spreads through your thight-feeling heart and into your nerves. Your eyes widened, sparkles of excitement igniting within them.

Under their masks, the twins wore matching -as always- soft smiles.

"You seem to be enjoying this, but..We need to get going."

Y/N: "Ah.. Oh, okay.."

The sudden statement, brought you out of your awed-state.

Feeling sort of disappointed, you solemnly walked back to your room.

Before you reached the door, the twins came in front of you; One of them stood on the side of the door where the hinges are, holding the doorknob, the other faced you while gesturing the door as if it were a win-able prize.

"Are you ready?"

They gleefully said in unison.

Y/N: "Uh? Yeah..?"

You said, your voice unsure and confused.

"TA-DA!"

The two said with a flourish.

Your breath catches your throat- Before you, on the floor of an originally bare, dark room, is a large verity of bags and boxes filled with girls' clothing, plushies, and other items.

You're frozen in shock. "Did-did they.. Do this?" You thought.

Y/N: "Are.. Are these things.. For me?"

It was self-absorbed to assume, but you had to ask.

"Of course!"

"Who else would all this belong to?"

They replied. The one with "06" on his hood picked up a pink, plush bunny toy.

"As funny as it would be, the boss probably would kill us if we gave him this!".

He said while laughing.

The other twin walk to the gift-filled area and lifted a dress.

"If the boss wears 'this', death would be worth it!"

They both laughed as they pretend to wipe tears from their masks.

Their laughter was infectious, you began to giggle, too.

Without you noticing, they both stopped to witness you smile- It wasn't the forced one you gave before, it was real. It was beautiful. It was pure. It was something rare for the twins to experience, not just because it was from you, but because of the genuine, honest, and raw enjoyment in your smile.

Y/N: "Thank you. This- This is- .. A lot.. And, so.. So nice.. Thank you, both."

Through your slightly embarrassed and awkward laughter, your sincerity seeped through.

Nobody's ever done something like this for you. Nobody's ever went to such lengths for you before. Your chest felt so tight, it, and your stomach hurt. But you couldn't help but to enjoy this feeling.

Would this feeling last, though?

Were they just tricking you into lowering your guard?

["What does the word "Home" really mean?", it's a thought that always plagued you.. Would you ever learn the answer? Could you learn the answer here?]

[davi-doo]

On Cardinal Lawrence/Lomeli's Neutrality

Now that I almost finish the novel, I want to talk about this particular element of Lawrence/Lomeli character, which was elaborated at length in the book.

When I watched the movie, I noticed how in the beginning, Tedesco was rather friendly towards Lawrence, despite his apparent close association with the former pope and the liberal party. It was clear that the patriarch of Venice was firm in his traditionalist values, and wouldn't bother to extend pleasantry to those he knows have the opposing ideas and thus present themselves as his enemies. And yet, he not only greeted Lawrence warmly upon his own arrival but also welcomed the dean to his table and spoke earnestly during the first meal they shared at the conclave.

We know in the book, Lawrence character is originally an Italian (the name, Lomeli). This partly explains why Tedesco is willing to invite the dean into his "Holy Roman Church circle jerk", but it's not the only reason. The change of Italian Lomeli into the English Lawrence doesn't take away the meaning of Tedesco's initial affability. Let me tell you why.

As the dean of the cardinal college, Lawrence/Lomeli is the second most senior cardinal, only after the pope. There have been other posts that pointed out how much responsibility and "soft" power he has within the Curia: he's like the "manager" whose work seem mundance and invisible to himself and many, but in its absence everything might go up in flame.

Someone of his position is also aware of many secrets. Just during the welcoming hour of the conclave, he casually looked at the incoming cardinals, his colleagues, and thought to himself about all their little contribution to the church, their role in its inner politics, and so many allerged scandals. It was just a memory practice to him but oh shit, he holds all those detailed informations in his weary old head.

Naturally, Lomeli/Lawrence had been serving the pope and the church, it's his duty to protect their reputation despite all flaws. We all know how his obsession with maintaining neutrality fueled his inner turmoil, how he blames his moral weakness for his straying from faith. But it was largely the intricate systemic corruption, or rather erosion, that happened within the Curia. One that can be felt by the heart and not fully understood by the mind. One that manifested in each time a cardinal scolds "Oh don't be naive.".

Coming back to Tedesco, I believe he gave Lawrence/Lomeli the benefit of doubt, that he may be swayed to the traditionalist values, given his neutrality. Lawrence/Lomeli viewed his neutrality as a virtue, while the outsider viewed it as leniency, or even complicity! Tedesco's love language is mansplaining. I'm not joking! It's written in the book that Tedessco identified his followers as those who will sit and listen to what he has to say.

The cherry on top? When the pope passed away, Lomeli/Lawrence was the last among the senior cardinal to be informed. And yet, he himself suggest he should make a call to Tedesco, for the sake of formality. Something something "He deserves to know", except that Tedesco already knew through his inner people. The dean's liberal best friend and not so liberal colleagues can only look at him like "welp, he is really like that".

To conclude, this is not a hate post but just me making sense of the character's subtle interactions. And damn, you really should believe people when they tell you who they are, stand up and leave the fascist table like Lomeli/Lawrence did or be known as one of them.

[livingdeadmlm]

You Bring Me Closer to God pt6

Pronouns: The reader is referred to as a man. 

Physical Sex: AMAB. 

How far are things going?: FIRST KISS!! Also, ass grabbing and flirting! If you have any ideas, let me know—your suggestions will really help my writing go faster!

Warnings: Priest Reader is getting drunk, so it is slightly out of it for the kiss and ass grabbing, but not in a bad way? Idk. This shit is consensual cause that's how I wrote it to be. 

Outline: The reader is told Dutch wishes to speak to him, preparing a pie, the reader sets off with Kieran at sunset, not knowing it was an invite to a party!

What inspired me to write this: the awful priest romance book I picked up. 

Other: I am also thinking about writing a Moder Office AU for red dead cause I'm a sucker for the energy of 2010’s fanfics and its tropes. Also if you want to be tagged when I post please let me know! I want to make a tag list because updates are pretty far apart!

Part 1 2 3 4 5

The morning sun painted the town in warm hues. The men had to stop by Valentine to pick up Trelawny from the general store. Each man couldn’t help but glance at the church as they dismounted their horses. 

The sun was like a halo around the building. There was a slight movement inside the church; one of the curtains swayed. They assumed it was your room, though they had no way of knowing for sure. It was just a nice thought.

The shopkeeper greeted them, outlining the available sales and wishing them a good morning. Charles grabbed a cup of coffee while Javier picked up a bread roll and a pack of cigarettes.

Arthur decided to buy a bottle of snake oil, a health tonic, but another bottle caught his eye. Sitting in the corner of the shop was a bottle, and though he usually didn’t pay much attention to such things, today was different. He picked it up, its soft pink label catching the light. 

Philter tonic, it read, something for men to ‘get things done.’ It was strange, but something inside him clicked. Without thinking, he tucked it into his satchel. It wasn’t until later that he realized it had very little to do with stamina and a great deal with his feelings.s  

A voice caught their attention as they returned to their horses: “Mister Smith, Mister Escuella!” Each man looked over and saw you with a market bag by the butcher. 

“Good morning to you both!” you called cheerfully, though it sounded like you were trying to keep your voice light. “Will you join me for breakfast?” While your voice was cheerful. Arthur didn’t speak, his attention turning to his horse, which suddenly needed brushing. 

Remembering his dream, he wanted to turn around and say hello and adequately introduce himself, but something held him back. You were such a sight for his eyes; he felt like a schoolboy and nervous. 

