You always knew how things ended. That was the strange part. Even when things were good, even when Nate was sitting beside you with his fingers intertwined with yours and music playing softly in the background, there was always a small part of you waiting for something to change. You never let yourself get to comfortable because, in your mind, nothing good ever stayed forever.
You had learned to expect people to leave before they actually did,
Maybe they didn't always leave all at once. Sometimes it happened slowly. Sometimes they stopped asking questions. Sometimes they stopped trying to understand why you went quiet or why you apologized for things that didn't matter. Sometimes they stayed, but the love felt different, and somehow that hurt more.
So when Nate came into your life and treated you like you were someone worth knowing, someone worth choosing, you didn't know how to handle it.
You loved him for making you feel seen.
You hated him for making you realize how badly you wanted to be.
-
Nate was always good at noticing things. It was one of the first things you loved about him. He paid attention to details most people ignored. He remembered small things you mentioned once and forgot about. He knew you were upset even when you insisted you weren't. He could tell when your laugh was real and when it was something you forced because you didn't want anyone to worry.
The problem was that you had gotten really good at hiding.
You knew how to make people believe you were okay. You knew when to smile, when to laugh, and when to change the subject before anyone got to close to the truth. "I'm just tired" became your favorite response because nobody ever questioned it. Everyone understood being tired.
Nobody asked what kind of tired you meant.
-
Nate started noticing the changes before you realized he was paying attention. He noticed you stopped sending him dumb reels in the middle of the night. He noticed you stopped arguing about what movie to watch and started saying, "I don't care you pick." He noticed that you apologized constantly, even for things that weren't your fault.
One night, you were sitting in his room while he looked through his phone. You were quiet, staring at nothing in particular, and he eventually looked over at you.
"You know you don't have to apologize for everything, right?"
You looked at him, confused. "What?"
He smiled slightly, but there was something sad behind it. "You said sorry because I moved my charger.."
"It's just a habit," you mumbled.
Nate watched you for a moment before speaking again.
"You act like you're waiting for me to get annoyed with you."
You forced out a small laugh, hoping it would make the conversation lighter. "Why would you get annoyed at me?"
Nate looked at you carefully.
"That's what I'm asking"
-
You never knew how to explain it.
How do you tell someone that even when they're loving you, you're already preparing yourself for the day they stop? How do you explain that every compliment feels temporary and every good moment feels like something you have to hold onto before it disappears?
You didn't want Nate to know how often you questioned why he stayed,
You didn't;t want him to know that sometimes you looked at him and wondered what he saw in you.
So you did what you always did.
You smiled.
"I'm okay."
And Nate nodded, even though you could tell he didn't believe you.
-
That was the thing about Nate. He never stopped trying, even when you made it difficult for him.
He would send you songs and tell you they reminded him of you. He would show up with you favorite drink without asking. He would do sweet gestures in public like he wasn't afraid of anyone seeing how much he loved you. He did all the things people did when they wanted someone to know they matter.
And somehow, you still convinced yourself it woulldn't last.
You thought maybe he was just in the honeymoon phase. Maybe one day he would wake up and realize loving you wasn't as easy as he thought it would be. Maybe he would get tired of reassuring you, tired of waiting for you to open up, tired of loving someone who couldn't even love themselves.
You didn't understand that Nate wasn't staying because he didn't notice your struggles. He was staying because he did.
The worst part was that Nate never made you feel like a burden. You did that all on your own.
You felt guilty when you didn't have the energy to talk. You felt guilty when food became complicated and you didn't know how to explain why something so simple could feel so overwhelming. You felt guilty because every time you saw the concern in his eyes because you knew he was carrying worry for you.
You didn't want to be someone he had to take care of.
You wanted to be someone he could be happy with. So you started convincing yourself that leaving first would hurt less.
If you became distant enough, maybe he would stop trying. If you pushed him away slowly, maybe it wouldn't break him when he finally realized you weren't the person he thought you were.
You never considered that it was breaking you too.
-
Nate found the poem by accident.
It was in your journal, something you had written during one of those nights where your thoughts felt louder than everything else. You weren't planning on showing anyone. It wasn't meant to be ready by another person.
But Nate had seen it, and when he looked up at you, you already knew.
You weren't angry.
You were embarrassed.
Because the words on that page were the thing you could never say out loud.
i was waiting for you to get tired of me.
you loved me like staying was easy
i loved you like every goodbye was already written.
you kept reaching for my hand,
and i kept wondering how long until you let go.
you called me beautiful,
and i searched your voice for the moment you stopped believing it.
i don't think i was ever afraid of losing you.
i was afraid
that one day
you'd see me
the way i saw myself.
Nate looked at you for a long time.
"Why.. Why didn't you just tell me?"
You looked away. "Because I knew you'd worry"
"I do worry."
Your eyes burned, and you hated that he could see it.
"I didn't' want to become another thing you had to worry about."
-
Nate moved closer, but he didn't try to force you out to look at him.
"You really think that's what you are?"
You stayed quiet.
"A problem?"
The silence answered for you
Nate shook his head, and his voice became softer. "You spent so much time trying to protect me from your pain that you forgot I wanted to be there for you."
That was the part that hurt.
Because you believe him.
You believe every word.
And that made it worse.
"I don't know how to let people love me," you whispered.
Nate looked at you sadly, slightly frowning.
"I know.."
-
A few months later, Nate still thought about that conversation.
He thought about the way you looked relieve and heartbroken at the same time. He thought about how badly you wanted to believe him, but how impossible it was for you to accept that someone could stay.
He wished he could he go back and tell you that you were never too much.
That he never got tired of you.
