#lonesome-fret

[miirohs]

no body, no crime [o.p.s]

pairing: Mob Boss!Oscar Piastri x GN!Reader wc: 1.8k cw: reader shoots someone, poor hurt/comfort an: this one is dedicated to the local piastri lover em because that Danny Ric fic is never leaving the editing stage,,, had to change it up a bit tho bc the beginning was hampering the rest of it, but anyways I’m continuing the 2 am shitposting tradition 💀

The clock ticked softly in the background, a cold breeze filtering through the room as you curled further into the sheets, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to drown out the noise. The nightlights shone through the thin curtains, the light of the bright neon billboards cast onto the floor.

Oscar wasn’t home again, leaving you to your lonesome in his penthouse in London, something about an emergency meeting at eleven in the night.

You weren’t worried much about the call time, but you couldn’t help the pit that formed in your stomach as your head rested on his shoulder, still too tired to make out what he murmured in a low voice on the phone.

Whatever it was sounded important but he didn’t let you hear anything, herding you back to the bedroom with the promise that he’d be back sooner if not later. You held onto his hand, eyes shutting for good as the warmth of his hand slipped away once again.

With that, you fell into a fretful sleep, waking up at odd times for no explainable reason.

You felt dreadful as your eyes opened again, apartment eerily quiet, vision blurring as you read the clock.

2:45 A.M. It read.

You crawled to the end of the bed, letting your legs dangle off the bed as you reached out for your phone. Not a single notification on the screen and you sighed, opening up the messages app.

As you opened Oscars contact, something outside clicked faintly, making you jump. You slid off the bed, feet padding against the wooden flooring as you wandered into the hall.

You didn’t see any guards posted, even as you called out names you could barely remember hoarsely, getting no response back even as your voice bounced around the hall. It was slowly starting to freak you out, but you figured it was just the lack of sleep getting to you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this paranoid, and it wasn’t just for nothing.

The lights were off in the living room and kitchen, and you turned on the flashlight on your phone, your free hand pressed to the glass window. Your hands trembled slightly as you returned to tapping against the screen, typing up a message to send to Oscar.

where are you rn? heard something outside, can’t see guards anywhere.

The screen lit up, speech bubbles popping up for a couple moments before diapering entirely.

lmk when you’re on your way.

You sent the message, sliding onto a chair and hunching over the granite countertop. The phone rang only moments later, and you snapped out of your stupor, looking at the caller id.

[Osc].

You swiped, sliding off the chair and walking into the kitchen.

“Y/n? Is that you, baby?”

“Mmm, it is,” You mumbled sleepily, fingers running along the countertops as you reached to open the cabinet, "Where are you?"

"I'm on my way back," Oscar replied, tone relieved. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

“No, I thought i heard something,” You paused, anxiety thrumming under the surface of your skin as something clicked again, “And the guards aren’t here, they-”

“What do you mean not there?” You held the phone away, eyes widening as he cussed softly. The shock and fear in his voice sent a chill down your spine.

"I don't know," you stammered, glancing around the dark kitchen, "I called out for them, but no one answered. I thought it was just me being paranoid but…"

"Lock yourself in the bedroom. Now. I'm almost there, and if anyone breaks through, there's a gun in my nightchest. Don’t use it, just scare them if you have to." He instructed, voice panicked. You paused as he rambled further, eyes landing on a glass half full sitting on the countertop next to the sink.

“What the…”

Your head was slammed into the counter, blinding white pain licking across your temple as you dropped the phone.

The glass shattered as you flailed, crumpling onto the floor. Your world spun, something wet staining your hand as you clutched your head.

Oscar was now frantically shouting through the phone, and your vision blurred as you scanned the floor for the bright light. The sound of your phone cracking made you scramble back, trying to stand up as the world spun under your feet.

You could barely see the assailant in the darkness of the apartment, barely illuminated by the lights of the city.

They lunged for you, barely missing as you scrambled to the side, back hitting a wall. It was barely seconds before they came for you, pressing you up against the wall with their gun, cutting off your circulation.

The cold metal dug into your neck, and you clawed at their clothed arms, aimlessly flailing. Your kicking paid off, as the intruder gasped in pain as you landed a kick to the crotch, gasping for air as you slid down. Despite the throbbing pain, you dogged again when something flew at your head, crawling to the living room and pulling yourself up against the coffee table.

The intruder closed in once again, swearing loudly as they limped towards you. Grasping blindly, your fingers closed around a metal vase, swinging it in their direction. It connected with a resounding thud and you got up, shoving past them in the direction of your shared bedroom.

You’d stunned them, but you weren’t sure how long it’d last, locking the door behind you as you fell to your knees, crawling over to his side of the bed, slumped against the bed as you opened the drawer.

Your fingers closed around the cold metal of the gun Oscar had mentioned, hand tensing and untensing as you stared down the shiny silver. Suddenly, the door banged again, and you froze.

The rush of blood drowned out the taunts, positioning yourself in a far corner of the room, eyes straining in the dark as the doorknob jiggled.

That didn’t last wrong, the wood of the door splintering and cracking. "Come out, you-" the intruder's voice was cut off by another loud bang on the door, hand reaching down to the handle through a crack in the door.

There was nothing but the bed between you now, the door finally giving way, allowing them to stumble into a room with a malevolent look.

Panic surged through you and you raised the gun as threateningly as you could.

He grabbed your wrist, wrenching the gun from your grasp and throwing it to the side. You struggled, kicking and clawing your way out of his grip, diving for the gun. They tackled you once again, and you both tumbled to the ground.

In the struggle, your finger dug into the trigger, losing circulation as he pinned you down, gun shaking uncontrollably.

A shot rang out, followed by an intense ringing in your ears, the grip on your hands loosening. Something warm splattered against your face, blood pooling at your sides and you could only stare in horror.

There was nothing but a ringing in your ear, staring into the darkness as if expecting something else. The door burst open and Oscar rushed in, his eyes wild with fear. It was the first time you’d seen him so unkempt, eyes widening in shock as he connected the dots between the smoking gun in your hand and the body on the floor.

You couldn’t make out what he was saying, only as he pulled you closer to him, feeling the vibrations in his chest.

You couldn’t really make out what he was saying, slumping down against him as tears escaped your eyes.

You weren’t sure how much time passed till you could hear him again, blanking out for a couple of moments before you could remember again, sitting on the bed once again.

You could hear Oscar shouting in the other room, probably on the phone again. Something had gone terribly wrong for his composed self to be shattered.

He had Lando sitting in the room with you, monitoring you as your legs dangled off of the edge of the bed, staring down at hands crusted with blood.

Both of you didn’t say much, only nodding to any questions he asked, not even listening entirely.

“Is she doing okay?” You turned at the sound of Oscar's voice, opening then closing your mouth as Lando shrugged noncommittally, murmuring something about how he hadn’t heard a peep in the hour he’d been there.

You phased out again, only coming back to your senses as he gripped your hand, kneeling in front of you.

"Hey," Oscar said softly, high contrast to the way he had been yelling earlier. "Can you look at me baby?"

You blinked, slowly focusing on his face. The tears were coming back, and you swallowed them down again, digging your nails into his hands instead.

He didn’t complain, running a soothing thumb over your knuckles. "You don’t have to if you don’t want to," He continued, "You're safe now. Everything's going to be okay."

Even when you didn’t answer and stared blankly, he continued, listing things aimlessly to catch your attention.

“We’re going to increase security detail for you by the way. I won’t be leaving you on your own for a while…” He paused in his explanation, tilting his head at you. “Please talk to me, baby, I’m worried.”

You swallowed hard, feelings like a mess of strings as you opened your mouth. "I don't know what happened," You shuddered, voice barely above a whisper, "I just... I had to… I just killed someone. Oh god, I'm a killer."

Oscar's expression softened further in contrast to the steely tone he used as he gripped your hand tighter. “No, you didn’t. If anyone questions you, I was the one who did it. Not you, me. Don’t blame yourself for what happens to scum like that.”

“But then- then you’ll get in trouble,” You whispered, haunted by the thought, “they’ll arrest you.”

He smirked, reaching up to brush the hair out of your face as if he was contemplating something.

“Osc baby, what-“

“Whoever sent them,” He spoke with slight disgust, although you could tell that wasn’t at all the full gist of what he was feeling, “Started this trouble first. They can’t arrest me if there’s no body to be found. No body, no crime baby.”

You could only stare at him, heart aching slightly as he pulled your hands to him, allowing you to run your fingers through his messed up hair.

“You’re…” You didn’t finish the sentence, allowing him to stand up and hover over you.

“It’s going to be alright,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he wiped your unshed tears. “You’re strong, we all know that.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You sniffled, hands looping around his own as he cradled your face.

“You’ll never have to find out,” he replied, leaning down to kiss your forehead, arms holding you down almost possessively, “Never when I’m here.”

[yandere-sins]

Wriothesley didn't smile much.

Occasionally, he felt his features being torn into a grimace of faux pleasantry, his eyes as cold as the sea that his prison lay beneath while he bared his teeth to pretend a mood he wasn't in. People liked it when he appeared friendly before them; he felt nothing. Only the most perceptive amongst them would have noticed his smiles never reaching his eyes. And those few knew better than to run their mouths. There simply wasn't much to smile about when he kept himself busy by dealing with the problems and conflicts that kept rising around him. No matter how hard he worked, he always woke to a new day of challenges. It was how he wanted it, as it allowed him to forget the memories he didn't want to ponder.

And though Meropide forged unique relationships amongst its prisoners, the same couldn't be said about Wriothesley.

Even respected and, occasionally, admired by others, his life was more lonesome than it would seem to some. Good company was hard to come by when he spent all his time below the surface, running his prison and enjoying tea in his office with only his own thoughts to listen to. Every day was bittered by the uncertainty of the future he never thought he'd live to see. That same bitterness robbed him of genuine smiles to decorate his face with.

That was until you came along.

If he was the gasoline keeping the machines working, you were the match setting them ablaze. If he was the hot water to make his tea, you were the sugar sweetening his day. There was no friendly banter to have with you, no matter how little Wriothesley cared for the cold shoulder and snarky rejections you gave him every time he sought you out. And yet, the thought of seeing you again was enough to put a spring in his step, his lips parting in a grin more becoming of a little boy than a grown man.

Undoubtedly, you'd be there, in his office, sorting through his paperwork or glowering at the tea cups as you counted down the seconds the leaves needed to seep. You were meticulous like that, although Wriothesley would have drunk straight-up poison if you had served it. He knew you would welcome him with a sigh and your attention diverted towards other matters than him—you liked the credit coupons way too much that this work earned you. It was a privileged position, and you sought after any work Wriothesley handed you, even if you harbored no other feelings but indifference for the 'Duke'.

But how could he not adore you?

It had been a while since Wriothesley felt as alive as he did when he met you. You might have turned down any offer to join him for a meal (on his dime, mind you) or to give you a paid day off. Still, the way you fretted over a minor, completely irrelevant mistake you made was too adorable to send you away. He loved your serious ways, loved your hardworking mindset. He kept replaying your focused expression and grimaces in his head, chuckling into the darkness while he laid in bed at night.

There was no particular reason his heart chose you. Or perhaps his heart chose you, which made the reason special? But either way, he watched you over the edge of the report he should have been reviewing. Watched your hand guiding the feather over the paper you were working on, wishing you'd come over and hold his hand instead.

Wriothesley observed how you furrowed your brows tensely, wondering if you'd let him massage the tension away. He caught the way you nibbled at your lips, wishing he'd be able to have a taste of them instead. Working with you was torture. Torture he enjoyed a little too much.

"You're going to stare a hole through that paper, your grace," you noted, not even looking up at him as you spoke. You two weren't on the best terms since you still hated him after he thwarted your plans to escape the prison. But the way you called him by the respectful title he didn't care about didn't send a shiver down his spine because of the vitriol you spat it with. The grin curling the corners of his lips was evidence of that, but Wriothesley quickly hid it behind his hand, clearing his throat.

He went to grab his cup of tea, but it was already empty. The sinking feeling of disappointment curled in his stomach as he realized what this meant.

"It's past your work hours," he reminded you, secretly hoping you'd not care. It was past his work hours, too, but he'd rather sit in silence with you, working, than at home with only the memory to keep him company.

"You're right," you noted, no indications of your next move from the sound of your voice. Would you stay? Would you leave? You kept scribbling the itemization he had you create, and a glimmer of hope lit his world up. That was, until you set down the feather, gathered your documents, and created order on your table that Wriothesley had squeezed into his pretty crowded office.