Javier, ever the charmer, was the first to speak. “Ah, Buenos dias, Father (Name). No, we can’t join you today. We’ve got business to attend to.”

Your smile faltered, just for a moment, and you sighed. “Oh, I see. I wish I’d known! I would’ve made you a snack for the road.”

Charles waved his hand dismissively, insisting there was no need, but you wouldn’t hear it. “Nonsense! I enjoy providing.” You said this with such warmth that each man got a lovely treat from you for the road.

“Good morning, Father! What brings you to chat with these three degenerates?” Trelawny laughed as he placed his items into his horse's saddle. Your face showed confusion as Arthur silently cursed at Trelawny.  

You laughed softly, but there was no real humor behind it. “These fine men join me for church meals,” you explained. “I try to provide meals twice daily for those passing through or in need. Tonight, I’m planning a peach pie for dessert.” You held up your market bag, showing the small bounty inside. “As for the third, I’m not sure who you mean!” Your shoulders shrugged, glancing around for who the third person could have been. 

“Why, I mean Valentine's greatest bounty hunter!” bounty hunter? The man stood behind Javier, and Charles finally turned around with a sigh. Holding out his hand for you to shake. You introduced yourself, “Hello! I’m Father (Name)! It’s nice to meet you!” Your hand was warm and soft against Arthurs's harsher, calloused hand. The man was silent; you assumed he was shy. Such a big man being shy was a little funny to you; as you took in his features, he finally spoke, “It’s good to see you, Father (Name).” 

Your heart caught in your throat at the sound of his voice. Arthur. You had heard so much about him, felt the weight of his presence even through the veil of the confessional, but this—this was real. You held his hand a moment longer than necessary before withdrawing it, but your fingers still tingled from the contact. 

“Well,” you breathed, your voice suddenly soft. “It’s good to see you again, Mister Morgan. I wish you all a good day. Be safe out there. You all know where to find me if you ever need anything!”

The words rushed out, and before you even realized it, you were turning away, your cheeks flushed as you hurried back toward the church. Alarm bells went off in Charles and Javier's minds. Arthur had never joined them at your meals. What did you mean again? 

 Arthur stayed silent, his eyes still on the church, even as Trelawny made a joke about the odd folk of Valentine before jumping on his horse. Arthur huffed, getting on his horse and trying to ignore the prying eyes of Javier and Charles. There were bigger things to worry about than how the two of you knew each other, like not dying in Blackwater. 

You almost tripped up the stairs to the church; you couldn’t have been more awkward when finally being faced with the man who seemed to have infected you with homosexual ideations. Such a handsome man had been sitting with you in the dark and in private, teasing you. The same flutter returned to your stomach as you set everything on the kitchen counter. You must calm down before having sweet Kieran with you, probably the two of you alone. Thinking of that soft-eyed man only made your stomach flutter more. He was so eager to be there and help you.

You started cooking, wanting to do something simple to keep yourself occupied. Kieran had joined halfway through, letting you know the Dutch wanted you to visit their camp come sunset. Kieran seemed shy, keeping his distance but still wanting to be close enough to speak to you. When you served him a plate of hashbrowns and eggs, he scarfed it down with the same speed you had always seen him use. 

Kieran initially seemed hesitant, lingering a few steps away, but his eyes betrayed a desire to be near. When you served him a steaming plate of hashbrowns and eggs, he dove into the meal with an eagerness that reminded you of a long-starved animal. He ate quickly, each bite disappearing almost as soon as it touched his plate.

“Kieran, dear boy, you know you don’t have to eat so fast, right? I won't take it away, I promise!” you chuckled, trying to ease the tension in the room. Kieran paused mid-bite, scratching his beard awkwardly, revealing his nervousness. 

"I know! I, uh, I just haven’t had food for a while! And yours is so good, it tastes like home cooking!" His voice carried a hint of wonder, as if he couldn't believe this meal was indeed for him.

You reached out, your hand hovering near him in a gentle gesture. He flinched slightly, instinctively retreating before relaxing as he realized you meant no harm. Softly, you stepped closer and wrapped him in a side hug, trying to offer comfort and reassurance. 

“Aw, I’m sorry, Mister Duffy! Since it's just the two of us here, you can have all the food you want; how about that?” You smiled at him, feeling the warmth in your heart as his eyes lit up like stars against the backdrop of the kitchen's warm glow. 

“Could you keep calling me Kieran? I quite like it.” His voice was softer, almost hopeful. You laughed gently in response. “Of course I can, Kieran. Kieran. Now, let me start some more eggs for you.” The playful repetition of his name hung in the air as you stepped back to the stove to continue cooking.

He had about three more plates before finally full and seemingly tired. “Ah, Kieran, why don’t you have a nap? You can use my bed for a few hours; I'll still be here just cleaning up and preparing for dinner.” Kieran was much less shy while sleepy, as he agreed, taking off his black jacket and practically passing out once his head hit your pillow and your blanket surrounded him. 

You left your room to start on the pie; it would now be a gift for Dutch and Hosea. You weren’t sure what Dutch needed you for, but you were raised never to go to people living empty-handed.

Kieran was in heaven practically. Surrounded by your smell and in a real bed after months of sleeping on harsh ground or in awful weather. He had no idea how to thank you when he’d wake, apart from wanting to be in your bed forever and not to give in sleep so he could keep enjoying the hug of you around him. 

______

As they headed toward Blackwater, Javier’s mind wandered back to the church. The way you smiled at him that morning, that delicate look of kindness, and that softness in your eyes. He hadn’t missed how Arthur’s attention had been fixed on you, either, how he seemed to be drawn to you in a way that was hard to ignore. Javier had always been able to read people, and he knew Arthur well enough to see that there was more to that long handshake.

“Think he’s been seeing Father this whole time?” Javier asked, his voice low but teasing, his eyes watching Arthur ride ahead.

Charles, riding next to him, glanced over. “Arthur? He’s been acting funny ever since we came to Valentine. But don’t expect him to admit it. I don't know what it is about that church and him.” 

Javier gave a knowing smile. “Oh, I don’t know… I think I see it enough. What about you, Charles?”

Charles looked away quickly, trying to hide the flush creeping into his cheeks. He wasn’t one to talk about these things; it was too troublesome, but the more time he spent with Father (Name), the more he felt that same unsettling warmth stirs inside him. He wasn’t sure if it was how you treated him, so kind and attentive, or simply the pull of your presence. Either way, it made him uneasy—and yet, he couldn’t seem to shake it.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Charles replied, his voice gruff. “But maybe Arthur and I aren’t the only ones who feel it.” Javier shot him a sideways glance, his smile curling at the edges. “Oh? You, too, huh? I thought you might be the type to keep your distance, but you might be more like me than you let on.”

Charles gave him a sharp look, but Arthur called back over his shoulder before he could respond.

“Quiet down, you two,” Arthur grumbled. “We’ve got work to do.”

Javier chuckled but didn’t discuss the matter further, knowing that despite their teasing, something more profound was taking root in their little group. As they rode through the landscape, maybe the others felt it as well. Javier didn’t mind competition at all, or even teammates, for that matter. 

__________

The smell of peaches and cinnamon filled the church. After another half hour in the oven, you would take the pie out to cool properly. But for now, you have a new task at hand. The door to your room creaked softly as you checked on Kieran, who snored softly as you entered. You noticed the holes in Kieran's jacket and wanted to mend them as a surprise. With your needle ready, you took his coat in your hands and settled into the rocking chair you kept in your room. You rarely used it, being so busy running around, but lately, Father Gavin and the Sisters had taken on more work, lightening your load.