That he never saw you as something he had to fix.
But some things only become clear after they're gone.
The hardest part for Nate wasn't losing you.
It was knowing that you spent so long believing you were impossible to love, when loving you had always been the easiest thing he had ever done.
And somewhere in the middle of all the moment where you thought he was leaving, he was standing there the entire time, wishing you had believed when he said he wasn't going anywhere.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
ā Live Streamingā Interactive Chatā Private Showsā HD Qualityā Free Actions
Free to watch ā¢ No registration required ā¢ HD streaming
AN: Hi. So... no real clue wtf I was doing here. It's not my best work, but my best work isn't available for comment. It's on vacation. The pacing is... questionable, and I am dyslexic, soooo... yea. This is what I get for writing on nothing but cosplay induced inspiration (Thank you, Glitch), sugar-free monster, and sleep deprived fugue states. I promise I have actually played minecraft, also. It's just been a minute, and for the sake of... something, I added in some generic fantasy fuckery too. Anyway, on with the trashfire.
TW: Cringe. Bad writing. Fantasy violence. Stubborn cows. Bad dialogue. Stalking. Creepy shit. Horror themes. Budding awkward monster romance??? The fuck word.
~~~~~~~~~ā~~~~~~~~~~~
I've been feeling strange these days.
Spiders, creepers, skeletons... these things don't bother me anymore, not in the sense of real fear. They were just creatures that lived here, like any other animal I'd find in the wilds. More aggressive, maybe, but easily dealt with or avoided. So when I started regularly feeling unexpected chills running up my spine, I was certain it wasn't any of those.
It kept happening. One moment I'd be digging up coal or hunting, and I'd just sense it. Hairs prickling on the back of my neck. This overwhelming feeling of paralysis, like moving would be the last mistake I ever made. I'd wait, and nothing would happen. Eventually I'd force myself to move, and everything was fine. Nothing pounced, nothing seemed to be lying in wait to snare me. It was all fine. I told myself it was all my imagination and moved on.
It wasn't.
It started with a knock at my door one night. The residents of the nearby village usually left me alone, so it was surprising that anyone would be all the way out there after dark. But then I opened my door, and nothing was there. No sign of anyone or anything that would've knocked. That really made my skin prickle, but again, nothing came of it. So I set it aside, chalking it up to weariness and an overactive imagination.
That was until I came in from gardening one day and found my door wide open. Sword in hand, I searched my home, coming up empty once again. Someone had to be messing with me, but I didn't know who or why. It was possible that some kids did it just to cause some mischief, though I hadn't known many to come this far outside the village just for a prank. Honestly, it was hard to picture anyone just walking into my home in broad daylight.
That night, I double checked my lock before going to bed. Everything was as it should be, but I left my lantern lit. I told myself there was nothing to worry about, but if there was, I'd much rather be able to see. Once I had e erything in order, I settled into bed as I always did, and quickly fell asleep.
*Knock. Knock. Knock.*
My eyes flicked open, greeted only by pitch black. Had I run out of lamp oil? I rolled over to reach for the igniter to check when the sound came again, only heavier. More insistent.
*Knock.*
*Knock.*
*Knock.*
A cold, weighty feeling seized my body, and I couldn't move. As I watched, frozen, my door swung open so hard i could hear the metal knob slam into the adjoining wall. There, outlined only by the moonlight above, was a figure dressed all in black, with a deathly pale face. I couldn't make out the eyes in the sunken sockets, but some black fluid seemed to leak from them like tears of pitch. A black-lipped mouth curved into a sinister smile.
*Sleep now.* a low, rasping voice whispered.
I felt my body trembling, a cold sweat coating my skin as the figure *glided* toward me soundlessly. It raised an arm, and I realized it was holding a hatchet. Moonlight glinted of the metal head, and I had no time to scream before the blunt back end was cracked against my skull.
*Sleeeeeeeeep.*
~ā~
The next morning, I woke up with a splitting headache. Surprisingly, though, i felt no blood or tenderness when I reached up to my temple. The lamp on my bedside table was still lit, and when I got up to check my door, it was still latched.
"Nighmare..." I murmured. I was in severe need of some coffee after a dream like that. It was so surreal.
I got up and got dressed, then cooked myself breakfast and watched the sun rise outside my window. The forest was cast in shades of emerald and gold, sparkling light glinting off the nearby river. All told, it was a beautiful morning. Still, the nightmare clung to my mind like cobwebs. It had felt so real, so painful. My hand instinctively reached up to my temple again, but there was nothing. Not so much as a bruise. Still, my head throbbed. The memory of the paralyzing fear that had gripped me when that figure appeared made me nauseous. I hadn't even gotten a chance to defend myself-
No, I needed to stop. It wasn't real, and I had chores to do. My animals needed tending, and I needed to see about installing another lock, just in case someone really had been messing with me. It was possible some wanderer had tried to get in to steal some of my stuff, but I didn't really gave much of value to take.
Better to be safe than sorry, though. I decided should probably shore up the pens as well, to protect my livestock. I'd been putting *that* particular chore off for too long.
I finished my coffee and stood up, abandoning my breakfast dishes to be tended to later. It was time to get to work.
~ā~
It was warm outside, with the late-spring sun beating down on my little homestead. My garden was likely absolutely loving it. My cows? Not so much.
"Abigail, come on." I groaned, pushing against the side of one of my milk cows, who had decided to stubbornly plant herself in a puddle when I summoned the rest to the barn for milking.
She lowed indignantly, letting out a huff and rolling onto her other side, splashing water into my boots.
"Ugh! Fine. Stubborn heifer."