Before you could say anything, he had gotten up, standing even before you did. "I will see you out," he explained as you glared at him, knowing fully well that with his gaze so strangely fixated on you, his reaction was not normal. And it wasn't, not when it made his heart beat incredibly fast, Wriothesley hoping you couldn't hear it break out of his ribcage the closer he got to you.

"My, someone's in a hurry," you commented snidely, and Wriothesley's grin jerked back into place. "Are you invited on a date or something...?"

"Depends," he started, quickly catching his composure after the initial surprise over your question. Was it jealousy, perhaps? A man could dream. "Are you free tonight?"

Taking a quick step forward, he stopped you in your tracks, coming to a halt in front of you. You two stared at each other in silence, displeasure written over your face that was just inches away from his. Your breath caressed him, swirls of your scent fogging his mind. Wriothesley could have leaned forward, abused this situation in ways unbecoming of his position. Risking it all just to brush his lips against yours. But his heart might have burst into a million pieces had he done so. Instead, he stood and waited, hoping for you to be the first to break the charade of your hatred. Give him the signals he so desperately hoped for.

Maybe it was all false after all. Perhaps you felt even just the smallest piece of love for him, too.

But instead, you rolled your eyes as you pushed past him, gesturing for him to go down the stairs first. He was your superior, after all, although he would rather squeeze up next to you than walk before you. Even if his heart clenched with your simple and justified rejection, it was unthinkable he'd miss out on the chance to walk beside you and watch you like a hawk until the very end.

"Funny," you finally replied, and it brought the heat to his face as you complimented him. Wriothesley was not trying to be funny by asking you out—again—but he'd take what he could. "But I fear I'm too busy for that. I'd rather get out of this prison faster than waste my time."

The laugh that escaped him was one he had practiced for years, barely distinguishable from a real one. It covered the hurt of your rejection and the fear of losing you. Inside this prison, he had the power to keep you by his side. But outside of it? His reach didn't go much further than these walls.

"You're very optimistic about your time here. How refreshing."

It was rare that you smiled in his presence. In fact, Wriothesley seemed to cause your mood to sour with the whisper of his name alone. So when it was your turn to grin, he noticed it immediately. He watched your lips curl in awe as if you were bestowing him with a blessing rather than your pity.

"It's already been a year, your grace. And don't try to tell me my behavior wasn't anything but perfect. I don't think my sentence will be much longer than what I've been given after the escape."

Time slowed as you moved forward, passing Wriothesley as his steps halted. You noticed quickly when his shoulder stopped bumping into yours, standing still at the bottom of the staircase before turning around.

"Don't tell me you thought I'd always be here."

Of course, he didn't. He knew your time would come. But not so soon... had it really been a year already?

"I'm glad for you," he mumbled, more out of reflex than from his heart. Wriothesley only ever strived to have his prisoners redeem themselves, but did that really mean he had to let you go? "Your hard work will be missed."

"I'm sure," you replied, turning back to the door before heaving open the heavy metal as he trudged after you slowly. The news hit him like a fist to his face, breaking, shattering. But it was his heart that received the blow. Perhaps in all this time, he enjoyed himself a little too much by your side, the end of your sentence seemingly so far away. And now that you were slipping out of his grasp, the panic began to fester—feelings he could not control.

"As always," you suddenly chimed up, and although his eyes didn't stray from you, Wriothesley noticed you two were no longer alone, activating the false persona you liked to display in front of strangers. It always made him feel special that you didn't put it up before him, but right now, he wished the conversation wouldn't be interrupted. That he had time to convince you to stay here. With him.

"It was a pleasure working with you, your grace. I look forward to our next meeting. Don't let me keep you!"

And with a smile and a wave, you bounced off to enjoy your evening. Away from him. Happy without him.

Wriothesley could barely pull himself together to greet the prisoner who walked up to him. The man tried to get his attention, but Wriothesley watched you disappear into the crowd even long after you were gone.

"Your grace!" the man suddenly yelled right next to his ear, and although it was not as angelic and beautiful as what came from your lips, it tore him right out of his thoughts.

"That person," the man mumbled, pointing the way you left and indicating he was talking about you. He leaned in closer to whisper, and Wriothesley curled his hands into fists, holding back from punching him after he dared mention you. "There's something I have to tell you about."

"Sure," Wriothesley said, wincing at his own soundless answer. He couldn't help the annoyance that someone knew something about you that he didn't. But he'd listen and learn.

"To say it frankly, they've not been conducting themselves properly. Many of us have suffered from their actions, and now that they will be released, I think we should speak up about their misdeeds."

Oh, Wriothesley thought, the tension falling off him. He raised his hand to pat the man's back, inviting him inside his office. Wriothesley couldn't pretend not to be happy, a gentle smile creeping over his face. It was a little less fake than any other smile he had given the countless prisoners around here, but the real ones were still only reserved for you. "These are some serious accusations. How about we take your statement inside?"

He sent the man inside, looking back into the crowd aimlessly for the sight of you before he shut the door. You were somewhere out there, still thinking you'd get to go home soon. Wriothesley smiled. Unless there was a reason as to why you'd need to stay.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

"It's good to see you again."

It was impossible to wipe away the big smile off his face as you stood before him, frowning deeply.

"I'm really, truly sorry that your sentence has been prolonged. But alas, it will be nice to work by your side once again."

He watched with the greatest satisfaction as you bit your lip, the thought of kissing you right on the mark popping into his head again. However, fear crossed his features as he noticed you didn't stop, even as it started to bleed. Wriothesley wondered how your blood tasted before he focused back on the situation at hand. He knew you had to hold back every inch of your being to not scream and cry and shout at him, although he would have liked to be given a reason to shut you up—any way necessary.

You knew fully well he was the one signing your final sentence. Buying and selling illegal goods didn't warrant another five years of imprisonment. But your conduct had been too good to push for the ten years Wriothesley wanted—believe him, he fought hard for justice that day. Even Neuvillette was surprised that Wriothesley was so intensely interested in your redemption. However, the Ludex still went against the pleading of an old yet desperate and needy friend and just gave you five.

It was disappointing, but Wriothesley didn't plan on letting the time he had been given go to waste.

Picking up his cup, he held it out to you, giving you a gentle, reassuring smile that reflected nothing of the malice he had to harbor to get you to stay. After all, he was delighted, thoroughly pleased even. The day had only just begun and his mood was already through the roof just having you back in his office again.

"Cup of tea?" he asked innocently. Your eyes dropped to the cup, a hint of uncertainty about why he was treating you so kindly even though you misstepped again.

"On it," you mumbled, taking the cup from his hand, your fingers brushing over his, feeling much too soft for such a bad criminal as you were. But before he could imagine those fingers wrapped into his hair and clothes in an intense make-out session, you shocked him as you whispered, "Thank you, your grace," as if to thank him for not kicking you out from this job that definitely benefitted you. You were still snide, still angry you had to do it in the first place. But apparently, a part of you recognized his innocence as goodwill. At least, he could make himself believe that besides the perceived snark.

Off you went to brew some tea, standing barely ten meters from him. But at least with your back turned, you missed the heat spreading over Wriothesley's face, into the tip of his ears and across his cheeks. And even when you turned back, the hand clasped over his mouth didn't give away the genuine smile of adoration he couldn't seem to wipe off his face. Wriothesley would enjoy the time spent with you, day after day, waiting for you to make another mishap so you'd have a reason to stay with him forever. Otherwise, Wriothesley was sure he'd find another way to keep you all to himself.

But for now, he'd start by making you smile at him first.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

more words for characterization (pt. 3)

Mentality

abhorrence, absentmindedness, abstraction, ache, aggravation, agonize, alarm, allergy, amazement, angst, anticipation, apathy, assurance, attention, attrition, awe, bathos, behalf, belonging, bitterness, boast, bosom, breast, buoyancy/buoyance, capitulation, care, censure, cheer, clemency, cogitation, comfort, complex, compulsion, conception, confusion, consideration, constancy, content, contrition, corollary, credit, curiosity, darkness, decision, deference, delight, delirium, dementia, dependence/dependency, design, despair, difficulty, disaffection, discipline, discomfiture, discontent, discrimination, disinclination, disorder, disquiet, distraction, disturbance, dolor, dumps, ecstasy, elation, emotion, enjoyment, envy, esprit de corps, exaltation, excitement, exhilaration, expectation, exultation, fat city, felicity, firmness, fog, forbearance, foresight, forgetfulness, frame of mind, free will, fret, frustration, funk, fury, glee, gratification, grief, happiness, heart, heartbreak, heaven, hoopla, huff, humanity, humor, idiocy, impulse, indignity, insight, introspection, jealousy, joy, kick, lament/lamentation, letdown, levity, madness, mania, melancholy, merriment/merrymaking, mirth, monotony, mope, mortification, mourning, nausea, neglect, nervous breakdown, neurosis, objection, observance, obsession, optimism, outlook, panic, paroxysm, pathos, penance, perception, pessimism, pity, Pollyanna, pout, precognition, premonition, presence, psyche, push, qualm, rage, rapture, red herring, rejoice, repent, repose, resent, resignation, resolution, restlessness, ruckus, sadness, satisfaction, security, self-satisfaction, sensibility, sentiment, servitude, simmer, slump, solace, sorrow, soul-searching, status quo, strain, stress, surprise, sympathy, telepathy, temperament, tension, tolerance, torpor, trance, triumph, umbrage, unrest, vanity, waver, wonder, worry, zeal, zest

Attributes of Mentality: aback, absconder, absent-minded, absorbing, accustomed, affected, afraid, aghast, alert, amatory, angry, apathetic, apprehensive, assumed, attentive, averse, bad, beaten, believable, berserk, bewildered, bigoted, bleak, blue, breathless, broad-minded, brokenhearted, burning, captive, cautious, cheerful, chipper, clairvoyant, compassionate, concerned, confused, contemplative, contented, crabby/crabbed, crazy, cross, curious, daffy, dearly, dejected, delirious, depressed, desolate, desperately, disaffected, disbelieving, disconcerted, discontented/discontent, discouraging, disenchanted, disgusted, disillusioned, disinterested, dispirited, dissident, distressed, doleful, dotty, down, downcast, dumbfounded, elated, emotional, enamored, enraged, excited, exultant, fed up, firm, flushed, forgetful, forlorn, frenetic, frightened, fulfilled, furious, glad, gleeful, glum, grateful, grief-stricken, gut, half-baked, happily, hard, hard-boiled, harried, headstrong, heartsick, high, hopeful, huffy, hysterical, ill-tempered, impassioned, inattentive, inconsolable, indifferent, indiscriminate, insane, insecure, intent, interested, intoxicated, irate, irresolute, jaundiced, jovial, joyful/joyous, jubilant, keen, languid, lethargic, livid, lonesome, loony, low, lukewarm, mad, malleable, manic/maniacal, mental, mindful, mirthful, mixed-up, morbid, mournful, narrow-minded, nerveless, neurotic, new age, normal, numb, nuts/nutty, objectivity, observant, obsessed, off-guard, one-sided, on the fence, opposed/opposing, overjoyed, partial, pensive, pent-up, petrified, phlegmatic, platonic, pooped, predisposed, prepared, profound, provincial, psyched, psychological, pumped, punch-drunk, puzzled, rabid, radical, rapacious, realistic, regretful, restless, rigid, rueful, salacious, sanguine, saturnine, sectarian, self-assured, sensitive, sick, skeptical, small-minded, solicitous, sore, sorry, sound, spellbound, steady, strong, stupefied, sulky, susceptible, tearful, tender, testy, thirsty, thoughtless, tired, torn, tough, ugly, unbalanced, uncaring, uncommitted, undecided, unemotional, unfeeling, uninterested, unsound, untroubled, upbeat, versed, wacky, wary, weary, wide-awake, wishful, woebegone, wrathful, wretched

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary.

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary ⚜ Part 1 ⚜ Part 2

[2-dsimp]

Ok so everyone and their mother has yandere CEO/ boss x a secretary/assistant/intern blah blah blah

BUT! Hear me out...what and a yandere assistant x boss darling??

Cw: slight blood/gore, obsessive/possessive tendencies, self-sabotage, lack of self worth,

Synopsis: 【You are the overseer in charge of the finance floor of the company SupeCo. And you happened to be issued a brand you employee who was albeit a greenhorn. But nonetheless passionate in preforming his duties as your assistant. You’ve in the short couple days you’ve grown a soft spot for him. And constantly prayed that he’d make it through his job, in one piece since you discovered that he tended to be accident prone.】

☆*:.｡..｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡..｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡..｡.:

Yandere assistant! That’s always in attention whenever his darling boss is ready to put him to work. He’s practically twitching from getting withdrawals of receiving less than the amount of orders he’d like to have from you.

