#hellspent

oh that is your pet ??? whom you love and cherish ?????? that is my mistake let me just *gratuitously unloads clip *

blythe [ jill sandwich ]  JSDOFIJDFGODF  gale: WHO DID IT 

𝙠 𝙚 𝙚 𝙣 .   im gjudsfn sfsd  gale and dewey are the "he asked for NO PICKLES" meme 

this ain't their first rodeo.   few tales run as deep as theirs, a history entwined with memories mostly mauled by bitterness. neither of them were exempt, masters of being one another's catalysts.   he lived to provoke, served kindling on a platter for her flames to burn. and yet, he couldn't help but feel she was so deeply misunderstood.   had always crawled back   —tail between his legs—   with a care that not many others could empathise with.   and truth be told,   her behaviours didn't exactly justify it.

he only knew they came from a place of hurt.

arguments had been more frequent than niceties, he too cocky for his own boots, she too guarded to give him any reprieve. but those few nights where the stars had aligned, her arms open wide and his mouth firmly pressed shut,   those he had treasured deeply.   she'll always infuriate him, but he'll always care about her.

he damns himself for ever aiming down the barrel of that gun.

some actions can never be revoked.

in the deep thaw of a snowy mountain range, he tries to establish what retribution he can. a hundred apologies have crossed his lips, hands reaching out hesitantly for her shoulders before drawing back   —don't touch, never touch.   shame and guilt wrack him, fumbled explanations that come out fractured.   you could've been infected, i wasn't thinking straight, i was trying to help,   i'm sorry.

déja vu is a horrible thing.

and she's ricocheting   (   like she always does   )   and he's withdrawing unto himself   (   like he always does   )   and her words fall unto him like a deadly swarm of bees   —an assault commanded by the queen !   and with the wind howling, the creatures skulking and bloodthirsty, his heart thrumming and wild,   fear certainly cuts deep.

❛   jesus, em—   would you rather i pulled the fucking trigger then   ?   'cause that can most certainly be arranged.   ❜

@hellspent

The instructions were simple enough, but their meaning was clear: You fucked up.

Keeping an eye on Mr. Winters was what he ought to have been doing the first time, when he loosed the rat into his death maze and watched him scurry from one trap to the next. His demise should have been assured, but what was the fun in a game that was impossible to lose? Scattered throughout the maze were small, covert opportunities for survival—something to level the field of play. Winters had proven to be more resourceful than Heisenberg had initially given him credit for. But then, he wasn’t exactly human, was he?

Miranda didn’t know he knew that. He had little interest in actually reporting back to her; anything he did provide would be scraps of little value. Ethan Winters was a wildcard whose part in this drama had yet to unfold. Heisenberg wasn’t about to compromise the promise of a golden goose all for the pretense of being a good son.

What a joke.

That didn’t stop him from tapping the brim of his hat in acknowledgement, the shallowest of nods serving as a bow of the head. She knew his heart didn’t lie with her as did the other lords’; there was no sense in putting up a pretense that neither of them could believe. When his skin stretched taut in a thin smile, it came across more as a sneer—the curl of a derisive lip beneath sharp stubble, the hate in his eyes masked behind dark sunglasses.

“Of course, Mother Miranda.” After all these years, her name still left a bitter taste on his tongue. Still, for all his roughness that tongue could spin silver, and for all his hatred, his voice slipped out in a low, compliant purr. Every syllable felt like a barb in his throat, but if she wanted him sing and dance, he had no choice but to play the part.

@hellspent​ said:  ‘ i thought you were gonna ask the good news first. ’  sidney for dewey 🥺 

          something  tightens  in  his  chest  at  the  mere  sight  of  her.    it  always  has,  without  fail.    it's  not  the  same  as  what  he  feels  for  gale  ;  there  is  nothing  romantic  about  his  love  for  sidney,  but  it  is  love  none  the  less.    if  one  were  to  ask,  and  catch  him  on  a  good  day  when  he's  able  to  put  actual  words  to  his  feelings,  he  might  liken  it  to  the  way  he'd  felt  about  tatum  --  a  familial  love,  deeper  than  vows  given  at  an  altar,  or  whispered  in  the  early  morning,  tangled  beneath  covers.  

            it's  a  protective  kind  of  love,  something  that  makes  every  old  scar  ache  at  the  mere  prospect  of  her  being  put  in  harm's  way  again.    after  all  she's  been  through,  she  deserves  to  rest.    they  all  do.  

            it's  not  that  he's  unhappy  to  see  her  ;  he's  simply  become  so  used  to  things  in  their  respective  lives  going  wrong  that  it's  second  nature  to  want  the  bad  news  (  often  the  only  news  )  out  of  the  way.