I gave up for now, slumping against the shade of a nearby apple tree. My boots squelched wetly as I tugged them off, followed by my soaked socks. I lay them out just outside the shade so they would dry, leaning back against the trunk. It was past noon now, and honestly, I was getting tired. This patch of shade and the slight breeze were a balm, though.
Nearby, bees hummed lazily, drinking in the nectar of wildflowers.
"Perhaps I'll build an apiary..." I mused aloud, letting my eyelids drift closed. Access to fresh honey could be nice. I could make cakes with it, surely. The villagers would probably appreciate those. This, of course was another on a long list of projects that were much more pleasant to fantasize about than actually work on, like building a bigger bed and adding that sunroom to my house. Sooo many projects. The apiary would have to wait.
My pondering slowly quieted as I rested, beginning to doze right there in the shade.
*I see you*
The side of my head exploded in pain once more. I jumped up, eyes frantically scanning the tree line.
"I know you're there!" My voice squeaked out, my legs already locking up on me. I swallowed hard, my throat closing up like i was going to cry.
There was nothing. No movement, no sound. Even the buzz of the bees had gone quiet. When I turned my head, Abigail was nowhere to be seen, the puddle still rippling from her swift exit.
I waited and waited, but nothing happened. No figure appeared. I wasn't attacked. Nothing. The pain in my head began to ebb once more until it was barely noticeable.
"What's happening to me? I'm losing my mind..."
I was still panting, hands clammy as I gathered my boots and marched back into my house, bolting the door behind me. Even then, my heart was racing. I moved to my sink to drink some water, reaching for my cup from the table-
My breakfast dishes weren't there. My brow furrowed, immediately retracing my steps. Had I spaced out and cleaned them up and just forgotten? I turned to my cupboard and opened it, revealing... no change. The cup and plate I'd used werent in there.
"The hell...?"
I ended up practically turning my home inside out for the next hour. I counted and recounted my dishware several times, and my missing items stayed missing. I knew they didn't just get up and wander off, but I wasn't sure how I could've misplaced something like that so completely. They were just... gone.
~ā~
The next day, I went into the village to trade. I brought crops that were harder to grow within the village, and hoped to get a smith to see about my lock situation. I had another goal as well, though.
I needed a healer.
The fact was, I didn't know what was happening to me. The headaches, the nightmares, the paranoia... I hadn't slept properly in at least a week. Would they be able to help me? I had no clue. But I had to hope that someone could.
The first half of the day went easily enough. I made a bit of money off my vegetables, which immediately went into a lock at the blacksmith's. Easy come, easy go. At least having that installed would make me feel ever so slightly better.
*knock knock knock*
I let out a shriek, panic overwhelming my senses as I slammed my back against the nearest wall.
"Uhhh... you okay?"
I blinked, my eyes turning to see a pair of villagers standing on the stoop of a nearby home, one with his hand still raised from knocking on the door.
Heat washed over me. I felt so ridiculous in that moment. I was in town. Of course I would hear knocking and all sorts of noises.
"Sorry. Excuse me." I slid past the two, continuing down the street toward the local healer.
~ā~
"Have you gained any weight?"
"No?"
"Any unusul cravings?"
"Also no."
"Vomiting?"
"Nope."
"When was your last-"
"Dear god. No! It *definitely* isn't that!" I groaned. This was going nowhere. "It's just what I told you. Nighmares, paranoia, cold sweats. Now I think I'm hearing things, maybe. I can't sleep, I can't find some of my stuff that I *know* I put in specific places. There is something going on and I need help."
The healer eyed me skeptically, letting out a little "hmmmf" to himself.
"Best I can do is give you something for sleep. You definitely need to be getting plenty of rest and water. It's possible you're dehydrated. But nightmares aren't really something I can fix medicinally."
I scrubbed a hand over my face. "... Fine. I guess that will have to do."
The healer nodded and torned to the cabinet behind him. After a few moments of clinking bottles around and muttering to himself, he produced a glass vial of some dark purple fluid and passed it to me.
"Be careful. Only take about a mouthful before you go to sleep, and you should have your rest schedule sorted by the time you finish the bottle. And since you're having nightmares, try going to bed early, before sundown. The remaining light might ease your fears a bit."
I tucked the medicine into by bag and thanked the healer, then headed back to my farm.
The road from the village was quiet, and I usually enjoyed the walk. Now, though, I almost wished I had someone with me. Maybe I should get a dog-
*No.*
I raised a brow, baffled as the thought surfaced unbidden. I liked dogs. It would definitely be helpful and would make me feel a little safer. My head shook, seemingly in argument with myself. There was nothing I could do about it at the moment anyway. I'd gave to settle for being alone.
*You are not alone.*
I whipped around, searching the surrounding woodland. "Hello?"
Silence. Utter silence.
"Is anyone there?" I called out, ears straining to hear something. Anything. It was like the entire world was holding it's breath.
Somewhere in the woods, a twig *snapped*. I bolted.
My bag smacked repeatedly into my side as I barreled down the path toward my home. My lungs burned, tearing air into them as fast as I could. I could *swear* I heard an extra set of footsteps giving chase.
"No no no no no..."
I whimpered, my heart pounding. Then, my farm was in sight. Just a little further-
My foot caught on a tree branch that had fallen into the path, sending me tumbling into the dirt. My full body tensed, bracing for an attack.
It never came.
I opened my eyes, panting heavily, to see absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. The path. My farm. My cows grazing peacefully. The surrounding trees that I knew oh so well. Even birds could be heard chirping in their boughs.
"What the fuck is happening to me?" I sniffed, wiping away a tear that had slid down my cheek.