Yandere Assistant! Whose mind is buzzing 24/7 and is utterly pathetic all by his lonesome. And craves for you to throw whatever tasks you’ve got at him, anything at all, to satisfy his dream of being your personal lap dog.

Yandere assistant! Who loves hearing your voice calling out for his support from across the office hall. He just cannot relate to how his other coworkers cower at their names being announced by their own superiors. Since you were the best in his humblest opinion. And the only one he’d deem to be of importance to be more precise.

Yandere Assistant! That subtly does self sabotage if only to hog your time, in making you giving him lengthy instructions. On what to do since he clearly couldn’t fathom how to print out a piece of paper.

Yandere Assistant! Who swears that he’s not incompetent on purpose. But it’s just that he adores the way you’re so kind with your words. And oh so patient when it comes to correcting a member of your staff. Even going as far as to touch him to show exactly how to maneuver the printer. In short all of your lovely gestures made him jumpy. As he was sweating bullets trying not to turn into a feral degenerate and bend you over the broke ass printer to properly “use it”.

“Tem? Temothy~? Hello? I’m sorry Am I going too fast for you or—“

“Ah nonono absolutely not! Y-you’re fine B-boss I c-could hear you j-just fine!”

Your new hire assistant, Temothy, stuttered as he blinked out of whatever daydream he got afflicted with. Fixing you a mousy smile as he haphazardly fixed his messy overgrown bangs which obscured half of his face from view. You noted that He always had a soft spoken voice along with his habitual stutter speech pattern. Whilst he fidgeted a bit underneath your explicit worrisome expression as you fretted over his wellbeing like a mother hen.

“I only need to cut these stacks of paper for y-you with this cutter r-right? I’ll get on T-that right a-away!”

He managed in a squirrelly tone as he shakily grabbed ahold of the paper cutter. Lining up some blank pieces alongside the dotted lines with an unsteady hand.

It was his first couple days on the job and you found him to be quite the ditzy klutz but an endearing one nonetheless. It was refreshing how eager he is to always lend a helping hand even after he had just gotten off his shift. Which made you feel bad to ask him to come in to work when it was his day off since some of your employees decided not to come in for their shift.

“Wait Temothy dear you’re holding it the wrong way—!”

“Ouch! Oh my stars I’m t-terribly sorry B-boss! I got it all fuckin b-bloody! Ah paper towels… where’s the paper towels?”

You couldn’t believe your eyes and what you were hearing. Was this man seriously worried about how he dirtied the cutter station to which he earnestly tried to clean. While the skin on his palm was sliced open from pinky to thumb. And was bleeding rapidly as bloody rivets ran down his inner wrist.

“Temothy forget about the cutter and papers okay? You don’t need to worry bout none of that. What we need to do is patch you up first and foremost”

You cooed as you briskly took his uninjured hand in yours and ushered him to your office where you always had a health kit stored underneath your desk. Completely missing how his breathing slowed and his wide eyes dilated into small heart pinpricks.

“Y-yes Boss…thank you for c-caring I’ll be sure to return this d-debt”

His usual timid expression darkened into something more depraved as a small fanged smile made its way onto his chapped lips. Of which he licked as he gave an experimental squeeze to your hand only to shiver in delight when you responded back in kind.

No one had ever been this kind to him, due to his bad luck he’s always the type to be scoffed at without as much as a second glance. Hell it was a miracle that he even landed this job as your assistant in the first place. But now that he was here he intended to stay permanently and serve you for the rest of your days as your loyal assistant. Whether you liked it or not, you couldn’t ever get rid of him not when you’ve already gave him your hand to hold near in dear to his heart.

[enviedear]

A request throught for billy the kid.

He goes to a bar where a barmaid owns and works there, and they sleep together, and when he comes back, she has a little boy running around that looks a whole lot like him....

girl from the north country — billy bonney

request

i got this ask and my brain immediately went 'bob dylan rendition of girl from north country' because this trope has that song written all over it.

tw— allusions to the deed, hidden baby trope, use of, 'momma' as a pet name.

less than three years ago, you made the grave decision to bed an outlaw. he was sweet and soft with you, sweet talking his way into your britches. it had been a fun night, but despite your delighted evening, a sinking feeling took hold of you the minute he caught your eye.

his name was billy. or at least, he went by billy. he was a mess of dark brown hair, kind blue eyes, and honest nature. it felt like fate when you saw him. he had been sitting at the bar, quiet and lonesome. you found it easy to talk to him.

he had given you a bright smile, engaging you in casual conversation as the night turned to morning. slipping out with you when you closed down the bar, only to follow you up the road to your small homestead.

you had never seen him before, but after he left town, you soon learned exactly who he was. wanted posters with his likeness followed his trail, leaving you tight-lipped about the entire situation.

it was about six months after his visit that your lips finally began to move, coming up with fruitless excuses for the townspeople. by then, your stomach had already started to round, bulging into something plain and inescapable. at first, you were terrified and even considered fleeing to another town and opting to try and pass as a widow. even now, despite yourself, the thought lingers in the back of your mind.

you've been lucky though, the town is nice enough to not ask you questions. just watchful stares and a few upturned noses. you kept your job at the gin mill, working through the night while your married friend watched the baby.

you've found yourself a quiet life—a growing meadow of life hidden in the hellish and desolate west.

with a sigh, you turn your attention back to the clothesline, grabbing at the last of the dry garments and flinging them in your basket. there's a storm brewing close in the distance, and a loud crack of thunder has the small child at your feet fretting.

you pick up your fussy toddler, his pink lips curled into a frown, "c'mon bubba, s'just a little storm."

you glance at the darkening sky, feeling the first droplets of rain on your skin. the wind picks up, causing the clothesline to sway with a creak. cradling your son in your arms, you hurry inside, leaving the clothes in your haste of trying to beat the approaching storm.

inside the cozy warmth of your small homestead, you try to soothe the worried toddler in your arms. the distant rumble of thunder grows louder, and you decide it's best to stay cooped up, work be damned. as you settle into a rocking chair, softly humming a lullaby to the sweet boy in your arms, the rain begins to patter against the window.

the hours pass slowly, the storm raging outside, when a sudden knock on the door startles you. with caution, you approach and peer through the small window and see a tall figure drenched in rain, barely recognizable underneath his sopping hat.

you open the door, and the man looks up. his eyes are kind, and eerily familiar. looking like a drowned man, standing at your door, is billy. he looks apologetic and somewhat sheepish. rainwater drips from the brim of his hat as he mumbles, "m'sorry for showing up like this, i wasn't even sure if you were still here."

you eye him cautiously, memories of your night shared with him resurfacing, but the storm outside softens your resolve, "what brings you here, billy?" you inquire, staring up at the rain-soaked outlaw before you, taking in his genuine expression.

his voice trembles as he confesses that he never meant to stay away for so long— but life on the run has its cruel complications. now, drenched and shivering in the midst of a raging storm, he pleads for refuge in your home, desperation etched onto every word as he begs for forgiveness and a safe haven from his pursuers.

hesitating for a moment, you look back at your toddler playing on the floor. with a sigh, you relent, "alright, billy, you can come in, but just until the storm passes."

as he steps inside, you notice the surprise in his eyes when he sees the boy. he's donned in a darling little linen onesie, your own hands had worked tirelessly over the garment. his bright eyes look between you and billy, the hue of your own eyes evident and the blue of billy's scattered throughout. a perfect blend.

a silence hangs in the air as realization slowly dawns on him. his gaze shifts between you and your little one, and in that moment, he connects the dots.

his voice softens, "is he... is he mine?"

the question sends a shiver down your spine and all of your carefully constructed defenses slowly crumble around you. there's no denying it now, the truth of what had happened was laid bare for both of you to see, innocent face staring up at the both of you. you stand in place, your feet rooted to the ground. you can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you realize the confession you're about to make. taking a deep breath, you finally relent.

a nod is all you can manage, the weight of the unspoken truth lingering in the room. billy takes a step closer to the little boy and you start. but his intentions are gentle as he reaches out to touch the top of his child's head, "i never knew." he murmurs, a mix of regret and wonder in his eyes.

you watch as billy kneels down to meet your son at eye level. the child looks up at him with innocent curiosity, and you can't help but feel a twinge of anger mixed in with the guilt that had been festering inside of you for so long. you had carried the weight of this secret for years, the fear of the townsfolk finding out and ostracizing you and your child from the community. but looking down at billy's face, you know that it's time to come clean.

"he's almost three now, billy," you say softly, the regret in your own voice almost palpable, "i didn't know how to find you...i didn't even know your name back then."

billy's expression softens as he turns to look at you, his eyes full of sorrow, "i understand," he says, his voice gentle. "m'sorry i wasn't there for you. for both o'you."

you nod, knowing his words are earnest, "you couldn't have known." you say quietly.

billy stands up and walks towards you, his arms open. his eyes are sad, but they hold a fierce longing that you can feel despite any attempt to deny it. his body radiates with a warmth that you can't help but feel drawn to, despite all of the fear and regret that fills your heart. you close your eyes, allowing yourself to be enveloped by his embrace, feeling his arms wrap around your body and pull you close.

"i'm sorry," he whispers into your ear. "god, m'so sorry for everything."

you nod, unable to find your voice. the storm outside rages on, but inside, the atmosphere is one of acceptance and forgiveness. you have both been through so much, but now, with the truth out in the open, it feels like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. you look up into billy's eyes, feeling a sense of peace wash over you.

"i forgave you a long time ago," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, "figure i can't keep hiding this little one away from his father. not now, wouldn't be right."

billy nods, his eyes now filled with hope, "i want to be a part of his life, if you'll let me," he says, his voice filled with a conviction that sends shivers down your spine.

you nod, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes, "of course," you say, your voice filled with a mixture of relief and sadness. "he deserves to have his daddy."

billy smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, cupping your cheeks, "what about his momma? seems like she's been gettin' on fine without a man around."

you hum, trying to ignore how easy your heart skips for him, "i reckon she'll make him grovel 'fore she'll be his sweetheart again."

your outlaw lets out a soft chuckle, "then i best get to grovelin', momma."

—reblog and like if you enjoyed, let ur local writer know you like her work !

[eightstarr]

baby — abby anderson.

summary: you're on patrol with abby and you make her squirt for the first time. you don't mean to make a habit out of distracting her, but in your defense, it's hard to focus on anything else when she looks so pretty all serious and focused on keeping you safe! and you are only so strong!

notes: i don't ever really write smut and it for sure shows but anyway here it is! what no one asked for! yet again! also excuse the surprising amount of feelings that are in this considering it's technically supposed to be porn? it wouldn't be me if someone didn't say i love you at least once tho

don't support the last of us franchise.

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・。.・゜✧・. ────

"Do you have a danger kink or something?" Abby asks, trying to sound cool, but her breathing's a little too staggered for that. You've got her backed up against a counter in a random kitchen of a lonesome, old house.

You smooth your tongue over her pulse and feel her shudder, your hands sneaking under her loose shirt to cup her waist, fingers squeezing adoringly. "Can't I have some fun with my girl?"

"Yeah, but—" Abby cuts herself off with a moan that's almost embarrassing considering how little you're touching her. "You did this last time, too. It's like you want to get caught."

"Caught by who?" You scoff, lifting your head to look at her, nodding once as a silent way to say up. She abides without thinking, her palms against the counter as she pushes herself up to sit on top of it. You're needy enough that you don't bother teasing, no 'good girl', no 'what would your soldiers think if they saw you be so obedient?'. You slot yourself between her thighs and continue your assault on her neck, fingers brushing over chest. "There's no one here, baby."

Baby is perhaps your biggest tell. You call her baby when she's been away for too long, when you've had a long day and show up at her door unannounced, in the morning when you've woken up from a dream that left you aching that you refuse to share the details of no matter how much she asks. 'Baby' means you're desperate. And 'baby' makes Abby pull you closer, because nothing makes her need you more than you being desperate for her.

She lifts herself up enough to let you pull her cargo pants and boxers off in one motion, and her heart skips a beat as you sink to your knees, guiding her legs over your shoulders. She used to fret about that, fret about a lot of things— but the admittedly ridiculous thought of accidentally squeezing you to death was up there. You'd made the stupid joke, as anyone would, at least I'd die happy. But when that didn't quite work besides earning a roll of her eyes and a slight smirk to her lips, you'd simply gotten back to work on making her cum on your mouth until she had no choice but to close her legs around you. And when she did, the movement mindless and needy, you groaned and left loving fingerprints on her thighs enough to reassure her that you liked it. Loved it. You loved a lot of things that Abby used to be insecure about.

The point is, she shouldn't be shocked to see you get down on your knees. It's not an entirely unfamiliar sight anymore, you've made sure of that. But even on the first time you fucked, with all the eagerness and want and sense of overdue of your affections, Abby doesn't think she saw you quite this ravenous.