As you began to sew, the gentle rocking of the chair faded from your mind. Numerous tiny tears in the jacket along the back and elbows indicated that Kieran had greatly cherished it. Once the jacket was finally finished, you snuck out of the room, careful not to wake the poor man; he seemed to need the rest. Fresh from the oven, the pie smelled even better than you had hoped. Setting it on the counter, you felt a wave of tiredness wash over you. Finding tasks was more exhausting than simply checking off items from a list.

You reentered your room. Your bed was big enough for the two of you, but it felt very forward. What if you joined Kieran, and he saw it as an insult? What if he went off and told the entire town that the Priest was a pervert? The thought shook you to your core. 

Fearing the possibility, you approached the bed, glancing at Kieran's sleeping face and gently shaking him awake. Kieran's eyes were half-lidded as he complained about being woken up. "Kieran, I’m getting exhausted, too. Would you mind if I joined you?” Your heart raced as his eyes widened. "Of course not! It’s your bed after all, please—" Lifting the blanket, Kieran invited you in. 

You could feel your face flushing now, the reality of sharing a bed setting in more and more. You hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since childhood and would beg your mom or dad to let you sleep with them after a nightmare. 

Sliding in next to Kieran, you could feel how warm the man was, which made you even more tired. Subconsciously backing into his body as you drifted to sleep, Kieran felt very awake now, not realizing what he had agreed to. 

You were flush against him, and Kieran was mortified that you could feel his shaking. But your breathing slowed down, and hesitantly, Kieran wrapped an arm around you. His hand rests against your chest, feeling your heartbeat. His face is pressed in your hair, breathing in the smell. 

He felt like a pervert, but what other time could he be this close to you? When else could he be in your bed WITH you after being fed a full meal? 

It was like he was still dreaming. 

Kieran remained awake for the next hour as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. He held you close, feeling your chest's gentle rise and fall as you breathed peacefully beside him. He found comfort in the rhythmic sound of your breath. 

Kieran stretched his arm out, his hand moving to your shoulder, shaking you awake. You groaned, rubbing your eyes as you took in the sight of a sun-kissed Kieran. 

He looked very handsome in the soft light. Shaking the thought from your head, the two of you sat up. Not wanting to leave the warmth of the bed, Dutch had asked for you, so you needed to show. Slipping your shoes back on, unhitched your horses and made your way to this camp, peach pie in hand. 

Stepping into the campground, you were greeted by the number of tents and cases of whiskey and beer. 

You held out the pie you made to Dutch as he greeted you. “Now, what's this?” he asked, admiring the braided crust you had made. 

“I made peach pie! I didn't want to come empty-handed!” You smiled very nervously, wondering why Dutch needed to speak with you.

“My that's very sweet of you! Please set it down there; I've been meaning to ask something of you.” Kieran was pulled away from your side by Mary-Beth and sent you an apologetic look. 

In your nerves, you didn't hear the sound of horses pulling into camp. Or the wolf whistle aimed at you when you leaned over the long table to place the pie in the middle. Cursing yourself for forgetting cutting tools and maybe even a plate. What you did notice was the harsh smack on your ass. You yelped, and a loud voice behind you spoke. 

“What's this?! For my return, you've all gotten Ol’ MacGuire a lady for the night!” your head whipped around to see just in time as he pulled this new man back by his collar by Arthur. 

“That's a damn priest, you moron!” Arthur growls, yanking the man to the side as the sting in your ass begins to fade. Trying to maintain your composure. 

“What sorta god gives a lad such an ass?!” The man's face was pale in horror as he finally realized you weren't a woman in a dress but a man in a priest's garb. Javier had a slight grin, and Charles walked over, “That's Sean MacGuire; I'm sorry about that…” 

“It’s uh okay! Just wasn’t ready for that.” You tried to laugh it off, but his words stuck to your mind. Was it a compliment to have a good ass? What even made a good ass in the first place? Your hand went to rub the dull ache.  

Your thoughts stopped as Dutch directed you to hear a speech by Sean. 

“Mr.MacGuire is back, everyone! Let’s have ourselves a party!” There were a few cheers as the man stood on a soap box, already swaying. 

“Uncle Sean is back! Don’t you worry, Mrs. Grimshaw. I’ll keep the girls in line. If I have to whip them, I will!” A few girls yelled back, and the older woman you assumed was Grimshaw yelled, ‘Someone has to!’ 

Slowly, you felt Dutch rest his hand on the small part of your back. You tried to think nothing of it; surely, in front of 20-odd people, Dutch wouldn’t attempt to follow in Sean’s footsteps of assaulting your ass. 

“And don’t you worry, Mr Pearson, you drunk ol’ shit bag, it’ll be nothing but the FINEST! game in the pot now dead eye MacGuire is back!” You heard a few chuckles as Sean made a slight shooting motion. In Dutch’s laughter, he pulled you closer at the waist. No one else was paying attention, but it felt like, at any moment, one of the women in front of you could turn and see how close Dutch was holding you. 

“And don’t worry about nothing, Mrs. Grimshaw. We will have this running like clockwork. I love you bastards. Have fun…Have lots of fun!” 

Sean stepped off of the box and took a step toward Arthur. “Even you, you grumpy old bastard Arthur!” Arthur shook his head. Dutch’s arm slid away from your waist slowly and deliberately as he grabbed your shoulder to face him. " Would you like to join the festivities? There's plenty of room for one more.” 

“Sure! I hate to say I don’t drink much, but I’m sure I can find something to do!” Dutch smiled, turning away to put on music from his gramophone. 

_____________

“Do you know how to dance, Father (Name)?” Mary-Beth asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she stood at the entrance of Dutch’s tent. The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow around her, highlighting the excitement etched across her features.

With a grin, you extended your hand toward her. “I know enough to seem impressive,” you replied, your voice light and playful. A soft giggle escaped her lips as she took your hand. Slightly bowing together, you began to sway rhythmically beneath the tent's shade. With each movement, you added small, flamboyant spins and twirls that elicited more laughter from her, making her smile even brighter. 

Mary Beth touched your shoulder before saying, “It seems like someone else wants a dance.” You spun Mary-Beth to peak at who she was referring to. From the corner of your eye, you could see Arthur. Who was looking down at his boots and trying to hide that his eyes were staring at the two of you?

”Oh! Well, I’ll let you go to dance with him!” Mary Beth rolled her eyes, and as you bowed, she whispered, “No! He wants to dance with you, and he’s just too. Shy!” Mary-Beth stepped away and held her hand out to offer you, in a way. Your face flushed as Arthur cleared his throat behind you. He took your hand, and you felt breathless, “Is this okay?” For two men to be so close, for two men to slow dance, especially in front of others. 

His hand rested on your waist. “You think this is the worst thing this group of fellas has seen?” Your hand rested on his shoulder with a sigh. A bit of relief washed over you as you swayed to the music. But you were still tense. While these men may not stone you, God could still see you. He could see your flushed face at a simple dance.

Your hand intertwined with Arthurs. Your skin felt hot, and the sway with Mary Beth felt much smoother. But your anxiety keeps you stiff. Arthur was much closer as well, feeling the brush of his stomach against yours; you could feel his belt buckle press into you.

Your mind swirled faster than you could process; he was so close, so very close. Memories of your conversations began flooding back into your mind. You longed to hold Arthur, to look into his eyes that had witnessed horrors beyond your lifetime. You felt giddy now that he was there, lightly twirling you to the music. 

You glanced at Dutch, dancing with a redheaded woman, giggling and smiling. You sighed, relieved. With Arthur’s comment, this must mean Dutch is just exceptionally sociable! Arthur dipped you, causing you to laugh. 