I shakily pulled myself to my feet and dusted off before heading inside. I was going to install that new lock right now.
Opening the little flap, I found the inside of my bag soaked and stained purple. The medicine must have shattered when I fell.
"Damn it! FUCK!" I slammed my door shut and locked it, letting out a scream of frustration. What the hell was I going to do now?
I grabbed some tools from the chest near my bed and set about installing the lock. It was easy enough, aside from the shaking of my hands. However, I aimed poorly when hammering in the final nail and absolutely slammed the metal into my own knuckles.
The string of profanity tha flew oh-so-fluently from my lips in that moment would've earned me a stern look from the village priest, but I didn't care. I clutched the wounded hand to my chest as if the pressure would somehow fix it. When I finally built up the courage to investigate the damage, i was thankful to realize that I hadn't shattered any of mu frustratingly fragile little hand bones. The impact *had* broken the skin on two of my knuckles though, which were bleeding quite a lot for some reason.
"Gotta be fuckin' cursed, or something." I muttered, grabbing some scrap cloth from the chest to wrap my bloodied hand in. I winced as I tightened the fabric. Already, I could tell it was going to be swollen. I may not even be able to bend my fingers come morning. I'd have to skip gardening.
I climbed into bed with a groan. I was exhausted, in pain, and that damn headache was starting to come back. Like it was just waiting, prodding low in my skull until it could smash into my temple again.
That nightmare... the memory of how it felt to be cracked upside the head with the heavy back of that hatchet in the figure's hands. How the hell was I supposed to sleep? The medicine was wasted, and it was already staring to get dark outside.
The light slowly dripped down my walls as the sun began to set, every inch of deepening shadow adding weight to my body, like I was slowly being stoned. Death by a thousand pebbles.
Okay, maybe that was slightly dramatic. But the darker it got, the more I began to worry. With how wound up I was, it seemed likely that sleep would be hard to come by. If I did fall asleep though? Well, then I might have that nightmare again, and I really didn't want that.
I drew the blankets up over my head. It would've been smart to light my furnace before getting into bed. It was fucking freezing. Being late spring, I would think it would stay warmer overnight.
As a last-ditch effort, I reached over to my bedside lamp and flicked the igniter, and a small, warm little flame sputtered to life.
Huh. It wasn't out of oil after all.
From the little gap I made in my blanket, I just watched that little flame, focusing in on it. I stared and stared and stared, watching the little golden light flicker until my eyes started to burn. When I finally blinked, I realized just how heavy my eyelids were. My body was sore and cold, my busted knuckles throbbed, and that ache in my skull was annoyingly persistent. Still, that weight seemed to be pulling me into my matress. I didn't dare move, or even breathe too loudly, even as my lashes obsured my view of the lamp flame more and more...
~ā~
Time seemed to blur in my mind, stretching into nothingness with no meaning until I finally dared to glance up. There was light coming in my windows. Morning light. As my senses slowly came back online, I noticed the sounds of birds, my chickens clucking in the yard, my cows mooing. I blinked and sat up, stretching my arms up high with a yawn. To my surprise, there was no lingering soreness, or even weariness.
I felt good.
A slow smile spread across my face. I took in a deep breath, letting the air fill my lungs before slowly releasing it, my muscles relaxing with it. My eyes drifted closed as I repeated the breath, letting the sounds of the world awakening fill my ears. I could feel the warmth of the sunlight caressing my skin where it filtered through my widow.
This was the best I had felt in a long time. I could hardly wait to get outside and work in my garden, and tend to my animals. I might even bake a pie. I just wanted to feel normal.
My hand reached out, flicking off the lamp so I could start my day.
I was engulfed in darkness, the blanket wrapped tightly around my body doing little to stave off the chill in my bedroom. Shivers wracked my aching body, my teeth chattering.
Outside the window, the stars were still out. Otherwise, it was pitch black.
"What the fuck-"
*Knock.*
My eyes widened, frantically scanning the dark. No, no, no...
*Knock*.
I bolted upright, folding myself into the corner with my blanket wrapped around me. My heart pounded so hard it was painful. I felt wetness run down the back of my hand, my grip on the blanket so tight that my knuckles were splitting back open. I couldn't move.
*Knock.*
I didn't breathe. My eyes were locked on the darkness where I knew my door was, a very soft rattling noise reaching my ears. Then a soft series of clicks. Slowly, the door opened, the hinges groaning in protest.
His figure filled the door frame, a silhouette half blending into the darkness beyond. All black except for that ghostly white face, the very one that had been burned into my mind since I had that first nightmare.
"No... please, just go away." My voice was barely audible over the blood rushing in my ears.
If he heard me, he gave no indication. Just stood there, that grin fixed on his face, framed by black lips. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the metallic glint of the hatchet loosely dangling in his grip, as if he was just carrying it out of habit. He wasn't attacking.
"Why do you keep coming here? What do you want from me?" I squeaked, feeling like a mose cornered by a barn cat.
*I want you.*
His mouth never moved, but I heard the response clearly as if he said it aloud. Before I could blink, I felt the cold leather of his glove around my throat. He pressed me against the wall, tilting my face up to his.
*I cannot look away from you.*
His words growled through my mind, invasive and claiming. In that moment, I felt myself give up. This was it, I had lost. I was about to die. This man, this thing, had been tormenting me for days. Had disrupted my life, disturbed my sleep, taken my things, and now he was touching me, palm pressed against my throat in a way that made my vision shimmer.
I'd had enough.
The resignation turned to rage, burning it's way up through my veins and into my hands, my split and swelling knuckles slamming hard into a surprisingly solid chest. Real. Physical.