It's like you're drunk on it, like you didn't have her in a way not too different from this just a mere two days ago. You eat her like you're fucking starving. Not pulling away to breathe, your nose brushing against her clit just right, moaning every time she bucks her hips or pulls your hair.

When Abby cums, she feels it in her chest. It sinks on top of her, a lovely heaviness, and then drops off of her all together and leaves her weightless. When you don't stop, she breathes out a chuckle that turns into a broken moan and buries her fingers back in your hair, half expecting you to pull away still. But time passes, drags on and speeds away much too fast all at once, and you don't.

She's saying your name, she thinks, or a sound as close to it as her mind will allow her to formulate. Abby knows she's loud by the way her noises are echoing through the empty room, mocking her. Before she can feel embarrassed by it, as if you can read her mind as easily as anything else, you drag your mouth down and fuck into her with your tongue in a way that she didn't know could feel so good before she met you. As quickly as it came, the shame is gone. Her lips part and her sounds grow louder still, spilling out of her carelessly. You want to reward her, you think somewhere in the back of your mind, want her to know how much you love it. It's a privilege to make Abby Anderson a mess, and it always makes you lightheaded with need.

You wrap your mouth around her clit and suck, and Abby lets go of your head for once to grab onto the counter and make a lame attempt to keep herself still, her knuckles white.

The pressure building in her low abdomen is familiar, but then your hand comes to lay flat against the exact spot and something about the weight of it makes the feeling twist into something different.

Abby gasps quick breaths, her eyebrows furrowed in vague confusion and enough pleasure to drown it out and soothe the meaningless pain of bumping her head back against the wall.

"I'm gonna cum," she warns, barely legible. And it's fine, she thinks, it's just like every other time. But then she feels it start to unravel, finally, and it's the same but also not at all. "Fuck, wait, I think— fuck!" she's panting, shaking and forcing her gaze to refocus just to watch the way your eyes fall closed, the way your eyebrows furrow. You moan against her and the sound is loud even while suffocated, even though you've somehow managed to push your face closer to her, press your tongue deeper. Abby feels it gush out of her and it's nothing like anything she's felt before, so good and so much and she doesn't want it to ever end, even as she blabbers, "Oh my God. Oh my fucking God, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

You don't seem to hear her, hungrier than she's ever seen you— you look fucking possessed. You pull back and the sight of you is dizzying, embarrassing, and it's the only thing Abby wants to look at for the rest of her life. Your lips are glistening, yes, but so is your chin, your cheeks, her cum dripping down your neck. Your eyes are dark, more pupils than anything else, and they swallow her whole. You haven't pulled back too far, your breath still hot against her, but it's enough that you can replace your mouth with your fingers and rub on her clit. What's left in her comes out in soft spurtz, dripping onto the floor, and you couldn't tear your eyes away if you tried.

But Abby doesn't know that, doesn't know what you're thinking at all. You're surprised, but is it in a bad way? It must be. Are you disgusted? You're so covered in her that it feels like you'll never be able to wash it off, and Abby can't read your mind like you do hers, so she doesn't know that the thought thrills you, that your heart is fucking pounding in your chest, that your underwear is utterly and completely fucking ruined. You lick your lips and swipe your chin with the back of your hand, absentminded. Abby's thinking, begging, say something.

"Holy fuck," is all you can manage, a quiet mutter, breathless. Your fingers haven't stopped rubbing, but a whine and an especially forceful quiver of her legs makes you blink and you stop like you've just come out of a trance, your hand moving instantly to soothe up and down her thigh.

"I'm sorry," Abby repeats, and then you look at her face like you've just remembered it's there.

Look up at her like she's fucking crazy, like she's grown a second head, mumbling, "What?"

"I didn't— I tried to warn you," she says, even though she doesn't know that she could've. It felt so foreign, she wouldn't have known how to explain it, really.

You lower her trembling thighs from your shoulders carefully, not before pressing a kiss against each one, and then you stand up. Abby wonders if this is where you'll tell her you didn't like that, where you'll help her put her clothes back on and then you'll promise each other to never speak of it again. Instead, your eyes grow impossibly gentle, impossibly loving, and you tuck yourself closer between her legs. The hem of your jeans brushes against her core and she gasps, but doesn't move away. "Baby," you call softly, pecking her lips. "Has this never happened to you before?"

Abby feels a little like she's suffocating, the breeze coming in through the window you'd opened when you first came in not enough to soothe her anymore. But you brush your knuckles over the faint scar on her cheekbone and her shoulders grow limp, her body relaxing except for where she's shaking— fuck, she is still fucking shaking. She remembers your question and shakes her head.

You don't show her how embarrassingly proud that makes you, that you made that happen before anyone else did, because it's not the time. You tuck the feeling in your pocket for later and hum, barely resisting the urge to kiss her, to get back on your knees until they're bruised and make her cum in whatever form she'll give you all over again. "Did it feel good?" You ask, not mocking, but curious.

If she wasn't so embarrassed, Abby would've laughed. It is very possible, and the thought does nothing to ease her shame, that nothing has ever felt so good. But admitting that feels like too much, so instead she whispers, "Yeah."

You smile, happy, genuinely relieved. "Then what are you saying sorry for?" You ask, kissing her again before you can help it. "That's my fucking job. I want you to feel good."

The words alleviate like water to a small fire, and Abby feels silly for having forgotten that it's you who she's with. She's had the thought before, but it suddenly becomes more present than ever, practically breathing down her neck— that she wants to keep you forever. Keep is maybe a bad word for it. She wants to be around you forever, for as long as you'll let her, wants to move into your shitty apartment and make you breakfast and sleep every night in your cropped shirts that fit slightly too tight and make her look ridiculous. She ought to say she loves you more often, she thinks. You say it nearly every time you see her now, like the words have been bubbling inside you for too long and now they can't be kept away. It's a fairly fresh relationship, but the feelings are ancient for both of you, and it shows.

"I love you," Abby sighs, and presses her lips against yours before you can say it back. It's sloppy, she's barely starting to come down from her high, but you don't complain. You kiss her with vigor, like you're trying to spell it out with your tongue, I love you. When you pull apart, her eyes fall from your eyes to your chest and she winces, eyes squeezing shut as her forehead falls on your shoulder.

"What?" You ask, a hand coming to cradle the back of her head immediately, without thought.

"Your shirt," she mumbles against you. You glance down and let out a soft oh. The white fabric of your tank top is soaked, mostly near the neckline, sticking to your skin. You hadn't noticed. Abby lifts her head to look at you, freckled face flushed red, so pretty that you forget about the mess she made of you all over again. "You have to change. We can't go back with you looking like that," she says— or begs, more like.

"I didn't bring anything else with me," you tell her, humming appreciatively as you look back down at your chest, grinning. "Besides, this is my favorite shirt now."

Abby groans, the kind of whiney, timid sound that you could've never imagined her making before you become her girlfriend. The kind of sound that makes you weak in the fucking knees, needy and cotton-mouthed. "It's not funny," she hides her face in her hands and huffs, "'S embarrassing."

You're chuckling, but biting into your lip to stifle it when she lowers her head further down, chin against her chest. With careful touch, you wrap your fingers around her wrists and guide her hands away from her face, leaning in to kiss her cheek. Her skin is hot beneath your lips, and you hum at the feeling of it. She's usually so cold, your Abby, freezing fingers sneaking under your shirt at night and making you shudder. It's a pleasure to make her warm, an honor to see her shy. You love her so much it tugs at you, a constant reminder.

"You're a dream, Abby. Fucking perfect," you say, as clearly as you can while dragging your lips down her neck. She's the hottest thing you've ever laid eyes on, so beautiful that sometimes you can't sleep, too excited that she's there next to you to ever close your eyes. And you need her to know, but you're not really one with words, so all that comes out is, "Nearly made me cum in my fucking pants, you know that?"

Abby moans. Her breath gets caught in her throat as you suck marks into her neck and she finds that she couldn't care less right now, about the evidence that'll be left on her skin or your stupid wet shirt. She guides your face up with a hand on the back of your neck, and kisses her flavor off your lips until she can't anymore, until her lungs burn and her lips tingle. Your voice echoes in her head. Nearly made me cum in my fucking pants. Nearly, she thinks. That doesn't sound very fair.

Thick fingers make quick work of your zipper, trailing over your lower tummy and sneaking under your underwear. She's a little fast, but you've never minded. Sometimes she'll notice and force herself to slow down, to savor, but most of the time her mind doesn't let her catch up to it. Like now. She can't worry about looking clumsy or overly-enthusiastic, because she just needs to feel you. Because she wants to check that you weren't lying, that she could've made you cum without ever touching you— and it's there, the overwhelming fucking truth of it soaking her hand. You gasp at the contact, and Abby's thighs squeeze you in place, as if you'd ever leave. "Jesus Christ," she pants. She finds herself saying it a lot lately. Jesus Christ. Oh my fucking God. Calling upon figures she doesn't believe in, delusional enough to think for a second that they'll bring some kind of comfort, release her of her sins.

You're so wet that it doesn't take more than a minute for her confidence to slowly grow back, so wet that it doesn't take more than two to make you cum. It's the fastest she's ever seen you fall apart, and it wouldn't be Abby if her immediate thought (right after that was so fucking hot) wasn't bet I can make it quicker. Her ego fizzles in her chest, warm and euphoric. Abby thinks she doesn't remember the last time she felt as proud about something as she does every time she makes you feel good. Isaac's occasional pat on her shoulder and mutter of 'good job' is laughable in comparison, as is the high of working herself till she's covered head to toe in sweat at the gym, as is everything else.

It might be the honeymoon phase the movies talk about. You slowly catch your breath and raise your head from her shoulder to look at her with the same adoration as you did when she kissed you for the first time, and Abby has a hard time believing that the feeling will ever go away. Movies get a lot of things wrong, anyway.

She's walking slower than usual on your way back home, her steps sluggish, and you're sweet enough to only make fun of her for it a little bit. One comment here and there, earning a scoff when you lean closer and offer to carry her bride style, a badly stifled laugh when you hum thoughtfully and wonder out loud about what Owen must be doing right now.

Her fingers are interlaced with yours and normally she would've let go by now, a little sheepish to show that much vulnerability in front of the people who are supposed to respect her, but the thought doesn't even cross her mind. You crack another stupid joke and she giggles like she did when she was a kid, silly and sweet, tugging your hand to her lips to kiss the back of it.

Manny looks you up and down as soon as you cross the gates, dark eyebrows raised. "The fuck happened to you?" He asks. You look at him with a confused frown and wait for him to clarify, "You're wet."

Abby's stiff as a board where she stands next to you, her quick blinking the only evidence that she hasn't actually been frozen in place by some kind of magic spell.

You're much more casual. "It's fucking hot. I poured some water on myself to cool off."

Manny hums. He's seen you do it before, maybe that's why he doesn't question it. He does note, though, the suspicious way in which Abby walks silently and swiftly past him with her eyes pointedly on the floor. Her hand is tight around yours still, and you follow because— well, of course you do.

[storydays]

Floyd X Male!Country! Pop! Troll

After coming back from the dead (a frightening experience to be honest,) while resting in Rhonda on the way to Pop Village, something sparkled in Floyd's peripheral vision. Glancing down, he looked at the ring on his hand. He smiled softly, thinking of the one who gave it to him.

"Woah, bro! That's some nice drip! Where'd you get it from?" Clay asked, flopping down next to the magenta haired Troll, catching the rest of the group's attention.

"I got it from someone special." Everyone ooh'ed seeing his light purple blush cover his cheeks and ears.Noticing where they were, he suddenly got a burst of energy. "Wait! We need to make a stop." Tiny Diamond yelped, as Floyd took a hard turn towards Lonesome Flats, aka the home of the Country Trolls.

As soon as they arrived at the entrance of Lonesome Flats, Floyd hopped out of Rhonda towards Delta Dawn's office, ignoring the calls of his brothers to slow down and wait.

He was actually stopped by the Sheriff herself, demanding to know where in the seven hells he'd been.

Floyd cut her off her, looking worried. "Where's (Y/N)?"

The Mayor raised a perfect eyebrow before gesturing to an (h/c) male Troll, wearing a flannel around his waist, blue jeans, and a big white hat resting next him who was sitting under a nearby tree, eyes focused on the journal in his lap, headphones over his ears, a grin on his lips.

Floyd smiled before walking over to the mysterious Troll. He sat next across from them, and took tapped his shoulder.

The Troll smiled looking up before freezing, eyes wide. He slowly took his headphones off, still wide eyed.

"Hey, beau."