As the music swelled around you, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you. Arthur’s grip tightened slightly as he pulled you closer, his face drawing near. You could see the playful glimmer in his eyes, mirroring the warmth in your heart.

Arthur’s lips curled into a gentle smile, and the world around you felt still momentarily. “Maybe we can find a place where we can be alone,” his tone earnest. As the promise hung between you, you felt nervous all over again. Alone, and then what? What did the two of you want so badly, but it could only happen alone?

“Just relax,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your ear. You nodded, forcing yourself to let go of the tension that had been building. His confident yet tender movement made your heartbeat quicken. Each twirl and sway felt like some sort of storybook.

You felt his hand slip slightly lower on your waist, grounding you. Something was intoxicating about being so near him, the heat from his body mingling with the late afternoon sun that bathed you both in its golden light. With every dip and turn, it felt as though God had conspired to give you just this moment.

“Who’s this Arthur?” The voice was harsh and raspy 

“This is Father (Name), John. It's great to see you back up and moving, Marston.” You stopped dancing but still held each other as you looked at John. The man stood sideways, a bottle in his hand. His eyes scanned your body. You noticed the deep scar on his face; it looked fresh, still pink and red. 

“Are you that whorish priest everyone was talking about?” 

“Whore?! What on earth are you talking about?” Arthur released you, grabbing John by the arm and leading him toward the edge of the camp near the cliff. Whore? Is that why you were wanted here? Your throat began to burn as you glanced around the camp. Sean's comment echoed in your mind—arthurs suggestion about being alone together. 

A few people glanced in your direction as you turned to the horses. You spotted Hosea reading by the light of a lantern next to a crate of bottles. You didn’t want to use the whiskey for comfort; that felt wrong. However, your embarrassment took over, and you grabbed one of the tan glass bottles. Hosea looked up and greeted you with a friendly hello.

“Hi, Mister Matthews. Please excuse me,” you stammered as you walked toward the horses. Kieran brushed your horse's mane, smiling until he noticed your anger.

“Father, is everything okay?” His voice was filled with concern.

“I’m just fine, Mister Duffy; if you please, I must leave.” Kieran winced at your use of his last name, and you paused, not wanting to take your frustration out on him.

The rumors about you being a "floozy priest" weren’t new. Tales began to spread when you started working at Valentine and meeting people. Being so young and new to a cattle town didn’t earn you much respect. People were eager to judge, especially when you were just trying to do your job—feeding the hungry and providing clothes and blankets to those in need.

But you did it all privately.

That privacy started the rumors, so you focused more on community-based helping. They were kept in the confessional booth if things had to remain secret.

“Is that what you folks think of me? Am I just some whore for you to laugh at?” Kieran's eyes went wide, and his hands tightened around your saddle.

“No! No, no, of course not! Who told you such a thing?” You tore the lid off the whiskey bottle. It tasted like caramel and honey but burned your throat as you took a gulp.

You caught sight of John and Arthur walking back toward you, their silhouettes becoming clearer against the lowering sun. Arthur, sounding exasperated, said, “Father (Name), this fool is drunk and duller than rust. Don’t take his words to heart, please.”

You coughed roughly, the burn in your throat intensifying as you processed Arthur's words. “Words always start somewhere, Mister Morgan,” you replied, trying to mask the discomfort in your chest.

Kieran shifted his weight, noticing your unease. He’d never seen you mad or annoyed, nor had anyone else. As you mounted the saddle, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pausing your ascent. You felt the solid strength of his grip for someone who looked like he might fly away in the wind—he was surprisingly strong.

“Honest, Father (Name), we don’t think of you as a whore! We know you’re a good man! A great man, please!” You groaned as Arthur pulled you down. Feet back on the ground, you noticed John, still drunk, staring at the sky to avoid eye contact. Arthur hit the man’s shoulder. “Look, Father (Name). I’m sure you’re not a whore. Rumors are the devil…and what have you.” 

You rolled your eyes. Sure, the words “I’m sorry” didn’t leave his lips, but you assumed this was the best you would get. The large gulp of whiskey began to warm you to your core. A fool's words are worth less than half your thoughts if he truly is a fool. “Bah. I suppose I’ll take it. You’re forgiven, Mister Marston. Just watch yourself from now on.” Your mind started to wander as you walked back into camp and heard a soft strumming. Accompanying it was a voice you knew all too well, singing in Spanish.

_______________

"Angel de amor, no comprendo tu pasión." (Angel of love, I don't understand your passion.) You turned the corner and saw Javier sitting with a very disinterested Tilly. However, Tilly perked up at your sight and waved her hand to call you over. You took the spot where Tilly had been sitting as she stood up. “I’ve been needing to use the restroom for the last half hour, but I didn’t want to be rude!” she whispered before scampering away, leaving you comfortable on the carpet.

Javier's strumming continued: “Si la comprendo, no la puedo expresar.” (If I understand it, I cannot express it.)You vaguely understood as he sang, trying to drown out the singing from the large fire across the camp.

“Voy a esconder, tu lánguido gemido alla en la tumba para poder descansar.” (I’m going to hide your weak moan there in the grave so I can rest.) You were mindful to keep the bottle in your hand and limit yourself from just sipping from now on. But the drink still burned as it went down, causing you to groan. 

“Yo no siento el que me hayas querido.” (I no longer feel that you love me) Javier's eyes were closed as he sang, “Yo no siento el que me hayas amado.” (I no longer feel that I was once beloved)

“Solo siento que me hayas combiado hombre mama inferior que yo.” (I’m sorry you changed me into a man inferior to who I am) Javier held the note, singing the rest of the song much softer as it ended. You hummed, “What a sad song, Javier. It’s beautiful, though.” You held out the bottle of whiskey, and a look of surprise took over his face.

”I thought men like you weren't allowed to indulge Father (Name). You said you don’t even like people who drink.” He took the bottle from your hand and stared intensely at the lip of the bottle. 

“Yeah, well, sometimes you gotta be a fool and repent the next day.” You felt so warm as Javier took a slow drink from the bottle. “Plus, I don’t hate people that drink. It’s just a vice that makes men the most stupid.”

Your eyes were focused on his lips wrapped around the bottle. Was he savoring the taste? It was sweet, but the burn overwhelmed the flavor before it settled. Finally handing the bottle back to you, Javier grinned, “I’m trying to taste more than just the whiskey, Father (Name).” 

Your mind went blank trying to process what he said. But he began to strum again, this time with a much more upbeat rhythm. “Besame, besame mucho.” (Kiss me, kiss me a lot). You swirled the bottle in your hand, feeling the weight of the liquid shift in the bottle. 

“Como. si fuera esta noche la ultima vez” (as if tonight was the last night) 

”Besame besame mucho.Que tengo miedo a perderte, perderte despues.” (I’m afraid of losing, losing you later.)His gaze met yours, steady and unwavering. You took another sip from the bottle in the same spot Javier had taken his sip.

”quiero tenerte muy cerca. Mirarme en tus ojos, estar junto ati.” (I want to have you very close. Look into your eyes and be next to you) You leaned on your hand, watching Javier leaning closer, still playing. The song made less and less sense, and your mind could not keep up and translate what little you would understand sober. Was whiskey supposed to be this strong? 

”Piensa que tal vez mañana. Estaré muy lejos, muy lejos de aquí.” (I’m thinking tomorrow we can be very, very far from here.) Javier was very close, and the smell of the whiskey was strong on both of your breaths. “I’m not sure if I should be so close to you, Father…” his tone teased as you realized just how alone the two of you were. No one was walking by but a very drunk Karen whose mission was not to watch the two of you.

The strumming had stopped; you two were very close. Javier closed his eyes for a second, collecting himself. Your noses touched; you didn’t want to fight it anymore.