He stumbled back, his dark eyes widening momentarily in what looked like surprise.
*That... actually hurt.* his voice rumbled in my mind, that crooked grin twisting seemlessly into a snarl that made my blood run cold.
"Get out of my house." I demanded wih a steel I wasn't sure I actually posessed.
*You... want me to leave?* The man straightened himself, dark eyes flicking over me. *... Fine.*
There was a strange feeling, almost like the air was collapsing on itself. The shadow over me vanished, and the room felt oddly lighter. Just as he had come, he was gone. The moment I realized it, I stumbled to the door and shut it tight, secure both locks despite their evident uselessness. That was when my body *finally* gave out on me. The adrenaline crashed, and I crumpled to the floor like a ragdoll, the world spinning away from me as my mind shut down.
I desire yan!Whitney, him beating the shit out of people for just looking at what's his.
I would expect nothing less to be honest with you.
you know that one scene in math where one kid looks at you in math and Whitney goes nuts??? I made it worse
(this is gonna veer off into violence hope that's cool. also gonna trigger tagging this for blood/yan antics/gn pc/Whitney shenanigans.)
Whitney is always a menace. He has just been getting steadily worse. Usually, he's a big fan of whoring you out when he can for cash or approval from his less-than-stellar friends, but even that's come to a rather strange halt. He's more interested in spending time with you alone now. He even started to ditch school taking you with him.Ā
Youāre actually starting to worry about him. He's barely the same guy you met at the start of the year. He's still an asshole sure. But he is /different/. More people are starting to avoid you. And they whisper Whitney's name when you walk by, even when you're alone. People don't dare touch you or even talk to you anymore. Even some of the teachers have started ignoring you. You can't shake the feeling that this is all by design somehow.Ā
It all comes to a head in the middle of math, however. River gets called away to attend to something, but you're not sure what, You weren't listening as you lean into Whitney's shoulder. He plays with your hair gently and zones out. He's not in the mood for chaos today. He likes the feeling of you relaxed against him.
When you look around the room just for a brief moment you tense. A boy is staring at the two of you. This seems to jolt Whitney back from his daydream and he immediately spots the boy. His face contorts into a scowl as his grip on your hair tightens.Ā
āWhy are you staring at them?ā *his voice is loud though he doesn't yell. His gaze is locked on the boy and the class goes silent as they look over at Whitney. Then their poor classmate as Whitney waits for an answer.Ā
Everyone knows there's no correct response. He's doomed. He's been caught /looking/ at something that's Whitneyās.
The boy stutters a bit. But no comprehensible words come out. Whitney pushes you back into your own seat and nods to one of his friends before he charges the poor student. Itās not long before the boy starts to cry out for help. At first, people are laughing or cheering. Itās fun when itās not happening to them, but soon The screams and cracks of Whitney's fist against the boy only get worse as time goes on. Whitney's friend guards the door making sure no one leaves. The cheers die out the class watches as Whitney goes far beyond a regular beating.Ā
You can see it, Whitney is still enraged. He's biting down on his own lip so hard that its started to bleed. His fist is dusted with bruises and his victim's blood. His forehead is covered in sweat as he finally pulls back. The classroom is still silent apart from the haggard breathing of the boy. whitney straightens out his shirt and looks down at the boy before spitting on him before returning to you. He pulls you up by the arm dragging you out of the classroom. No one tries to stop him as he leaves.Ā
You donāt know what to say to him as you're pulled to the front gates of the school. Should you say anything? Should you have stopped him? Could you have stopped him? Whitney's grip tightens on your wrist as he takes you down into the alleys near the school. He shoves you up against the wall before leaning down and kissing you deeply.Ā
You can taste the blood in his mouth he seems to want you too as he holds you still against the alley wall. When he pulls back your panting, Whitney finally smirks. It's that cocky playful look that you haven't seen in weeks. He seems to have finally relaxed a bit as he brushes his hair out of his face with one hand the other still holding you still.Ā
āWe should probably skip the rest of the day. I doubt anyone is going to rat on me, but I don't feel like answering any questions right now.ā Whitney says before he rubs his bloody knuckles off on his shirt, It wasn't clean before but it looks worse smeared with blood. He tilts your head up slightly grinning āBut it's worth itā he promises. āNo one is going to ever look at you again.ā
I don't believe in "guilty pleasures" but reading Lucifer x Adam fics has become one and now I've been introduced to fanart of the even trashier pairing of Charlie x Adam and i literally don't know if i can justify that indulgence to myself but I'm willing to try lol
I burst out laughing when I saw the āTo Catch a Winchesterā gif... and then I read the fic and couldnāt stop ššš
Oh nonnie what gif is that? Did you mean...
...THIS GIF?
This is the best thing Iāve ever made imo. This gif is the thing I want on my GRAVE nonnie.
Iām also super glad you enjoyed To Catch A Winchester. Because itās a dumb fic by a trash person (me) and like somehow, also, I could see that happening. Our boy loves his pie. I think I incorrectly tagged that fic though because itās clearly Dean X Pie.
You are all that is good in the world nonnie and I so appreciate this message. Youāre a beautiful ray of sunshine and I love you dearly.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
ā Live Streamingā Interactive Chatā Private Showsā HD Qualityā Free Actions
Free to watch ā¢ No registration required ā¢ HD streaming
A Good Omens Fanfic I thought of While Serving Mass because I'm ever so holy.
Sorry that the boys are kinda out of character. I had writer's block while writing but oh well. We don't wait for inspiration we fall like Crowley. Original Bible story linked below. Because as the totally good model Catholic child I am I now think of GO every time I go to mass now.