"SUGARCUBE!" The other troll screamed, tackling Floyd into a great big hug, into the sun, before setting Floyd down, and moving quickly as he searched him for any injuries, while the sensitive Troll laughed, letting him fret over him.

"What is happening?" John Dory, asked the question they were all wondering.

Delta laughed softly, shaking her head, watching the two before turning to the group to talk to Poppy and Branch.

"(Y/N)...(Y/N)? Beau! I'm okay.....now. My brothers saved me." Floyd gestured to the group, holding (Y/N)'s hand, and leading him over to the others.

"Guys, this is (Y/N)....my fiance." Floyd smiled as (Y/N) waved shyly. For such an energetic Troll, he was still pretty shy.

"Your fiance?!" Everyone gasped looking at (Y/N), who upon closer inspection, was wearing a ring matching Floyd's.

"Yep! Now let me see if I remember whose who..."

----------------------------LINEBREAK------------------------------------

You and Floyd have been friends since he'd stumbled into Lonesome Flats.

You are the town's architect, and try to find new ways to make the town safe and functional for everyone, while leaving space for the town's weekly square dancing.

You are the mix of a country troll (Mama) and a pop Troll (Daddy) and strangely enough are one of the shyest Trolls in Lonesome Flats but everyone knows you and is super kind.

Lonesome Flats is the type of place where everyone knows everyone, so....

Floyd calls you Beau as a nickname bc your daddy ;) and you call him Sugarcube bc this dude has a serious sweet tooth and is incredibly sensitive.

@vacayisland

[caitchercatlady]

Not Having a Good Time

-Octavinelle Version

Azul Ashengrotto

As you drag your feet down the halls, you can hear the Leech twins advertising the Monstro Lounge's weekend discounts. This is quite the bad timing because the moment they see your sourpuss face, they make you an example target for bringing in business. Begrudgingly, you follow them to the Octavinelle Dorm, which was already busy enough, the type of place you'd rather not be. You take a booth by your lonesome, wishing you were somewhere else, until the dorm's Housewarden, arrives, making his rounds around the Lounge.

"So the rumor was true. You elate me by coming this evening. Now, sing me your troubles, and in return, I will make you the best offer of the night."

You doubt Azul's statement, but if there was any good time to rant, it was now, where the Headmage couldn't hear. As you give him the lay down, Azul takes in every word with interest. Once you finish ranting about schoolwork and the Leech twins' antics, Azul makes the most unbelievable offer: you will receive anything you want for no cost at all.

You take it to see if Azul's being honest, and much to your surprise, your order comes in without a bill. You indulge in the meal, and once finished, you so happened to fall asleep in peace. Azul comes back to the booth to check on you, and his heart happens to melt at the sight of you. Without wanting to to disturb you, he lays his Housewarden uniform trench coat on top of you as a blanket. No need to fret about when you wake back up; Azul will take care of everything.

Jade Leech

You feel bad for not wanting to keep your promise on helping Jade out with his mushroom research, but a promise is a promise. You feel better that you two don't speak for the first few minutes as you are searching for shrooms about campus. This quiet search ends up as tiring because as soon as you find a tree, a chunk of your memory is gone. You wake up again to see Jade laying right next to you, taking in the peace and quiet. Guilt immediately rushes through your body and you apologize profusely. However, you're surprised at Jade's response:

"Be still, Yuu. No apologies are required here. I happen to quite enjoy the quiet out here. Nevertheless, if you feel the need to explain, I'll be more than interested to listen."

So you explain your stressful, sleepless days due to studying and helping others during the week. As Jade promised, he keeps his focus onto you until you grow tired from talking. You apologize again as you unconsciously fall asleep again under the tree. Finding this cute, Jade doesn't mind and he also takes a nap with you under the tree, hoping this would help you after a long busy week of work.

Floyd Leech

Floyd notices that you haven't been your usual self today. As someone who experiences mood switches on the daily, he believes he has the best idea to help fix your energy tank. He takes you to the lake, though you were still not in the mood for anything, but this is Floyd we're talking about. He doesn't seem to take no for an answer. As you hesitate, Floyd gives you an encouraging push into the water. He jumps in after you to show you the proper way to relax like a merfolk.

"Be with the water. Close your eyes and think of nothing."

Whatever that was supposed to mean, you follow those instructions unless you wanted Floyd to constrict you to understand. To your incredibility, you're no longer floating on water, but you're resting on a cloud instead. Floyd joins you in the float from the opposite direction just in case you relax a little too comfortably. It's too bad that humans shrimp up too quickly in water or else you would've enjoyed this experience forever.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Okay, since you’re rereading the books and your up for this request, can I request headcanons with the same hades reader you wrote earlier where she meets Nico di angolo when he arrives to camp and from the moment they met, they hit it of instantly and Nico clings to the reader his entire time there, and even hangs out with Luke cause Luke is the readers bf?

This was long as shit as I got carried away…oops. Not so much on Luke and Nico spending time together but more so reader and Luke talking about Nico.

The moment Nico was brought to camp, a wide eyed boy who was so full of awe and wonder and excitement, you just knew how special he was and you couldn’t help but feel a familial sense when it came to the boy.

Almost as if you knew him your entire life when in reality this was your first ever meeting the boy, but something deep down told you that you would do anything to keep this boy safe and happy for as long as possible before it would be taken away from him; after all life as a Demi-god wasn’t all glory and valour and you all had to learn that rather ruthless lesson one way or another…oftentimes prematurely.

Then again, you chalked this feeling down to you being protective towards the younger Demi-gods that entered camp but this feeling was a lot stronger then that, a hell of a lot in the sense that a older sibling would fret over their younger siblings…but Nico wasn’t your sibling…well not that you were aware of seeing as he was still unclaimed but you guessed being a child of the big three had made you envious of what children of other gods had; family. You were alone and have been alone for quite a while…

Luke, your beloved boyfriend, was able to fill that void for a while, but sooner or later the realisation of just how lonesome you have been would come to consume your every thought.

Mythomagic. You hadn’t heard of that game for quite some time but you had a deck of Mythomagic cards locked within a box, underneath one of the floorboards inside your windowless cabin. Why? They had become so severely damaged and worn with time that you were scared that if you were to pick one up, it would crumple to dust within your palm. Plus it was a sentimental gift from your mother before she…never mind.

The memory was still too painful for you to recollect.

So when you saw Nico fiddling with a Dionysus card -the weakest card in the card game- between his fingers out of nervous habit, you almost didn’t recognise yourself speaking until Nico’s dark eyes looked directly at you with excitement.

‘A Dionysus card, haven’t met anyone who played Mythomagic that genuinely liked that card, you like Mythomagic kid?’ You had asked.

‘Do you?!’ Nico exclaimed as his smile matched his dark obsidian eyes in how brightly they shined.

‘Does Hades have 4000 attack power, 5000 if the opponent attacks first?’ You quickly corrected your self as Nico moved to sit next to you under the tree. ‘Who’s your favourite?’ You added, wanting the lad to feel at ease with you despite what everyone else might’ve told him about you in terms of unapproachableness.

‘Dionysus obviously!’ Nico replied, showing you his card as if to emphasise his point. ‘People think he’s not all that good but I think his powers are pretty cool and to find out that he’s real?! Even cooler!’ He adds on as he looks down at the card as if he was debating whether or not he was going to ask Mr D to sign it. However if Nico was the type of player that you assumed him to be, he wouldn’t dare tempt the idea. ‘Who’s yours?’

‘Hades.’ You said point blankly before continuing, ‘and it’s not because he’s my father.’

‘Hades is your father?!’ - Nico near enough shouted to ear you both the eyes of a couple of campers but you shot them a deadpan glare and they were quick to go back to whatever it was that they were doing beforehand. You softened your face as you looked back at Nico and answered his question. ‘Yeah, he is. He’s not as bad as people make him out to be, he doesn’t get in other people’s business like some gods and goddesses, considering he’s got his own dealings that take presidency but he’s more accommodating then most seeing as I’ve visited him on multiple occasions.’ You finished, shrugging your shoulders, you didn’t want to add on the fact that he had even gifted you Dvir, a hellhound, just yet. In due time you would but, some people would consider that too much.

‘Wow, you’re so cool.’ Right then and there you decided that you would have Nico’s back no matter what, for he was the only one besides Luke that didn’t fear you for your father and by god was it the most reliving thing ever!

You became someone Nico felt comfortable being his true self with, and would even try to sneak into the Hades cabin whenever he needed you to give him comfort and reassure him that you wouldn’t leave him for the Hunters Of Artemis like Bianca did; despite it being against the rules and all but it’s not like you didn’t do the exact same thing with Luke whenever you needed his presence to sooth and put your mind at ease.

He even tried to sit next to you during dinner time at the pavilion, another camp rule he had broken in order to be by your side, but no one dared to speak up upon it and instead bite their tongues, seeing as you and Luke were equally challenging anyone to speak about this to Mr D or Chiron but, nobody dared to do so. Meanwhile Nico was completely obvious to it all and was showing you all of his Mythomagic figures, Mythomagic expansion packs and bestowing every last drop of his knowledge of the card game onto you, all the while you were storing it within your own head as though it was something you were going to have to use later on.

No matter where you went, Nico wasn’t far behind following you like a lost puppy. Needless to say that whenever anyone saw Nico on his own, they knew better then to try anything for you were often lurking within the shadows nearby, watching over the boy with such a fierce protectiveness whilst giving him his freedom to better aquatint himself with camp. When it came to Nico, it seemed as though you became a complete different person, you didn’t know why but all you knew was that you weren’t going to let anything harm Nico while you were able to do something about it.

‘Doesn’t it bother you? Having him cling onto you all the time?’ One brave camper asked once and in all honesty? You didn’t care that he clung to you do suffocatingly. If anything you were glad that he choice you to be the one he relies on for anything and everything, it made you feel an whole assortment of things, the main one being happy knowing that someone openly sought you out because they viewed you as someone who’s opinions are worth listening and taking head to.

Nico felt safer with you than he ever did elsewhere, which was saying something considering he was within a camp built to protect people like him but he felt his most safest with you; Someone whom he quickly began to form an attachment towards and would oftentimes find himself clinging to your side like a second shadow. So much so that Luke would playfully tease you about it whenever he saw you both.

When in actuality Luke loved the fact that Nico was so attached to you. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that even with him by your side you still felt like you were alone, and could only hope that Nico would be the one to fill in that void within your heart completely. He was also happy for Nico for having you to fall back on because there was no one in camp that he would have to watch his back then yourself.

‘He’s asleep.’ You mused, looking at Nico, who fell asleep against Luke’s shoulder and was snoring softly.

‘He’s a good kid.’ Luke replied, ruffling Nico’s dark hair as a smile appeared on the younger boys face as he readjusted himself before falling still. Still like the dead Luke once playfully commented.

‘He really is.’ You said aloud, grasping Nico’s hand upon watching it reach out for you, squeezing it in hopes of showing him that you were with him. Luke pressed a kiss to your forehead as he saw the variety of emotions that flashed through your eyes as you kept watch over the sleeping boy. ‘You’re a good influence on him babe, don’t doubt yourself, the boy practically idolises you.’ He tried reassuring you but still the thoughts wouldn’t let up.

‘What if there’ll be a time where I can’t reach him, where I can’t save him from himself and he’ll resent me for it.’ You asked, needing Luke’s guidance more than ever in your time of uncertainty. Luke pondered this for a bit before finally responding. ‘There won’t be a time where Nico would ever resent you and even if that did ever happen, I just know that he would hate himself even more for pushing the one person who had his back and cared for him like their own flesh and blood.’ He then squeezed your thigh reassuringly. ‘That and you’d dive into the depths of the labyrinth to bring him back no matter what and he knows that better than anybody that you’d endanger yourself just to save him, even from himself.’

He was right. You knew he was right. You would wholeheartedly throw yourself into harms way if it meant Nico came out unscathed and that terrified you and Luke could see this. ‘So don’t doubt yourself because if you doubt yourself then Nico will doubt himself by extension. For if the person he admires doubts themself then he would feel like he should too.’ Luke then rests his forehead against yours, his eyes staring deeply into yours. ‘I know you can guide him down the right path, be the kind of person you needed when you were in his situation, be the person you know you’d feel safe with, be his protector because I know you can. He needs you.’ He finished.

You looked down at the peacefully sleeping Nico before looking back up at Luke with a look of determination. ‘I promise to protect him and help him in whatever he may need.’

Like smirks. ‘That’s my baby.’

[visceravalentines]

cold blue summer

a slasher movie AU for The Passenger (2023)

Elliot Sheppard, a third-grade teacher at Central Elementary, abused children for many years before being exposed and taking his own life. Now, twenty years later, the school is being demolished, and something has awakened.... Strap in for the cruelest summer on record.