“Father (Name)! I want to talk to ya!” you pulled away with a gasp, feeling your heart pound in your chest. Javier let out a low groan, taking the hat off of his head and running his hands through his hair. He was frustrated but trying to keep himself composed. “Sean… you couldn’t have waited? We are in the middle of something important.” Sean stood with a hand on his hip, slightly swaying.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just let me get a word in, eh? It’s not tha best time, but I gotta clear the air here, Father. Do ya mind?” Not waiting for a response, Sean grabbed your arm, guiding you away from Javier. You dusted off the skirt of your cassock, trying not to glance back at Javier's longing eyes. Sean took you near the horses just past the fence into the wooded area. Your body still tingled from the closeness you just had with Javier.

“Look, Father (Name); I just want ta say sorry for smacking you on tha arse. Honest to god, I thought you were a lass to accompany me for the night!” a nervous grin spread across his face. “I didn’t mean ta come off all brash.” there was still sway in Sean's stance, but much less than earlier. Sean held out the whiskey bottle he was drinking and held it to your lips, tilting it for you.

“It was an honest mistake, Mister Macguire! I was more surprised you commented on it at all.” You laughed as Sean's face held a confused expression. “I mean, you can’t much tell cause of da skirt, but” his hands reached for the loose cloth, handing you the half-full whiskey bottle.

He pulled the fabric forward, your body flush against him as the skirt now did nothing to hide your ass. That was some sort of marvel to behold. Sean's head was over your shoulder, staring. “Ah! Now, would ya look at that! Magnificent! Like tha peaks of the Derryveagh!”

Perhaps you were some whore, because instead of breaking away, you only yelped at the exposure. “Is.. is that good?” “You’re damn right. It's good! Please allow me.” You weren’t sure why Sean would ask permission but did what he wanted anyway, but there was no point bringing it up now as his hands groped your ass.

“Much more than a handful; this is what any man dreams of! If ya start showing off more, I think more people would stop by for Sunday service!” Sean howled with laughter, still holding your ass. You could feel Sean’s hard-on pressed into your thigh. Close contact with a man you didn’t know beyond his name felt much more manageable on your nerves than your almost kiss with Javier.

“That’ll get ya warmed up for ol’ Javier; I tell ya, I’m a bit jealous whoever gets the peak at ya first! Unless you’re willing to wait for Mr.Macguire.” You whined at his words; no one other than Arthur had been this close to you physically or spoke to you like this before. His hands mushed the fat on your ass one last time before letting go and stumbling back to camp, talking to himself about Macguire Junior not being ready for all that.

Your breathing came out in huffs. Taking the momentary alone time to breathe. The cold air hardly phased you. The whiskey is in full swing, keeping you warm and fuzzy. “Hey there.” You leaped a foot in the air. Charles emerged from outside of the camp, holding a rifle in his hands.

“Mister Smith! We must stop meeting like this.” your heart pounded. Charles laughed lightly, moving closer. “Why aren’t you at the party? They have you on patrol duty?” You adjusted your skirt; Sean left it very wrinkled with his grabbing.

“No, I just leave the parting to the professionals.” Charles rested the gun, the barrel aimed at the ground. You hummed softly to yourself, your gaze fixed on the vibrant tapestry of trees surrounding you. Suddenly, a flash of movement caught your eye—a small rabbit darting through the underbrush, desperate to escape the sharp pursuit of a fox. You felt a pang of sympathy for the vulnerable creature. “Aww, poor thing,” you murmured, shaking your head.

Standing beside you, Charles chuckled lightly, his voice laced with an edge. “Looks familiar,” he remarked, a knowing glint in his dark eyes. You couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh, shaking your head slightly. “I’m not sure what you mean, Mister Smith,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

Charles took a deep breath, the sound almost reverberating in the stillness of the forest. You leaned against a tree, crickets chirping as you revealed in the calm. “I tried the pie you made; it was great. I have never had one like it before.” Before you could stop, a big smile took over your face.

“That makes me very happy to hear about Mister Smith. I spent a lot of the day working on it!”

Charles inched closer, the subtle heat of his presence sending a thrill down your spine. “Oh, I could tell,” he said, his words sliding smoothly into your ear like a secret. “The crust was perfect, but what really got to me…” He let his arm brush against yours, just the slightest touch, but it was enough to send a shiver through you. “I could taste you in it.”

A surge of warmth bloomed in your chest, spreading like wildfire. Goosebumps danced across your skin, your pulse quickening. The words you had once playfully spoken to Javier echoed back in your mind, uncomfortably vivid.

“I’m sure that pie tastes much better than me,” you laughed nervously, but the sound was shaky, vulnerable. “I probably just taste like skin and sweat.”

And sin, you thought, the word lingering on your tongue, burning in your chest. If there was a test of your devotion, you knew right then you had failed it, miserably. The temptation was overwhelming, and you could feel it, as undeniably palpable as the heat rising between you.

Charles reached out, cupping your face, and you happily leaned into his strong hand. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Maybe when you’re sober, we’ll have this conversation, rather (Name). I want you to remember.” These were the most words you’ve heard Charles speak since meeting him. Your eyes studied his face. You couldn’t tell by his face alone, but he was nervous.

“I’ll be much too nervous without the whiskey, Mister Smith. You’re much too handsome.” Your speech was more slurred than you would’ve liked. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and his other hand toys with the gun barrel to keep busy.

You stood up, no longer leaning against the tree for support. You realized Sean’s bottle was still in your hand and took another sip. You should probably return it to him.

“Sean might be a loudmouth bastard, but this is one thing he and I can agree on.” Charles leads you up the small hill back to camp, his hand very low on your back. You assumed he meant you ass but just didn’t want to say that out loud.

Charles bit you a goodnight, walking back into the wooded area; your eyes caught Hosea still at the table; your legs were aching, so why not sit?

“Good evening, Mister Matthews!” You settled onto the wooden stool, the whiskey bottle resting beside you. Hosea looked up, a warm smile spreading across his face as he set aside the paper he’d been reading. “You’re awful chipper, Father (Name). Glad to see you better from earlier.” You chuckled, remembering how dramatic you’d felt. With a soft sigh, your hand rested against your palm, taking in Hosea's relaxed demeanor. “I’m too old for this, Mister Matthews,” you admitted, stretching your back. “I should have gotten this energy out 20 years ago. Not when my back hurts from even just sitting wrong.”

Hosea laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners, radiating warmth and familiarity. He placed a supportive hand on your shoulder, the warmth of his touch sending a comforting flutter through you, almost like a gentle spark igniting something deep within. With a slight grin, he held out a small, weathered bottle toward you. “Homemade tonic. Trust me, you’re going to feel it tomorrow,” he said, his voice filled with a teasing undertone.

The bottle was unmarked, its surface smooth yet slightly worn from years of handling, hinting at the loving care that went into its creation. As you accepted it, a rush of gratitude surged through you, and your heart swelled just a bit. You met his gaze, finding reassurance in his warm brown eyes. “Thank you, Mister Matthews. I'll be sure to keep this on me,” you replied, tucking the bottle safely into your pocket.

“You’ve still got some youth left in you, Father," he continued a hint of mischief in his tone. “Giving up all those freedoms so young was bound to catch up with you at some point.”

You chuckled, then sighed, “It's funny. I thought I was BLESSED by Jesus Christ not to have sex matter to me. Never interested in women, just focused on God!” The laughter dissipated into a groan as you pressed your face into your hand, overwhelmed by the weight of your emotions. Hosea chuckled softly, patting your shoulder in a comforting gesture.