There were many things that Crowley enjoyed doing with his infinite amount of free time. There were also many things Aziraphale enjoyed doing with his equally infinite amount of free time. At this particular time, neither thing happened to be each other. Instead, it was alcohol. Drinking extraordinary amounts of it.
āDoā¦ Do yaā¦ Ngk. Dāyou think that you... youād wanna do this again later this week Angel?ā Crowley slurred, smiling messily over his new sunglasses at his drinking partner who had just taken another sip. āLikeā¦ likeā¦ erm... Friday or somethinā?ā Aziraphale set down his glass and pondered the question for a moment before shaking his head furiously.
āNo... no I mustn't,ā he said nervously. His fingers, Crowley noticed, weāre tracing anxious patterns onto the table. āWeā¦ we... reallyā¦ No. We ought not to. I mean we really shouldnā even be here now. After all, if my superiors found out weād metā¦And Iā¦ I got somethinā important to do any day now. That young man the Almighty sent for the humans, Jesus, I think his name is?ā Crowley nodded shortly, took another swig, and motioned for him to continue, wondering what that had to do with anything. āThey haven't told me what yet, but I have to do something."
"F*ck," Crowley yelled, slamming his cup down onto the table so hard it spilled. "F*ck, f*ck, sh*t, f*ck, F*CK! I completely forgotā¦ I gotta go. See ya 'round Angel." And with a slam of the door he left the pub.
āRight. Yes. Ermā¦ see you around I guess," Aziraphale said
With a quick miracle Crowley sobered himself up, straightened his glasses, and stormed off. This Jesus bloke was really messing with plans. Why couldnāt they get Beelzebub or some demon that actually cared to tempt him. But no! As the only bloody demon on Earth it had to be him.
Ā Ā Ā āEllo,ā Crowley said from where he appeared, mericaling himself already leaning casually against a nearby rock. āItās been what, forty days? Yeah. Somethinā like that. Youāre that Jesus kid ām guessing?ā The young man in front of him nodded slowly, and absentmindedly ran his fingers through his long dark hair as if not quite sure how to respond. Crowley took it as an invitation to keep talking. ā āOh come on! Youāre not so holier-than-thou that youāre not going to talk to me are you? Iāve got places to go, demon things to do!ā Still Jesus said nothing. āSo. You humans have to eat and youāve been here for... however long I forgot about you. I can turn those rocks into bread for you.āĀ
Ā Ā Ā He snapped his fingers, momentarily transforming the rocks into freshly baked loaves of bread. With a grin he snapped again, changing them back to the rocks they'd been before. With that he paused and looked at the young man across from him. "Well I suppose you COULD do that yourself, couldn't you. Being the son of the Almighty and all that. That IS something you can do right? Make these stones bread, or whatever it is humans eat these days. Personally, I don't eat. Don't really see the appeal.Ā But Azira- er... my ah... friend does." For the first time since Crowley had arrived, his companion spoke.
Ā Ā Ā "'It is written that one does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.' I will not eat your devil food, foul creature." Crowley glared at the young man. He was used to being called many things like The Serpent of Eden which he took as a complement, even if it was only the truth. However, foul creature seemed a bit much, not that it wasn't true either. At least by Jesus' standards.
Ā Ā Ā "What the f*ck was that for? Name calling isn't all that holy of you. And I haven't even started... oh. You thought that was me trying to tempt you? Please. I have much f*ckin' higher standards than that. Just you wait." Jesus looked at him passively. There was almost no emotion on his face. This offended Crowley, who had wanted to be at least a little impressive. Not, he told himself, that it really mattered. "Anyway," he said, trying to keep his tone light and conversational. "How 'bout a little change of scenery?" With another unnecessary snap of his fingers he brought them to the top of Jerusalem's temple.
Ā Ā Ā "What are you doing now," Jesus asked, curious against his better judgement.Ā
Ā Ā Ā "Changing the scenery," Crowley responded dryly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "What did I just say? And don't worry. No one can see us. At least not really. Consider that a little demonic blessing if you will."
Ā Ā Ā "I don't want it," Jesus said. "I appreciate your concern, but take it off please." Crowley ignored him.
Ā Ā Ā "On a completely unrelated note I think you should jump. Not that I really want you to die or anything. But it would really help me make sure I've got the right 'Son of God' or whatever. I know it says somewhere in that bible Azir- er my friend from before reads, that if you do that then angels are going to catch you or something. Something about not letting your foot dash against a rock or something."
āAgain it is written, 'You shall not put the Lord, your God, to the test'. You will never win Raphael Once Angel of the Lord.ā
"Huh," Crowley said, grimacing for a millisecond before covering it with a half smirk. "That... that's a name I haven't heard in millennia. But the thing is I can't very well put the 'Lord my God' to the test if I'm fallen. I don't really have much of a god anymore." Jesus pursed his lips and crossed his arms but said nothing. Clearly Crowley had a point, even if he didn't want to admit it.For the third and final time that day Crowley snapped his fingers and brought the two of them back to the desert they originally started in. "Right. Well this is the tempting bit I'm supposed to do. Legally required and all that sh*t."
"Must you use such crude language demon?"
"Yes. Sh*t, F*ck, d*mn, and all that. Plus I have a name. Not one that I'm telling you, but I have one. Now shut up and let me do my thing." Jesus sighed but let him continue. "So if you'd look over there you'll see all the kingdoms in the whole bloody world. I'm supposed to tell you that we'll give you all of them, if you just worship Satan. That's all there is to it. And it's really not so bad. Not IF you get used to it." It was a desperate but required attempt. Crowley didn't really care whether Jesus said yes or no. If he said yes, he'd get a huge commendation. If he said no they'd blame it on the fact that he was the son of the Almighty.