An homage to classic slasher movies with a summer romance flair.

Read the intro below and read the first chapter (and the rest as it updates this summer) on ao3! Mind the tags--suicide, implied/referenced child abuse, graphic depictions of violence.

School lets out early that year.  

The kids don’t question it, no matter how many times they catch the adults cutting conversations short when they walk in the room.  You don’t look too hard at a gift like that, four extra days of blue sky and no schedule.  

The school makes a statement that says everything and nothing, tries to keep the details vague, but word spreads anyway like kudzu.  The parents sit and fret, cancel camps, extend family vacations.  Stand in the hallways late at night and peer through cracked bedroom doors and swallow their dread down whole and kicking.  Read statistics.  Count their blessings.  

It’s a weird summer, gets off on a weird foot, like trying to hopscotch wrong-foot-forward.  

It’s early Monday morning, too early for teachers to arrive yet.  The schedule change allows extra time to tear down posters, enter the final few grades.  Nobody’s in a rush, though, to sit alone in the empty classrooms.  To sit in the silence of that building and let imagination run wild.  To be there, in the place where it happened.  In proximity to the unthinkable, guilty by association.  By ignorance.  By inaction.  

Elliot Sheppard has been missing for three days.  

The playground for the younger grades sits on the east side of the school at the base of the hill.  The kids call it the Little Toy, relative to the Big Toy, which is on the other side of the building and reserved for the older grades.  Weeds have already started their seasonal conquest, bursting up at the edge of the wood chips and in the shade of the slide.  The foursquare courts need repainting.  A kickball sits half-deflated in the grass at the bottom of the hill.  

The lonesome call of a mourning dove trembles over the dew.  The sun stretches its arms over the lowlands, rosy and resplendent.  In the pale dawn light, blood drips black onto the wood chips.  The gun sits mere inches from the thick-fingered hand that dropped it.  Very little of the man remains above the bridge of his nose, mouth rent asunder, a tooth fairy’s bounty.  Flies already swarm around the pale blue sinkholes of his eyes.  

He will be found in less than an hour by the secretary who bid him good morning every day since she started at Central.  The police will identify him immediately and do their damnedest to keep these details out of the media too, in the name of protecting privacy, protecting dignity.  In an effort to shelter the soft and innocent from the uglier parts of life.  

This time, at least, they might succeed.  

-

Three miles away and twenty years later, Benson Rousseau jolts awake with a scream in his throat.  

[munchmemes]

hozier lyrics, hozier (expanded edition)

❛  i should've worshipped them sooner. ❜

❛  we were born sick. ❜

❛  the only heaven i'll be sent to is when i'm alone with you. ❜

❛  i'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. ❜

❛  good god, let me give you my life. ❜

❛  there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin. ❜

❛  it's toying somewhere between love and abuse. ❜

❛  no more alone or myself i could be. ❜

❛  [i/you] lurched like a stray to the arms that were open. ❜

❛  i lay my heart down with the rest at [your/their] feet. ❜

❛  i wonder if it's better now having survived. ❜

❛  i'm so tired trying to see from behind the red in my eyes. ❜

❛  no better version of me i could pretend to be tonight. ❜

❛  [they/you] found me just in time. ❜

❛  cause with my mid-youth crisis all said and done, i need to be youthfully felt cause i never felt young. ❜

❛  it'd be great to find a place we could escape sometimes. ❜

❛  we tried the world and it wasn't for us. ❜

❛  you knew who i was with every step that i ran to you. ❜

❛  would things be easier if there was a right way? ❜

❛  honey, there is no right way. ❜

❛  i fall in love just a little bit every day with someone new. ❜

❛  there's an art to life's distractions. ❜

❛  love with every stranger, the stranger the better. ❜

❛  all i've ever done is hide. ❜

❛  when you kill the lights and kiss my eyes, i feel ike a person for a moment of my life. ❜

❛  but you don't know what the hell you put me through. ❜

❛  it feels good to be alone with you. ❜

❛  there are questions i can't ask. ❜

❛  now, at last, the worst is over. ❜

❛  i know that you hate this place. ❜

❛  there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you, don't you agree? ❜

❛  there's something lonesome about you, something so wholesome about you. ❜

❛  innocence died screaming. ask me, i should know. ❜

❛  there's something broken about this but i might be hoping about this. ❜

❛  we'll lay here for years or for hours, your hand in my hand. so still and discreet. ❜

❛  i'd be home with you. ❜

❛  any way to distract and sedate. ❜

❛  i'm somewhere outside my life. i keep scratching but somehow i can't get in. ❜

❛  don't you stand there watching me, won't you? ❜

❛  don't you join in, you're supposed to drag me away from it. ❜

❛  i'm so full of love, i could barely eat. ❜

❛  [they/you] are sweet as can be. [they/you] give me toothaches just from kissing me. ❜

❛  no grave can hold my body down, i'll crawl home to [them/you]. ❜

❛  you never asked me once about the wrong i did. ❜

❛  [you/they] would never fret none about what my hands and my body done. ❜

❛  if the lord don't forgive me, i'd still have you and you would have me. ❜

❛  why were you digging? what did you bury? ❜

❛  i will not ask you where you came from. i will not ask and neither should you. ❜

❛  just put your sweet lips on my lips. we should just kiss like real people do. ❜

❛  i know that look, eyes always seeking. ❜

❛  i will not ask you why you were creeping. in some sad way, i already know. ❜

❛  you know better than to smile at me like that. ❜

❛  i know who i am when i'm alone. ❜

❛  you don't understand. you should never know how easy you are to need. ❜

❛  don't let me in with no intention to keep me. ❜

❛  it can't be unlearned. i've known the warmth of your doorways. ❜

❛  i'll find my way back to you. ❜

❛  my heart is heavy with the hate of some other man's beliefs. ❜

❛  screaming the name of a foreigner's good is the purest expression of grief. ❜

❛  i feel no control of my body. i feel no safety in [your/their] arms. ❜

❛  all that i've been taught and every word i've got is foreign to me. ❜

❛  it looks ugly but it's clean. ❜

❛  your fight and fury is fiery. ❜

❛  it's worth it, it's divine. i have this some of the time. ❜

❛  you called my name til the fever broke. ❜

❛  i heard a scream in the woods somewhere. ❜

❛  i turned and ran to save a life i didn't have. ❜

❛  i need you to run to me. run to me! ❜

❛  when i was a child, i heard voices. some would sing and some would scream. ❜

❛  don't you ever tame your demons but always keep them on a leash. ❜

❛  you've done me wrong for a long, long time. ❜

❛  after all you've done, i never changed my mind. ❜

❛  please, try to love me. ❜

❛  my love will never die. ❜

[brujahinaskirt]

You know, when it really comes down to it, the main thing that tears me to pieces about Arthur & John is encapsulated so nicely in the trope of the Lonesome Cowboy.

RDR2's storytelling is particularly masterful as it shows us that everyone is the mythic Lonesome Cowboy... but at the same time, I believe it manages to quietly suggest there is one true Lonesome Cowboy of the series.

And it ain't Arthur Morgan.

DEEPLY overwritten explanation below!

On the surface, Arthur is clearly set up by RDR2 to be our Lonesome Cowboy. He even sings the song. But is he really? Really, truly? Or is Arthur's brand of lonesomeness a clever model to help us, through comparison and contrast, begin to notice and understand another, deeper type of loneliness?

Arthur thinks he's unlovable and alone because he lacks one specific type of love, romantic domesticity, which he has dreamed throughout his life and consistently been denied. But though his pain is genuine, the idea that Arthur is alone and unloved is almost laughable. R* shows us every single game day that Arthur is surrounded by people who love him, live with him, and depend upon him.

But that's the great irony of the RDR Lonesome Cowboy, right? Arthur feels lonely and believes he is alone because he is a "bad man" and nonbeliever whom "no one will have" (not even God, and he remains true to his atheism through the bitter end [and thank god for that honestly because the last thing I needed was a Come to Jesus cowboy game...]).

But the inverse is true, and his depression is lying to him; Arthur is almost never alone and pretty much everyone in his family unit actively enjoys his company and wants him around. And yes, many of these people are damaged and have trouble communicating that (though fewer than you'd think). And no, it isn't the same as getting married to one person and raising a family with them for the rest of your life. But lonesome? As in, emotionally and/or physically alone?

Nah! Come on, man! Not even close.

Arthur is more than just loved and needed: he's actually understood by those he chooses to let in, because Arthur is definitely capable of telling his closest confidants how he feels and what is lurking in his heart. We see him do this many times. Sometimes with surprising ease and honesty.

When Arthur is physically alone in RDR2, he's wandering at the player's command, and if he wanders for too long, he's eventually retrieved & lambasted by the people at camp who quite openly/forcefully tell him they missed him and worried about him. Even Low Honor Arthur is a popular man at camp, in his own way, the support beam of his strange family (though LH Arthur is more likely to selectively deny that support, or to provide that support with the caveat of verbal cruelty).

A messy run-down of some obvious examples to illustrate my point:

Despite Dutch's deterioration and manipulations, Dutch and Hosea openly dote on him and relish telling embarrassing family stories about their Big Man Old Guard son to each other. Hosea especially frets about and tries to care for Arthur, mostly physically but sometimes emotionally as well. Susan can be abrasive at best, but she also clearly favors Arthur, thinks often about his well-being, and is one of the primary worriers when he's away from camp for too long.

Abigail and Jack completely rely on Arthur for a significant period of their lives, and though Abigail struggles greatly with showing affection & vulnerability, I would argue her primary and most extraordinary mode of care and affection for Arthur is allowing him to help her raise her son. Sure, she needs the help... but Arthur needs the nuclear family experience of being heavily relied on, too, and Abigail makes it clear she understands that about him better than anybody else. (I'd go on to argue that being relied on in a family way is essential for Arthur's self-esteem and is how he can continue to function despite the massive clash between his true nature and his violent lifestyle, for which he constantly berates himself. But that's neither here nor there...)

The Girls (Tilly, Mary-Beth, Karen) actively worry about his mental health and invite him to share his burdens with them, comfort him (each in their own unique way), play games, dance, etc. They do this for Arthur we don't see them do for anyone else in camp (apart from each other, which leads me to believe Arthur is sort of an honorary member of The Girls, though I won't get too much into that here).

Sadie: "Aside from my [BELOVED HUSBAND AND SOUL MATE] Jake, you're the best man I've known."

Though Arthur seems more likely to trust & befriend women/non-masc men, he has masc men friends & confidants too, and most of the men at camp seem to rank Arthur as somehow more reliable than other members. Charles very obviously loves Arthur & vice versa to the point where I tried to pick one demonstrative example and couldn't figure out where to begin. Uncle is a pain in Arthur's ass, but when shit hits the fan, he knows (and tells him) that Arthur is the best man of them all. Lenny, while young, enjoys Arthur's company (though I would argue Arthur feels more strongly about Lenny than the inverse due to Arthur's tendency to protectively fuss over young people). Hell, Sean constantly tells Arthur, word for word, "I love ya, Arthur Morgan!!! I really do!!! I love ya!!!!" He's being goofy, but he's not joking! He said that!

And that's just a surface-level sampling of gang members. These threads run much, much deeper and we could spend essays analyzing each one, but my god this has gone on too long already.

One could argue that Arthur's story aloneness is at the moment of his death, but I can't quite agree. With Save John + High Honor Arthur path especially, I would argue Arthur has never been less emotionally (even spiritually) alone than when he chose to change the very nature of his death from a random consequence of his hard life to an act of love that gives his surviving core family (John, Abigail, Jack) a chance at happiness. In less peaceful endgame scenarios, Arthur might not actually die alone, or even have time to linger on his approaching departure from the world.

So I posit that Arthur is not, was never the Lonesome Cowboy. Arthur is loved as much as he loves others.

I posit that the true Lonesome Cowboy of RDR is John.

John Marston, who on the surface has everything Arthur ever wanted... but who, due to the nature of his heart and what he's seen, cannot bring himself to fully open up in a way that enables him to be truly understood and embraced by anyone, not even the person he comes to love most in the world (Abigail). There's a reason the epilogue feels so shocking and lonely, and while I do think Rockstar could have done a better job on the transitional cinematics from playing as Arthur to playing as John, that crushing loneliness and sense of discomfort and incompleteness is vital.

It feels awful. It feels like we just lost a limb and were thrown back into everyday life with no fanfare, no true honorable sendoff, no closure, no greater understanding of the world, no peace or contentment. And it feels that way because that discordant, jarring dis-allowance of grief is the ONLY mechanism that helps us feel how John must feel now. Because unlike Arthur, John cannot express or unfold or understand his own pain and loneliness. Not to us, the player, and not even to himself. He never grieves.