“I thought I was different from everyone else, that I was…special, capable of helping people find solace within the church.” This admission made you feel vulnerable, and you slumped against the table—the wooden surface, cool against your skin, grounding you amidst the swirling thoughts.

“You’re plenty special, Father (Name). Look around—you’ve got a group of outlaws clamoring to be in a church!” Hosea’s voice was gentle yet encouraging, his hand now gingerly rubbing your back. The scent of peppermint lingered in the air as he leaned closer, adding to the warmth of his presence.

He described Arthur, sharing tales of how he used to be much more argumentative and brash. “But since he first wandered off to see you, he’s changed. He’s been throwing himself into camp chores, even showing kindness to everyone around him. Just the other day, he went out of his way to get young Lenny a pocket watch after the poor boy lost his old one,” Hosea recounted; his admiration for Arthur is evident in his tone.

A sense of pride and purpose puffed up as you listened. Yeah, you were helping someone be better. Sure, it was an outlaw who still did the jobs he needed to survive, but as a person, he was seemingly better. Of course, Arthur told you this himself, but the confirmation was just as lovely.

You looked at tha table and saw that the pie you had brought was almost completely gone, a smile tugged at your lips. Hoping everyone was able to get a taste before it ran out. Turning your attention back to Hosea, you noticed his silver hair looked incredibly soft in the light. “He even went hunting with me to get a 1000-pound bear.” You sat up, staring at Hosea with wide eyes, “No kidding, you went out to catch a bear that big!” Hosea got a puff in his chest, “Sure did! It’s not the first time I stared death in the eye, and just like any other, I did not falter.”

You stared at Hosea in awe, imagining him taking on such a large bear. “I didn’t know I’d been in the presence of such an amazing hunter. Did you end up killing this bear?” The prideful look on Hosea's face remained as he let out a confident nope! “But I and Arthur scared it away back into the woods.” you laughed at the story and yourself for believing it. “You’re too funny, Mister Matthews, quite the silver tongue. I imagine you’ve gotten many people under your spell with that.” You stoop up from the stool, feeling much better. “What category can I put you under?” Hosea's hand grabbed yours, stopping you before stepping away.

You lifted Hosea's hands to your lips, “I am utterly bewitched.” pressing a kiss to his thinner hand, you walked toward the small scout's fire, spotting Kieran.

“Mind if I sit with you?” Kieran looked at you nervously before scooting over. Your mind still buzzed as you stared at the fire. “I’m sorry about getting aggressive with you, Kieran. I just thought those rumors were behind me now.” Kieran stared up at you, watching you intently as you sat on your knees next to him, taking his hands in yours, “Could you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

Kieran's face flushed, the sight of you on your knees and the warmth of your hands wrapping around his. Even just the fact that you were apologizing made him stir below the belt. “It’s okay, Father (Name). I, uh, I’m sure no one would be too happy to be called a whore, least of all you .” you sniffled, feeling very overwhelmed again. You pulled your hands from his, reaching up instead to cup his face, the roughness of his beard grazing your palms. The sensation was grounding, and you felt a surprising sense of comfort. “You’ll let me make it up to you?”

His breath hitched, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, but all he found was a quiet, steady resolve. “I’d like that,” he replied, his voice soft but earnest. His face is bright red as you lean in closer to him.

“I just want to make things right with you.” His breathing mixed with yours

And then, without a word, his lips brushed against yours. You froze for a heartbeat, feeling the softness of his kiss, before your lips responded, deepening the kiss. His hand moved to cup the back of your neck, bringing you closer as the kiss grew more urgent, more frantic. You could feel the heat of his touch seeping into your skin, but you couldn’t feel anything else; the world around you seemed to fade until all that remained was the press of his lips against yours.

You melted into him, your hands finding their way into his hair, pulling him closer. His usual hat fell off of his head. It was slow and tender at first, but the more you kissed him, the less you worried about your lack of experience, just needing to feel him against you. The warmth of his body was the same as when you slept next to each other. So comforting.

When the kiss finally broke, both of you were breathless, your foreheads pressed together as you tried to catch your breath. His hands rested gently on your waist, and you couldn’t help but smile, but before you could say something, a familiar smell of a cigar was in the air.

“Kieran, my boy, would you mind checking on The Count? Somethings got him agitated.”

Kieran muttered something under his breath, but he nodded. “Right, Dutch. I’ll do that.”

He turned back to you, offering a small, apologetic smile. "I’ll be right back," he murmured, as if he were torn between staying and doing his duty. His eyes held yours for a moment longer before he stood, his hands slipping from your waist with reluctance.

You watched him go, your knees beginning to ache from the position. "Well, well…" Dutch’s smooth, low voice seemed to hang in the air. You looked up to find him leaning against a nearby boulder, his gaze fixed on you with amusement. His smile was sly, almost predatory. "Seems like you’ve got the boy all worked up, don’t you?"

“My mind got away from me. Uh could you help me up?” You held your hands out, the ache worsening. He casually pushed off the rock, his boots crunching on the ground as he stepped toward you. His presence was commanding in an unsettling and captivating way.

"Oh, I think this arrangement is just fine," he said, his tone dropping slightly, its weight on your shoulders. His eyes flickered to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “There’s something about you, isn’t there? Something... irresistible. Something just real special about you. Your attention, has all my men whipped.” His eyes trailed over your face, lingering on your lips, then meeting your eyes again with a fire in his gaze. "You know, Kieran’s a good kid. But I can’t help but wonder... does he know what he’s gotten into?"

Some of you still felt uncomfortable with how effortlessly he said these things. You couldn’t deny that Dutch’s charisma was magnetic, but you weren’t sure where it was all going. "He knows, I think; I’m not even sure I know," you replied, your voice steady, though you felt the heat of his stare still lingering on you. You groaned, the locking of your knees almost becoming unbearable.

Dutch’s smile grew a little wider, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Well, that’s good," he said, stepping even closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Because I’d hate to think he’s got a monopoly on you." His hand brushed lightly against your arm, his fingers grazing your skin in a touch that was all too deliberate as he helped you up finally. "Dutch, don’t start some odd competition about me."

He chuckled darkly, leaning just a little closer, the warmth of his presence almost overwhelming now. "Oh, I never start something I don’t intend to finish, darling," he said, his voice low and playful. "But that’s a story for another time, I suppose."

The air between you seemed to crackle with tension. The firelight danced off his face as he stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours. Your mind returned to the redheaded woman he had been dancing and smiling with just hours earlier. Why would he speak to you like this?

Dutch gave you a final knowing look before he straightened up, brushing a hand through his hair. “Well, I’ll leave you to your thoughts. But just know this—if you ever want to talk more... you know where to find me.” Your knees popped as you stretched, the pain subsiding slowly.

You saw Arthur stepping out of a tent. He nodded his head to you, and you walked over, hearing strumming again. Kieran followed behind you, now wearing the jacket that you had mended. The night had to be nearing an end as you saw all three women fast asleep, two men you hadn’t run into snoring next to Hosea, who was still reading by low light.

The singing was lovely as you approached the fire. Kieran guided your ever-swaying bottle to sit on the log without falling. Sean’s voice was quite pleasant as he sang with an older man you didn’t get the name of.

You didn’t try to hear the song's words; the fire was so bright you kept your eyes shut, letting it go through one ear out of the other. Kieran hummed the song next to you, and Arthur’s voice joined for a few lines, the whiskey letting you forget for a moment that each man had heard those rumors about you. You smiled as the song came to an end. You wanted nothing more than to lie down in your bed. Like your pillows and blankets called your name.

Your eyes were half-lidded. “I should head home now,” you smiled at Kieran, going to stand. “Thank you for having me; I've never had a night like this.”