āGet away, demon! It is written: The Lord, your God, shall you worship and him alone shall you serve.āĀ
"Yeah. Thought that was gonna happen. Coulda gone worse. See ya 'round kid. And just a warning. Things are gonna get a LOT worse after this. Just don't blame me for it. Pretty sure an angel's supposed to show up around here some time in the near future." With a final grin flashed in Jesus' direction and a wave of his hand for dramatic effect Crowley turned into his snake form and slithered away. One hour and several minutes later a slightly flustered angel who had been on earth for quite some time arrived.
"Oh dear... I'm ever so sorry. I... I had something I had to finish doing. Did I... did I keep you waiting long Lord?" Jesus smiled kindly down at Aziraphale.
"No Principality Aziraphale. Not long. Come, sit. Let us eat." Beaming, Aziraphale sat beside the savior of the world, who made a mental note about that 'something' the angel had mentioned. Jesus, son of the Almighty and savior of the Earth, would have bet everything then and there that Aziraphale's 'something' he'd been doing was the demon that had left.
Another one of my trashed-fics that I cnba finishing even tho I really liked it. Mentions of genocide and execution, but nothing explicit. Head canon heavy.
Looking at the man heād raised, as loosely perhaps as the word raised could be used, Garp felt affection laced with fear course through him. His little shit was leaving, without attempting to say goodbye either.
Or, how one conversation changed everything.
Monkey. Dās are many things, including but not limited to: exponentially talented, ambitious, stubborn to a fault, craving for adventure and kind-hearted. Some lesser known fact about them however, are their innate inability to display affection subtly, their uncanny ability to be in the middle of all troubles, their selfish tendencies and unfortunately the consequences of being adventure craving, kind-hearted idiots. Their too big hearts caused conflict with their wanderlust, especially when their displays of affection often proved too brash, too intense for people to handle. These traits had sculpted Garp in many ways, lead him onto a path he never regretted, but in his rare wistful moments when he was more Marine than he was Monkey.D, heād look back and wonder if the things he had given up were worth the adventures heād lived through.
Heād loved his wife, would have given the whole adventure scene up if she had asked, reluctant as heād been. But she had never asked and selfish as he could be, he had ignored the growing instabilities their love caused. Just as he had craved adventures, she had loathed being stuck in one place. It was no surprise then, when sheād left their son in the hands of a friend theyād made back on his home island.
Dragon had been raised well, his heart wide, his brain ever-curious and his will to live strong. Garp considers it a shame that him and his mother couldnāt take credit for that. Dragonās independence meant he often took responsibility for himself, even the first fourteen years when him and his wife had shuffled their schedules so Dragon was never without at least one of his parents, Dragon proved to be independent and asocial.
Though he loved his parents, he hadnāt needed them in a long time.
(When Garp had met his wife again, him a certified hero, her an extravagant traveller, he hadnāt asked her. Hadnāt wondered loudly if their love could have survived. They had kissed softly before she answered the question he didnāt ask, desperate and loving, but so changed from the courses of their life. Him more scarred than before, her as beautiful as the day heād last seen her three years before, lips gentle and caressing. Her answer was a whisper in his ear, head cocked in his shoulder while his arms were loosely wrapped around her waist. She hadnāt asked him to give up adventure, because sheād never stay anyway. They could love each other, but it would never be enough when adventure were concepts engraved in their very beings, and he a Marine and her, an outlaw.)
Looking at the man heād raised, as loosely perhaps as the word raised could be used, Garp felt affection laced with fear course through him. His little shit was leaving, without attempting to say goodbye either.
āSeventeen years and I donāt even get a bye, you little shit,ā his voice booms boisterous as ever.
Said little shit snorts, but turns to face his father, cloak covering the shitty tattoos Garp had loudly disapproved of, though his son cared little.
āIāll see you again,ā he replies after a while.
Chuckling, Garp moves forward and punches Dragon. Itās a punch that would heavily bruise a regular guy, but instead only leaves his son tense. Neither his mother nor his father pulled their punches with him, not since he was a child anyway.
āHave you gone and told your mother about your stupid plans?ā Garp questions needlessly.
After all, Dragon saw him at least once every six months and heād pieced together the little shits ideas himself. His mother wouldnāt have a single clue about the independent shit storm their son was planning, though sheād sure as hell be proud. Perhaps sad that he wasnāt a pirate, like he was sad that he wasnāt a marine, but proud theyād both be.
Dragon just looks at him.
Shrugging carelessly Garp sits on the roof, weary from the dayās events and looks up.
āAre you sure about this? As soon as you make a move against the World Government, I wonāt be able to help you. The second you start this, itās just you and your own resources.ā
Empty words, nothing could sway Dragon at this point. Maybe a year or two ago, but frankly Garp was never one to control his sonās life. If the shit didnāt want to be a marine, then for all he could drag him kicking and screaming, heād still be a damn useless, if not powerful marine.
If he wanted to overthrow a few countries, then Garp could only watch.
āIāve planned for months, I know what will happen.ā
He turns to face the direction of their home, body unreadable, voice stoic. Itās a funny image, because Garp can only see the child heād raised with an indignant scowl, a love for meat and the open body language of a child.
Laughing Garp tugs at the cloak until his son falls next to him, then slings an arm around his broad shoulder. Dragon grunts in surprise, disgruntled. Heād miss this little shit, rebellious attitude and all.
āMy little shit will become a disgraceful little shit very soon, so indulge this old man why donāt you.ā
Next to him Dragon scowls, looking at his father unimpressed, but makes no move to leave.