Of course, when Sadie and Micah drift back into his life, John snaps. He's never grieved! He's been emotionally alone through all of that, even when he has his family and friends, because he can't open up and let them in! He risks destroying his family in a way that would have undoubtedly caused Arthur extreme horror and anger because John's family is not and has never been a cure for John's loneliness, even though John truly loves them more than anything at the end.

John can't express it, so it's these lyrics themselves that serve as the fount of his grief: I ain't got no brother. No wonder Abigail has her own quiet epilogue rendition of this song (and she, too, is a profoundly Lonesome Cowboy in her way, just like Karen, Hosea, Javier, Jack, etc....). Once Arthur is gone from the world, so too is the only person who knew this deeply damaged kid well enough from his wild childhood to really even hope to see into John's heart.

tl;dr: Arthur thinks he's the legendary Lonesome Cowboy, but he's not. He's just lonely, not alone. In reality, the character who is fundamentally alone, truly lonesome, has always been John.

[scara-hater]

love your cuddles n plushies 😭😭 could I request one with zhongli, dottore, pantalone, and scara? (Fatui era) love your writing ❤️❤️

YESYESYES, these are all different lengths, and I feel these are rushed, apologies for the inconsistency!

Not proofread!

Pt.1 - pt.2

Cuddles and plushies pt.3

--

Zhongli

You like him, he’s cool, so you make a keychain companion to take on your travels. Working in trade gets really lonesome, and missing your friend is the worst feeling because there’s no vibrancy in colour when apart from him.

It’s likely been about a month since you left Liyue, and you are buzzing with excitement when the city comes to view.

Rushing to your house to rid of any dirt during days of venture, and changing into your normal attire, you grab a bag of trinkets and make your way to Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. Zhongli seems to enjoy hearing you talk about each item, so it’s expected you visit upon arrival.

Barging through the door to greet the seated man, you smile while plopping your bag unto the table to begin your stories.

But being so lost in your memories, you miss him pick something from the pile. “How peculiar.” “now just where did you find this?”

Looking up, you see his gloved hand holding the keychain. “WAAH-“ forcefully standing, you smack it from his grasp, and shove it away. Poor man hadn’t had the time to process what just happened before you begin to scramble for an explanation, “Ha! I mean- I didn’t! It was- you- umm..”

then he understood, “y/n, darling.” You freeze, “yes…?” Leaning forward with his chin resting on folded hands, he looks you straight in the eyes, “did you make it. Is it yours?”

Your face is burned pink, and how intently he’s staring at you certainly isn’t helping. frantically you shove everything back into your bag, spinning to look at him one last time before lying right in his face, “ I have absolutely no idea what that is or how it got there! It is a mystery only the archons have an answer to I suppose!”

He watches as you speed walk out of the building. But he can’t help but wonder, If you don’t know where it came from, why did you take it when you left?

A smiled graced Zhongli’s face, why he must tell you that he feels the same.

Pantalone

This mf would leave you on purpose if he could. The way you scramble to greet him when he arrives from an all day event, your smaller body hugging his torso his as if it’ll be the last. He thrives on your touch, he is whole heartedly enthralled with you.

So imagine his feelings when you make a plush dedicated fit his image. Both positive and negative.

It was adorable seeing you for the first time with it. You didn’t meet him at the door and when searching for you, and he found you melting over how small the plush was. It certainly inflated the harbingers ego.

But what started as a harmless way to entertain your loneliness, soon turned into Pantalone’s loathing. You held it close, snuggling into it as you rested in the living space, then into when you slept, cuddling it instead of him. Why is a mere foolish toy winning you over and straying you away from him? A creation made in his honour, only to lose the privilege of your attention.

“I swear I had left it here.” Bending down, you look under the bed to see if it had fallen, Your prized possession is lost. you could have sworn you had it on the side of your shared bed, but it is no where to be seen. Rummaging and throwing everything in sight, you turn the room into a mess as you try to find the plush. “I swear I feel like I’m going insane haaaah.” Groaning you flop face first onto the mattress and sprawl your body into a starfish position. You give up.

“Y/n, perhaps you left it during an outing, there’s no need to fret over something so futile.” Leaning on the door frame, he opens his eyes to see your un-moving figure, “Come, let us walk and rid ourselves of unwanted stress.” Smiling, he steps to your figure and sits at the end of the bed, rubbing circles on your back.

“‘Kay, but give me a few minutes to mourn my loss.” Raising your arm, you give him a thumbs up.

Yeah, he threw it out and burned the bin.

Dottore

He doesn’t understand how others minds work, and really only thinks about himself, but respects you. and tries to give you a time frame of how long he’ll be gone when pursuing his experiments. Nice enough, but with a doctor as crazed as he is, staying in his lab can last for weeks back to back. And you are supposed to stay and wait for him?

No way.

You instead, have an experiment of your own! The goal? Creating a cuddle buddy for when Dottore is gone.

And experiment is what you do. Trial and error, you want to gouge your eyes out, but within due time, it all pays off. Though, you are quite tired now. Spending all day focusing one thing is exhausting, you don’t know how he does it.

Cleaning your mess and shuffling into the bed, your hands hold the peculiar thing as you trace it’s silhouette. With heavy eyes slowly closing, you can’t truly see the appeal of the plush you had made, it isn’t human and can’t fulfil your need for human contact. Yet as you fall into a slumbered state, you don’t seem like you’re letting it go anytime soon.

The night was quiet, and the room only sound of soft breathing.

Routine never breaking, you slept alone once again, or you though.

And instead of waking to the rise of the sun, you felt the bed dip and something yanking you into their grip, “wha- oomf!”

“It’s only me, go back to sleep I’ll be here in the morning.”

Scaramouche

Little shit just goes missing. You’ll start your day, make breakfast, and go to work. Then…. wait a minute.

He straight up left, cursing him out only for it to land onto the walls of your home. so out of spite you stomp to your box of odds and ends, muttering less than pleasant words as you angrily lay out a foundation to create your own even smaller doll. If this idiot doesn’t love me, I’ll just made one that does.

And it takes hours of vengeful sewing and stuffing, until finally, it’s complete.

Matching his indigo hair and the permanent frown that ruins his beautiful face, you close the the last stitch giving it a testing squish. Perfect.

Holding it in your palms you groan, “I don’t understand why you can’t give me so much as a note.” A pout on your face you squeeze it’s body, “ I actually miss you, even though you suck, so stop keeping me at an arms distance when I care so deeply about you.” Sighing, you draw the plush closer to your chest, laying on your back you stare at the ceiling., “Perhaps when you come back we’ll talk.” But until then you’ll figure out how to show him that leaving without saying, makes you upset. And that doesn’t take long.

Now all there is to do is wait.

Another several days passed before your scara came home, and once he did, boy was he livid.

“Y/n you imbecile, show yourself! Just what in your simple minded brain made you think this is funny?” Coming down the hall, he sees you, “well? Just what the hell is this?” Pointing to the lamp outside the front door, you poke your head out pretending to not know that hanging from the light fixture is a caged plush, of him.

Not only that, but a note stating, ‘do not free the naughty boy who has no respect.’ And he is not taking it lightly, “in your next lifetime, do not speak to me.”

Ever so calmly you stand outside with him, reaching to take his hat off, “but that’s impossible my love, I’d miss you too great to forget you.”

“welcome home my love.”

His face bursting into hues of red, and he marches out of the room.

He didn’t talk to you for three days.

I promise I’m better at writing, i think I’m losing my mind right now

[auduux]

COTL AU

They got to me

AU under the cut (no art because I can't draw lolz)

This is a swap au with Yellow Cat and Leshy, Yellow Cat (dubbed Joon for this) is Lambert, Leshy is Narinder.

Leshy The Chaos (By himself and siblings)/Chaos (By himself and siblings)/The One Who Fears (By Heket and Shamura)/The Fool (By Kallamar, Heket, and Narinder)/ He of Havoc (By all)/The Worm (by all)

Youngest brother of the gods, banished for an unknown reason to a prison in the deepest depths of hell. What was said when he descended is unknown, but the gods started hunting and slaughtering all cats shortly after.

Joon (Yellow Cat) The Cat (By Leshy)/Cat (By Leshy)/Vessel (By Leshy)/Child of Death (By Leshy, Shamura, and Heket)/Vile Cat (By Narinder, Kallamar, and Leshy)/Vile Feline (By Kallamar and Leshy)/Feline (By Leshy and Heket)/Puppet of Chaos (By Narinder, Kallamar, Heket, and Shamura)/Leader (By followers)

The last cat slaughtered, stupidly sent to the same place as Leshy's prison by Narinder.

Bishop fight order: Narinder > Kallamar > Heket > Shamura > Leshy

Voice Lines

Leshy When first encountered: "You there! You are a cat. One of my brothers own children." "You were slaughtered, like many others..."

Trying to convince Joon to follow him: "Do you wish to exact revenge? Feel a gods flesh in your teeth?" "Help me, and you will never again feel fear. I will make you powerful."

After Joon accepted: "Wonderful! Take my crown, cat, and you will never be slaughtered again." "The forests of Darkwood will be kind to you." "Now go, go to Salem (not the actual name I just gave up on thinking of one) where my jailer resides..."

When about to fight Narinder: "My brother, the cat of death. He thought he could seal me, but no! I will be free!" "Once, there were many cats under his rule. They called him father, even. But not anymore. He has contributed to each and every death upon his people."

After defeating Narinder: "Wonderful! The fool is now trapped within his own realm! I wish I could see him scream and beg!" "Not even Aym and Baal can save him now, the cutthroats...he is all alone." "Now go to Anchordeep. Your next target resides there."

Before fighting Kallamar: "Kallamar is a fool and coward but his wit far surpasses any. Do not think of him as weak, lest one of his many weapons lop your head from your shoulders." "Do not fail me, vessel."

After defeating Kallamar: "The squid has fallen! His ears have been cut from his head! He has gone deaf!" "You have done well, my vessel. Darkwood will be pleased." "Anura is where my sister resides, she of hunger. Do not start eating your own arm when in her presence."

Before fighting Heket: "Heket is a heavy hitter. I suggest gaining armor before fighting her. She may just flatten you."

After defeating Heket: "She will go where none of the others have, and she, too, will be on her lonesome. " "I wish I could see her despair..." "Go, vessel. Shamura awaits her judgement."

Before fighting Shamura: "My eldest sibling. They are the most wise and will be the hardest to beat. Do not tread lightly in the silk cradle." "Shamura. Perhaps the kindest of us all. Try not to die, feline." "They hold the key to my prison. Retrieve it and set me free, and you will be rewarded."

After defeating Shamura: "Shamura never was bothered by solitude, but perhaps after a thousand years it will get to them." "Now free me, and you will be rewarded accordingly!"

After being freed: "It has been so long since I could walk freely! Now come forth. Your life will be mine, but you will never have to fret again."

After Joon refused: "You putrid thing...you cannot have my crown! Serve your purpose and submit to me!"

After being defeated: "You vile feline, what have you done to me?! I cannot see!" "I will have your head for this, child of death!"

When asked about Forneus: "Forneus, the poor she...her kits, Aym and Baal, the watchdogs of death, were taken from her just after birth. If she has not died yet, I assume Heket was able to save her from an early grave. She always fancied the cat."

[elderberries-and-honey]

.・゜゜・𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘦𝘳𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘥'𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘺 ･ﾟﾟ･｡

Dear Diary,

I have been spending much of my time with Beth and Ozzy lately; I'm hoping to get Ozzy to be more comfortable around me. He was still a bit uncertain whenever I walked through the front door every morning and it would take him awhile to warm up to me. But, today, I think my daily visits have officially paid off!

My little boy walked right over to me, giggling and smiling as he neared where before he looked so timid, and said in the sweetest voice, 'Mum! Mum!' with the biggest smile on his face. I nearly wept with joy and when I looked over at Beth's face, I know she felt it too.

During most of my visits, Ozzy and I have been practicing learning more words while Beth stays nearby, usually busying herself with her knitting or reading. It doesn't seem like it now because he's so little but someday sooner than I liked, we'll be sending him off to school and I want him to have a better education than Lawrence or I had.

Most of the time though, it seems he is more interested in playing than learning.

Winter is approaching rather quickly and from what Lawrence tells me, it seems like it will be a harsh one. He spends most of his time in the field these days trying to prepare but even though he tries to hide it, I can tell he's running himself ragged. I worry about him very much.

Despite how cold and windy it's been though, we've all been trying to savor every remaining warm day. When the weather proves well-enough, Beth and I have been taking Ozzy to explore the bramble wood. He's a curious little boy and I love watching him discover things.