Arthurs's hand pressed into your chest, stopping your walking. “I think it's safer for you to sleep here for the night. Yer vulnerable out there this late, drunk.” you scoffed, turning to face Arthur. “Am I that much safer here?” one of Arthur's hands went to his waist, asking just what you meant by that.

“You all invited me here, t—to make me impure! Other than dear Kieran here.” Your hand reached for Kieran's head, clumsily petting his head and mumbling about his hair being soft. Which Kieran slightly revealed in the public display of tenderness.

“Next time yer here, we aren't givin' you whiskey. Seems not to let you think properly.” Arthur huffed, holding your collar to stop your attempts to walk away.

“I’m thinking more clearly than ever, Mister Morgan!” you exclaimed, struggling to break free from Arthur’s grip as you cast your gaze downward, feeling the weight of embarrassment. He held on firmly, not letting you retreat.

“We don’t believe that (Name). It was just some gossip the girls picked up from town, and trust me, they didn’t take it seriously either,” Arthur replied, his eyes softening as he studied your downcast face, betraying the effort you were making to hold back tears.

To him, your expression resembled that of a puppy being picked up by the scruff of its neck. A deep sigh escaped his lips as he realized how much this affected you. “Look, we know you’re a man of the cloth,” he said, his tone more reassuring now. “So just take it easy! We’re bad men, not evil.” You sighed; his words didn’t quite sink in with your state, and you still felt vulnerable.

“If you need to be home that badly, we will take you.” His warmth was as comforting as that sleepy feeling.

The next chapter is a choose-your-own-adventure! if you want the updates as they're posted, head to my Ao3! or if you want them all at once, they will be posted soon!

[biotic-raptorian-angel]

Nude- Moicy

A soft hush fell over the small, private medical bay deep within the Overwatch facility as Angela carefully set aside the gauze and antiseptic solution on a metal tray. The space was dimly lit, out of necessity rather than design; the overhead lighting had malfunctioned earlier in the day, leaving only the muted glow of wall sconces to illuminate the room. It lent a gentler, more intimate air to the otherwise clinical environment.

Moira stood at the far side of the bay, still in her lab coat. She seemed almost out of place—the imposing, confident scientist reduced to an uncertain figure, her posture tense. Angela offered her a reassuring nod, stepping closer.

“Let me have a look,” Angela murmured, gesturing for Moira to remove her coat. They were here for a reason: Moira had reported unusual scarring and discomfort around her side, possibly related to the aftermath of one of her risky experiments. Though Moira could typically mend herself with her own biotics, she had become alarmed enough to seek Angela’s expertise.

Once the lab coat was removed, Moira hesitated. Fingers trembling at the shirt’s lapels, she slipped it off her shoulders. Beneath, she wore a simple black tank top and loose-fitting trousers. Angela had tended to Moira before, of course, but never beyond quick triage in the heat of battle. This would be the first time she examined the woman fully, in a quiet setting where every detail was laid bare.

“Thank you,” Angela said softly. Her gaze was gentle, encouraging Moira to remove the rest. With a quiet, anxious sigh, Moira pulled her tank top over her head, exposing starkly pale skin that stood out in the faint light. The coruscating patterns of her enhanced right arm glowed faintly, the swirling lines reminiscent of the biotic energies Moira wielded.

Angela’s breath caught for a moment. She’d always known Moira was slender, but under her baggy clothing, the woman’s ribs were more visible than expected—evidence of countless nights dedicated to work, skipping meals, and living on determination alone. Bruises and faint scars from years of questionable experiments and battles marred her skin. Some were older, silvered lines that told stories of past encounters. Others were fresh, tinted violet with the traces of Moira’s own energy.

“Go on,” Moira said, trying to sound composed, but her voice quivered ever so slightly. Her eyes flicked away.

Angela sensed Moira’s unease, so instead of speaking, she simply offered a soft, understanding smile. She moved closer, carefully tucking a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear.

“You can tell me if there’s any pain,” Angela said gently. “We’ll take this slowly.”

Moira nodded. She reached down to unfasten the loose-fitting trousers. A part of her wanted to keep them on, to hold onto the final scrap of modesty, but she knew if Angela was to do a thorough examination, she had to comply.

When Moira stood straight again, she was bare. The dim lighting traced the slope of her shoulders and the slight curve of her hips, highlighting each subtle contour. Angela, ever professional, fought to maintain composure, but it was impossible not to notice how vulnerable Moira looked—less the brilliant, stoic scientist, and more a woman who rarely let anyone see her insecurities.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Angela slowly raised her gaze to meet Moira’s eyes, noting the slight flush in the pale woman’s cheeks. “It’s alright,” Angela reassured her, voice hushed as though not to frighten her. “Let’s get you seated so I can check everything properly.”

Moira nodded and perched on the edge of the medical bed, posture stiff. She folded her arms over her midsection, attempting to hide a bruise on her side—and, perhaps, to shield herself from Angela’s gaze.

Angela sat beside her, reaching for a stethoscope. “Breathe normally,” she instructed, pressing the cold metal against Moira’s chest. She listened, not just to the steady rhythm of Moira’s heart, but to the tremor in her breath.

“Have you been experiencing any dizziness or shortness of breath?” Angela asked.

Moira shook her head. “No… just… discomfort, mostly at night.”

Angela’s fingers hovered near the bruises along Moira’s torso. “I’m going to press gently,” she said. She did, checking for swelling or any sign of more serious injury. Moira’s skin was cold under her touch—colder than Angela expected, as if her biotic powers offset her body’s natural warmth.

Moira winced slightly.

“Sorry,” Angela murmured, easing the pressure. “Just a little inflamed. You must have overexerted yourself with your last experiment.”

Moira let out a faint chuckle at that—a reflexive attempt at normalcy. “When don’t I overexert myself?” she asked quietly. Then, her confidence faltered again. “It’s not just that.” Her eyes darted down. “It’s been a while since… anyone has seen me like this.”

Angela set aside the stethoscope and took one of Moira’s hands in her own. The right hand, shimmering with the faint residue of her biotic energy, twitched with a small jolt of uncertainty. Angela’s gloved palm was warm.

“Thank you for trusting me,” Angela said softly. “I know how private you are.”

Moira swallowed, meeting Angela’s gaze at last. “Privacy has always been my shield. My work. My research. Sometimes, I’d rather hide behind it than let anyone see… me.”

Angela squeezed her hand gently. She let her eyes travel over Moira’s body, carefully and respectfully. There were no judgments there—only concern for the bruises, the faint lines of scars, and the tension that Moira carried in her slender frame.

“You’re more than just your research,” Angela said. “And if this… if me seeing you like this—if it makes you uncomfortable, tell me. I can do the rest of the examination with you covered. It’s important you know you have a choice.”

Moira hesitated, then exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “It’s not that I don’t want you to see me. I do, but… it’s new to me. To be looked at with… care. Affection. Respect.”

Angela reached out, brushing a strand of deep auburn hair away from Moira’s face. The motion was tender. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to let your guard down.”

Moira’s cheeks warmed further, the flush a sharp contrast against her alabaster complexion. She nodded, forcing a small smile. “You make it feel… safe.”

In that quiet moment, Angela removed her gloves, placing them aside so that nothing separated her touch from Moira’s skin. She raised a gentle hand to trace the line of a scar over Moira’s collarbone, feeling the raised tissue. “This one… is it from your time with Blackwatch?”

Moira let out a faint, humorless laugh. “You always had a good memory. Yes, it was a… disagreement with a volatile subject. Or maybe just a sign I was too curious for my own good.”

Angela’s fingers glided lower, pausing at a cluster of circular scars near Moira’s ribs. “And these…?”