Garpās grip tightens to a painful level across the shoulder, he was a selfish old-man who never wanted to let go. Heād let go of so much today.
His wife.
His pride.
His rival.
Now, his son.
āIs it true, does he have a child?ā Dragon asks, because tact and subtlety were useless against his father half the time.
Garp shrugs, careful not to answer. They both know who Dragonās asking about though.
āI thinkā If I had a son, or a daughterā¦ I think, Iād have done what you and mum didā¦ Iād never be able to raise them, especially not after today.ā
Itās a quiet admission, some of Garp wonders if heās going to be stuck with another kid today. The thought irks him, his stupid shit better not have knocked his lovely girlfriend up just before becoming a wanted man!
āOuch! What the hell old man!ā
Garp glared.
āIf you tell me Iāve had secret grandchild and youāre dumping āem with me, Iāll kill you! Iāll kill you ten times! Who do you think you are, youāre only seventeen! Moreover who are you calling old m-ā
His growls are thrown off by a hearty laugh.
āWhatever, Iām just saying for future reference.ā
Quieting the two just look at each other.
Then, because Garpās a sentimental old fool, he blabs loudly and it might not be the case, but if he could save a life he would. Especially if itās his grandsons.
āTheyāre beginning a cull in a few weeks,ā his voice is dark, while Dragon tenses, ā, anyone due to have a child in the next eleven months are suspected, even more so if they have no husband. The cull, it starts first in the South, because Roger was there the longest. Then West, Iām trying to convince them that East is fineā¦. Itās not working out too well, some of the upper echelon are arguing that his home is the only place where heād hide his own child. Theyāve met some resistance with the North though, the Vinsmokeās caught wind and arenāt too thrilled, Judge and Sora were due to marry soon. Not like they have much choice, but the underworlds certainly been safer than it is right now.
āItāsā Few people know about it, they donāt want the government pinned for the mass genocide of an entire generation but thatās what it is. Sengokuās tried to reason with Kong, he got a three month suspension posing as vacation. Tsuruās gone off on an actual vacation, I donāt know why but I think sheās trying to stop this from the outside. Or prevent a whole fucking genocideā¦.Theyāre even having the balls to call it a necessary evilāā Thereās no way I can stop this, if they think for a second the baby might be Rogerās, theyāll stop at nothing. Iāve tried to reason but, theyāre being fools.ā
Disgust taints his voice. Itās classified info, but Garpās always bent and snapped the rules to his pleasing.
If Dragon happened to be able to save some children, then thereās no way it could be traced to Garp anyway.
Only three marines in the world knew of his son. They had never met him, never seen photos of him, only knew his name and how he described him, an energetic tyke named Monkey. D Dragon, who regularly bought his father birthday presents. Who was strong but stupid and had no connection to whatever other Dragon his soon to be disowned son would become. They didnāt even know his age and Garpās thankful that his big fat mouth didnāt disclose any vital information about his son.
Thankful he had seventeen years with this stupid little shit, because heavens know his parents had less time with him before he up and left.
āI love you,ā he whispers solemnly.
Most people would think heād blubber, but when he gave up on changing people, it was a cold thing. Frosting his bones into silence.
There was no changing Dragon. He was a D. Moreover, he was a Monkey D. They never really changed, just grew.
āI love you too,ā he gets up back turned and Garp hears the words before they even leave his mouth.
They finish the sentence in unison, āBut sometimes love isnāt enoughā¦ā
Grinning, Garp heaves a sigh and clenches his fist. Monkey Dās didnāt say I love you, it was usually an action for them. A punch to remind them to come home. A push, to let you know thereās nothing wrong with moving forward or looking back. After this, thereād be no home to come back to and no punch to remind the other of what he had to live for, only words and memories.
āWould there ever had been a chance of you staying?ā¦ If I had stayed?ā
Gosh he sounds like a sap, but the regret lingers and itās not just his son heās asking. Itās his wife. His friends and his brother, his father. People that never could understand a D, for all they loved them. Everyone heās had to give up to keep being Garp The Hero.
āProbably...But I wouldāve hated it, just like you. Iād have stayed and hated and grown bitter, because Iād felt caged.ā
But you would have stayed, the selfish, selfish parts of him screams.
He lets Dragon disappear then, a show of shave that Garp hardly remembers teaching and with his son gone, Garp cries into his large calloused fingers. His too big heart was hurt so much today, it needed a few minutes for the hurt to heal. But Dragon leaving had reminded him he needed to go as well, before Sengoku caught him and forced him into postponing his visit to Rogue for too long. Garp pushes his heartache to the side, wipes his tears and searches for the most discreet dingy he could find.
Heād lost his wife and failed his son, he wouldnāt let another wife and son be failed because of him.
(And maybe in another world Garp would have sensed his sonās haki, but the pain of finally letting his wife go would be too much and heād never get the closure of saying goodbye to his little shit. In another world Sengoku would find him and trap him into active duty. This is a world where Garp hides his heart behind his uniform and his promises would be kept, but tucked behind due date after due date, and when he finds Rogue it would be too late. But that tale, is one thatās already been told.)
And then:
Rogue lives, Ace is marginally happier growing up and I honestly donāt know where it was gonna go after that. Iām pretty sure I had plans of Ace meeting Koala and Sanji early on, maybe even Robin bc I feel like Rogue would 100% hunt down this child wanted by the world, bc fuck that was nearly her son but like. Idk how it was gonna go, just that somehow canon Strawhats and canon 2nd division commander Ace weāre still going to be relevant aspects of the story.