I can tell though that Ozzy's favorite days are the ones where Jackson can join us and brings his granddaughter, Nellie, along to play too; his son is studying to become a medical doctor so Jackson and Louise take care of Nellie often, which makes me feel sad for her sometimes.

She's a sweet little girl but she's a few years older than Ozzy and doesn't like to share. More often than not, they will start arguing over a toy and won't let up until an adult steps in to calm the situation. I worry about this sometimes and how it will affect the way Ozzy thinks he can treat this little one growing within my belly.

I am happy he has a friend though. It warms me up to hear him laughing, and I don't think anyone gets him smiling quite like Nellie, and it is sweet to watch them chase each other through the fallen leaves.

It does make my heart ache sometimes though, that in the moments where Nellie hurts my poor Ozzy's feelings, he still seeks Beth out for comfort over his Mother. And even though I try my best to hide it, Jackson still noticed my long face and asked what was troubling me.

After I rambled on for awhile, he confessed that he supposes if I only asked Beth, she would come help me raise Ozzy.

At first, I was hesitant to truly believe it, it feels like I'm yoking her with my troubles too much already. But he reassured me that Beth always wanted a large family after being the oldest of eleven girls and being with my little family helps with the lonesomeness she has now that her husband has passed on.

.・゜゜・𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘦𝘳𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘩'𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳 𝘫𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭 ･ﾟﾟ･｡

The Baudelaire's have asked me to move in with them to help take care of little Oscar. How I fretted over the day when I would have to part from the little one and now, I won't have to.

Oh, how relieved I am! So many nights I prayed for God to light the path and guide me through my worry of being alone once again, and He has answered my prayer with his His love!

I could not find the strength to ask, but in his wisdom, he passed it onto Winifred and I am so grateful for that.

next / previous / first

[yaut-jaknowit]

Hey! Hi

I love your work too much I love Mai'tuiudh too much 🥹

If you don't mind, could you do an mlm with a reader who has problems with selfharm and his Yautja tries to console him even though he doesn't understand why his boyfriend hurts himself?

I have been feeling bad these days and if you do it would be a huge consolation 😞 Sorry if I don't know how to express myself well, English is not my native language 😔

A Battle Mai'tuiudh Can't Fight For You

Pairing: Mai'tuiudh (Male Yautja) x Reader

Warnings: self-harm, blood, thoughts of suicide, relapse of self-harm, comfort, happy ending.

Summary: Away from prying eyes, you wallow in your sorrow. By yourself. Mai gone. Fresh cuts on your arm. A relaspe.

Word Count:2108

Author Note: I just want to say that if you or anyone needs an ear to vent to, you're more than welcome to. I'm not just a writer but a friend to anyone. I'm here for you. Anyone.

P.s. Don't fret, your English is amazing. Works perfectly for me. If you are wanting more, just let me know. I'm one message away.

P.s.s. Happy Thanksgiving! Here's the second one I'm posting today

Masterlist

Ao3

In the lonesome apartment, tucked away in the tiny bathroom, you sat on the cold, unforgiving floor. Dried, salty trails of tears have evaporated long ago. Time has been a blur. You’ve been stuck inside of your mind since the start of this day. Thoughts running rampant. Thoughts you had to get rid of.

Everything wasn’t fine. No matter what you told yourself. No matter how many times you thought of it, repeating it in your mind. Just hoping that saying it so many times would make it true. But, your wish never became a reality.

It started as a steady decline. Friends seeing you pull away from them. Family hearing from you less. Coworkers seeing you slack in your work. Did anyone help? Did anyone grab your hand and lift you up? To guide you softly back to a safe mindset? No. None of them. Your work grew worse and worse. People screaming at you for messing stuff up. Your friends complaining about never seeing you. Family not taking the initiative. They all left you to be barricaded in your meek bathroom, blood dropping to the floor.

This was the only way of relief you could find without ending it all. You didn’t have the balls to do that. You’ve been so good too! You’ve had dealt with troubling times before. Past scars marring your skin. You’ve been clean! Until today. Your relapse. The day you sought a blade from the kitchen and sliced through your healing skin.

And fuck, it felt good. It released everything that has been building up. All the anguish, the heartache, the pain. Every slice cutting through the past marks to create new ones in their wake.

Your head thunked against the drywall. The sobs that once shook your fragile body had left, left you feeling meek and even more miserable. Both nostrils were plugged up, snot running down. Your throat ached and was dry. Here you were, the mate of a power species. Pathetic and useless to him. Despite the feeling building inside of you to cry all over again, you have long lost the energy to do so. Instead, you just stay on the bathroom floor.

Dried blood stuck to your fresh wounds, staining the linoleum floors dark red. You didn’t even have the energy to get up and wash yourself from the mess you created. No, you just stayed there, limp and wanting to be lifeless.

The bathroom door slammed opened, nearly splintering from the force. A new hole smashed into the wall. You couldn’t even lift your head to see who just about demolished your door. A second didn’t past when you felt hands, hot palms, grabbing at you. Clicks and chitters sounding from an alien tongue you didn’t register in your mind.

Then, you were lifted up, over the tubs edge, and place inside the off-white tub. Cold water touched at your toes, finally forcing you to rouse. You whined and tried to weakly climb from the empty bath. But, a firm grip on your shoulder was all it took to keep you there. Finally, you lift your head to find the alien mask of your mate. His biomask covering his face as he fretted over you.

For a moment, you just stared and realized he was calling your name. All you gave in return was a low hum and going lax. The only thing you wanted to do was lie there. A hand cupped at your face, forcing your head back up to look up at your mate. His free hand pulled at the tubs connecting to the cover and yanked the thing off. It was discarded to the side.

Mai’tuiudh leaned in close. His bright eyes dirtied with fret as they darted across your face then down at the marks on your arms. Chitters and even light whining produced from his throat. Once he had your attention, he released your face to grab a washcloth close by. With it, Mai’tuiudh wet it and began to wash away the blood.

New, unfortunate pain rose inside of you. You squirmed and tried to break free from the unrelenting washing. Mai’tuiudh didn’t have any of it. His voice hardened, though he was speaking in rushed Yautja. At this point, he hadn’t realized what language he was in, just flipping to default at the sight of you bloodied and out of it.

You go lax once more, lazing in the tub, warm water running over your toes. It pointless to fight. You weren’t anywhere close strong enough to fight against him. Useless. Can’t do anything right. Not at work. Not with your friends or family. Not even with your own lover. How can he even look at you without disgust? Just a weak little thing who has to hurt themselves to feel better.

A fresh, hot, single tear rolled down your sticky cheek. Your name is called again. You’re staring at the off-white tub when you hummed in answer. A clawed finger gently picks up your chin, drawing your attention back up to your mate. But you couldn’t look him in the eye. You weren’t good enough for him. You’re a fucking male like him but couldn’t even compare to a quarter of his strength.

Two fingers pinched at your cheeks and slightly shook your head. Mai’tuiudh called your name once more. He didn’t understand what was wrong. For the moment though, he wanted to know who hurt you, who hurt his mate. He’ll hunt them down, tear their skull and spine from their body, and present it to you. A sharp snarl sounded from his chest. Yet, you gave no notion that you even heard him.

His years have taught him virtue and patience. So, he returned to cleansing the slices to your arms. The wounds… Mai’tuiudh found strange. They were purposeful but didn’t look to be aiming to kill. The amount of them as well. Mai’tuiudh couldn’t come up with one conclusion: torture. Someone wanted to torture you. But he couldn’t scent anyone else. Just him and you.

Dislodging the pack on his back, Mai’tuiudh brought out his medical supplies. In your dazed mind, you weren’t paying much attention to him. Not until a blinding, stinging pain raced up your arm. You about shot out of the tub and out the door if Mai’tuiudh hadn’t grabbed you. He forced you to stay but you didn’t stop. So, he had to take drastic actions.

Carefully, Mai’tuiudh climbed into the tub to trap you with his size and legs. This freed up his hands to continue working on the wounds on your arms. Despite the hoarse cries and squirming you did, nothing worked to throw the hulking Yautja off of you. Soon, the pain just dulled to the back of your mind as he slathered the blue paste on your skin.

White, sterile bandages were wrapped around your arms. Mai’tuiudh climbed off of you and stayed knelt by the tub. A hand came to rub his thumb on your cheek bone, soft purrs pouring from his throat. Unlike usual, you barely even reacted to the sound you loved so much.

Mai’tuiudh couldn’t help the whine when he realize he hadn’t won you over. Determined as ever, he scooped your laxed body from the rub and carried you over to your bed. He wanted to make you as comfortable as possible; despite wanting to take you to his ship, though shared with his hunt brothers. He knew you wouldn’t be able to rest easily there.

Thick, comforting covers were draped over you. Warm, muscular arms were wrapped around you, securing you to a chest you were familiar with. The purrs vibrating throughout your body.

After a long, silence-filled time, Mai’tuiudh spoke up. “Who hurt you?” his voice gruff with tension. The fact someone had hurt you while he was gone made him feel uneasy. His mate, wounded, on the verge of Dhi’ki-de – walking death. It had his heart clenching at the thought of loosing you. He didn’t understand how this could happen.

But you didn’t respond, again. With a grunt, he sat up and brought you with him. You were maneuvered to sit in front of him, facing the Yautja. Your head was bowed to blankly stare at the blankets on your bed. You name was called. “I asked who hurt you?”

The words entered your brain, rolled around for a bit before you shrugged. How weak would he think of you if he knew the truth? He’s seen worse, dealt with worse. And you couldn’t handle something that he could brush off. Pathetic. Weak. Meek. A little bug in his way.

He grunted with frustration again. Both of his hands were placed on your shoulders and he shook you to gain your attention. You raised your head to look him in the eye this time. “Who hurt you?” He was adamant. You had to admit that. And he wouldn’t stop until you answered him.

“Me.” Mai’tuiudh blinked. You? You hurt yourself? He shook his head, confused. His tresses swaying with the motion. Both of his hands cupped your face and wiped away tears you didn’t know had fallen. “It was me, okay?”

“Why?” It was the only word he could come up with. It didn’t make sense. If you hurt yourself, that makes you a target, makes you more susceptible to being hunted. You would be seen a prey, weaker so predators could kill you. So why in Paya’s name would you hurt yourself on purpose?! He whined, brows furrowed.

You released a deep breath and let him hold your head up. “Because.” He didn’t want to hear about your problems. You were useless to him, nothing more than an annoying fly. You didn’t know why he stuck around? Is this how he plays with his prey, his food before a hunt?

His brows fell into a deadpanned look. He grunted and shook you again. “Why?” he bit out harsher, hoping it would get you to open up. He knew oomans were more emotional then his own species. This wasn’t something he was used to but surely read up about after he realized he had fallen for you.

You tried to ducked your head in reaction but he held steady. He wasn’t doing to give up easily. This is a hunter, born and bred to wear down their prey. “I’m useless,” you spoke in a voice that he barely could catch. His head jerked, puzzled on why in the universe you, his mate, would think of such a thing! “I can’t do anything right. Everyone hates me.”

His spine tensed at your words. The feeling to dig his claws into something grew inside of him. Someone had planted those vile thoughts into your susceptible mind. He snarled, hands growing firm on your face, then yanked him towards his face. He pressed his forehead against yours and made sure you were looking at him.

“Who hurt you?” he asked again. His English wasn’t strong. He didn’t know how to ask why you thought that way or who told you that. So, he just repeated his words from before.

Mai’tuiudh say the frustration grow in your tired eyes. “Me! Mai’tuiudh. I hurt myself. I cut myself because it feels good! It dulls the ache in my chest. Makes me feel something besides all of this sorrow!” you screamed at him with hot, fresh down your face.

Then, it hit him. Wei mo’wei-te. Great sadness, his best translate he could come up with. This sorrow you feel is internal. Yautja have emotions, despite being able to hide them so well. They feel happy, angry, sadness. All of it. Maybe in less physical displays, but they still do. This sadness. He’s heard of it before, from Elders or Hunters who could no longer hunt.

To take a Hunter from the hunt was worse than thei-de. Like… like cutting the wings off of a bird. Leaves feeling this sadness that was hard to heal.

But it was possible. His brows drew together, determination filling his veins. His mate would not suffer this sadness alone.

“What you need?” Mai’tuiudh asked, ready to scour this plant or others to cure this sadness.

You couldn’t believe his words. Instead of turning away in disgust at how weak you’ve become, he stays like a sturdy statue at your side. For the first time, your sobs are from the sorrow that filled your hollow body. You launched yourself forward and wrapped your arms around his neck, face buried into his neck.

Mai’tuiudh understood what you needed.

Him.