Moira’s eyes flickered away. “Self-experimentation. Early prototypes of the biotic gauntlet. I learned a few harsh lessons about energy feedback loops.”

Angela took a moment to let that sink in. She knew Moira’s methods were often extreme, but seeing the physical toll made her heart clench. She pressed her palm softly over the scars. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice laden with empathy.

Moira gently placed her hand atop Angela’s. “Don’t be. It was my choice—part of my life’s work. I don’t regret the pursuit of knowledge.” A beat passed. “But sometimes I regret the cost.”

Angela’s gaze lifted, and she let her eyes linger on Moira’s face, framed by the half-light. “You’re allowed regrets,” she said gently. “They don’t diminish your brilliance. They make you human.”

Moira felt her defenses slip further. She realized how close Angela was, how gentle the air felt against her bare skin. She was no longer simply a patient in a medical bay—she was a person being seen by someone who cared.

Tentatively, Moira’s free hand rose, touching Angela’s cheek. Her breath trembled. “It’s strange,” she murmured. “I’ve rarely felt so… small. So exposed. But you… you make me want to feel that way. As if it’s not weakness, but… acceptance.”

Angela leaned into the touch. “You’ve devoted your life to pushing the boundaries of science, Moira. But you deserve comfort, too. You deserve to be seen.”

They sat like that, letting the silence stretch, broken only by the soft buzz of medical instruments and the faint hum of the lights. After a moment, Angela reached for a thin medical blanket to drape over Moira’s shoulders, both for warmth and to provide some measure of modesty.

“Thank you,” Moira breathed. She pulled the blanket around her torso, grateful for its gentle warmth, but also for the closeness of Angela’s presence.

Angela rose from the bedside, stepping away to gather a small container of healing ointment. “We’ll address these bruises,” she said, returning to carefully dab the ointment on the tender areas. Each touch was methodical yet gentle, an act of compassion rather than mere duty.

As Angela treated the last of the bruises, she set the ointment aside. “How do you feel?” she asked.

Moira paused to consider before answering softly, “Vulnerable, but… better.” Her eyes flicked to Angela’s again, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “You’re very good at making people feel safe, Dr. Ziegler.”

Angela let out a gentle laugh. “It’s part of the job—and who I am.” She placed a hand lightly on Moira’s shoulder. “I won’t lie, I’m glad you’ve let me see you like this. Not just physically, but letting me see that you… trust me.”

Moira nodded. “I’m not used to it… but I might learn.”

Angela leaned in, pressing a gentle, almost tentative kiss to Moira’s forehead. Her lips lingered for a moment, warm against cool skin. As she pulled back, Moira’s eyes opened, bright with a rare softness.

“Then we’ll learn together,” Angela whispered.

Moira took a slow breath, letting her gaze fall to the floor for a moment before looking back at Angela. “Thank you,” she repeated, the gratitude carrying so many unspoken meanings.

Angela helped Moira stand, assisting her in slipping back into the loose trousers. She paused, her hands at Moira’s waist, a moment of intimacy neither rushed to break. “Just so you know,” she said softly, “there’s nothing here that scares me away.”

Moira’s lips curved in a small, genuine smile—the sort so few people had ever been allowed to see. “I’m glad.”

Clothed once more, Moira reclaimed a bit of her usual composure, but something had changed. There was a softness in her stance, a trust she didn’t try to hide. With Angela’s help—and understanding—the anxious tension in her posture had eased, replaced by a tender bond they both felt.

Hand in hand, they left the private medical bay behind, returning to the labyrinth of hallways and laboratories. The world outside was complicated and demanding, but for one quiet moment, Angela and Moira had discovered a fragile sense of closeness that neither had anticipated. And in that act of being truly seen, something new began to blossom.

A-Z Prompts

I've decided to try and keep up with daily writing by doing 1 prompt a day for each ship via the A-Z prompts I came up with below. If you like it or have suggestions for other prompts, please let me know!

Adoration

Bravery

Chivalry

Devotion

Ethereal

Friendship

Glamour

Healthy

Idol

Jukebox

Kingdom

Letter

Moss

Nude

Observation

Paint

Quiet

Rejection

Sea

Turntable

Unanimous

Vermin

Wings

Xenomorphic

Yitten

Zephyr

[theactualsunshinechild]

*banging my fists against the wall helplessly, tears streaming down my face*

MY RAREPAIR STILL HASN'T INTERACTED AND AT THIS POINT I'M NOT SURE THEY EVER WILL

[zorionbbq]

party chat #56: nanba's transformation

(transcript both in alt text and below)

[image description: five-page comic of a "party chat" conversation from yakuza 7.

beneath the scaffolding of a construction site, nanba holds a bottle of tea and asks "hey, you think i've changed at all since we met?"

the rest of the party, standing or crouching on the side of the path, turn to look at him.

"hm? have you?" ichiban tilts his head, hand on chin, and lets saeko pick from his chip bag. "i dunno, lemme think..."

adachi leaps to his feet, splashing his can of beer and surprising saeko. "got it!"

adachi snaps his fingers with a triumphant smile. "you changed how you part your hair!"

"huh?" nanba reaches toward the back of his own head. "nope, it's still the same..." adachi sheds a single tear.

hand raised high, saeko announces "right! your prescription changed!" ichiban taps a canned coffee on his palm in an "i get it!" motion. "what, are you trying to be funny now!? and that's wrong, too!" nanba retorts.

"okay!" han looks serious. "you changed the frames on your glasses!"

"you started wearing contacts instead of glasses!" zhao finger-guns with a grin.

"will you quit it with the glasses thing!?" nanba snaps at an unfazed, juicebox-sipping han. "and does it look like i'm wearing contacts!?" he gestures at himself. zhao smugly bites an onigiri, still squatting on the ground.

adachi frowns around a pocky. "huh? then what's changed?"

"never mind... sheesh." nanba turns his back on the group.

a view of the vending machine and soccer field across the way. "i just thought maybe i'd grown a bit cheerier since i met you guys."

"that's all." nanba doesn't see the party staring in shocked silence.

saeko, han, and zhao exchange fond looks.

nanba chugs his tea as ichiban approaches.

ichiban bumps his drink hand against nanba's.

"well, we already knew that, man." ichiban grins so wide his eyes shut.

"yeah, you smile a lot more than you did before, nan-chan." saeko concurs, offering him her chip bag.

nanba looks up, eyes wide. "ichiban... you guys..."

a hand lands on nanba's shoulder.

arm slung over his friend's back, ichiban cheerfully assures "and i noticed that you got some new lenses on your glasses, too." nanba's face falls.

the party loses it. saeko collapses on adachi, both doubled over in laughter, zhao cackles as his glasses fall off, and han clutches his head in despair.

"i didn't change anything about my glasses!" nanba roars. on the ground, a plastic bag of leftover snacks reads "#56 nanba's transformation".

end image description]

[roomba-mangga]

being normal about thistle and the touden siblings in the most insane way because imagine you're a sad out of touch hopelessly devoted little magician whose family has been actively pushing for you to see this path of self-destruction that they set you on to its fatal end and being confronted with that sends you tumbling down a doom spiral to hell from which there is no escape but then suddenly from out of nowhere two brainless randos bust into your house and offer the first real acts of kindness and gentle touch and validation of your personhood you've received in at least a few decades if not centuries if not your whole life (for want of which you Did All This Shit in the first place), and unlike the other dickheads breaking into your house all they care about is Being Nice To You For Free and deep frying your security cameras and tbh you wouldn't know how to react to this on a good day whatever that looks like so you just go along and eat their funny snacks and tie them both to a pole like puppies you picked up off the side of the road and then with all that said and done you immediately die