#hates being old and horrid (he is the only one who thinks hes old and horrid (

[brodyfoxxsmassivetits]

Mandatory Matt ask hiiii !!!!! Please 😁😁😁😁

TWO matts for the price of ..uhh???

it's weird how many times I've tended to my Matt asks and NOT drawn future matt once..I love that guy :3

gah he's so silly he's so....silly..

sure would be awesome if I was drawing him recently for something else I'm working on hmmmm hrm how queer hmmm

obligatory ty for the ask also!

[yanderenightmare]

Okkotsu Yuuta

♡ TW: noncon, yandere, kidnapping, bondage, revenge, bully reader 

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about the major power trip Yuuta went through once he figured out how to control his cursed energy. 

Here’s this loser who’s been bullied all throughout life for being such a loner, who suddenly gains unlimited and unsupervised power to do whatever he wants. And he’s never once stood up for himself out of fear that Rika would take it too far—but he’s fully in control now and free to do all those things he’s been too scared to do before.

You used to be one of those bullies back in the day—one of those pretty girls who would laugh and sneer at him while other goons would do their worst of swirlies and wedgies and gut punches. He hasn’t seen you in years already, but there hasn’t been a day he hasn’t thought about you. Old, twisted emotions of hatred and want brewing in the darkest pits of his gut. He can still remember that evil look of glee in your eyes each time you’d say or do something horrid.

He wonders if he has that same awful look in his eyes now as he stands over you—terrified, lying in his bed with your hands and feet tied.

He doesn’t even remember how he got you there. He must have blacked out completely, and yet, the knots of rope are tied so neatly he must have known what he was doing.

You’re in what you wore to bed—a pair of panties and a little crop top. He’s actually never seen a girl so bare before—only two flimsy articles away from being naked. It makes him blush—big and dour-eyed, scanning every curve of your smooth skin, feeling his throat get tight.

Your mouth’s taped shut—he isn’t interested in anything you’d have to say. But he’s left your eyes. He can’t tell if you recognize him. But the fear within them makes him feel so good he’s never been harder in his entire life.

Still, he doesn’t know if he can go through with it. It’s a strange feeling—how your shivering and tears make him feel both ashamed and yet so very horny he might cum in his pants just from looking at you. 

He thinks of the you from back then—what an absolute bitch you were—all your mean words and hard glares, ugly comments whispered in your friend’s ear while looking down on him, giggling behind a hand as if it were some big secret you were talking shit—as if you hadn’t just poured rotten milk over his head in front of everyone.

Yeah… you deserve this.

You try worming away from him once he crawls on top of you, but the way he’s tied you makes it a pointless struggle. It should make him feel worse, but oddly enough, it just makes him want to touch you more. Your skin is so soft it gives him chills, manhandling you just the way he sees fit. 

It seems crazy to him that something with teeth as sharp as yours can also look like the sweetest thing in the world. To anyone else, he must look like the bad guy. But he knows, and you know—you’re no victim.

With your hands tucked under your back, you’re completely pinned beneath him as he straddles your legs. You whine, but he pays you no mind—carefully lifting your top up further.

His body sags with a sigh at the sight. They’re even more perfect than he’d dreamed, and they feel even better in his hands—soft and squeezable.

It’s so fucked up—you have the ugliest personality he knows, and yet you're just as pretty as he remembers. He hates you, and yet you’re the only one he wants this way.

He bends down and wraps his mouth around your nipple—it’s perky and warm and makes him groan with a shudder—rocking his clothed bulge against your thigh with a string of moans.

He can’t believe your pussy is just a thin little layer of cotton away—waiting for him just beneath a pink print of cartoon bunnies. He doesn't know why, but he really likes that more than the black lace he’d expected. 

Suppose it makes you fit the role more—his prey.

Just knowing he’s going to fuck you makes him feel like the most powerful guy in the world. He wants to make you cum until you can’t even remember your own name.  He wonders if you’re a virgin, too, but he doubts it.

“I’ve seen you had so many tongues down your throat, it wouldn’t surprise me if you’ve had dick just as much.”

But that’s okay. He’s going to make sure this time is special. 

His body drapes yours with all its weight as endless thoughts of what he’s going to do to you flood his head. He moans, making drool spill over your chest where his mouth covets your breast while he keeps rutting into you—he’ll make you feel so good you fall in love with him.

And it’s sad how the thought alone instantly makes his boxers fill with stickiness.

And it’s only sadder as the post-nut-clarity hits because he’s left with a heavy feeling of grief for not having filled your womb instead. 

♡ OKKOTSU YUTA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[doeeyedmeanie]

Jason Todd who has no idea what he truly looks like , who describes himself so anomalistically that you’d think he was a victim of himself . He goes into way too much horrid detail, almost memorising each feature as though he was telling an old folks tale about some creature that haunts someplace that no one dare go. His eyes avoid mirrors , photographs of him self..his hands ready to punch or break the thing holding the image of his existence - he’s so sure he’s ugly or horribly disfigured , a part of him still focused on running that the sight of himself strikes some deep hatred and fear inside him. He hates it, hates himself more..the way he can’t look in the mirror or anything reflective or even a photo of himself.

You’ve come home before after one of Jason’s many breakdowns..his hands cut and bleeding , the blood dripping onto broken glass from both the bathroom mirror and and the hallway photos ; he’d run into Batman prior and of course..that deep rooted hatred and fear settled and bubbled to the top . His form of letting it escape being your home..the safest place and now..the messiest place. His tears are staining everything , those sad puppy eyes peering into yours as he mumbles apologies only to be shut down by the softness of your hands on his face and your lips on his forehead assuring him he was fine . You don’t let him clean up..you refuse to of course…you let him cuddle into you after you clean everything up ,telling him you’ll get a new mirror maybe one that you can turn away and that the photos can stay in your office away from him and his mind .

Jason hates hating himself , it used be some sort of protective mechanism..the hatred but now..oh now he wished himself as much as you loved him. He’s learning to..of course , he lets your compliments sit in the air , your hands guiding along each scar and your lips forming that sweet smile you get whenever you see your handsome boy. He enjoys it…you loving him , it’s enough to shut his brains hatred off..especially after a late night when he’s cuddled upto your side , his hand under your shirt caressing your chest , his face buried into your neck as you mess with his hair and soothe him…

Drabble? Broken Jason? I don’t know ☹️I missed writing for him but I am thinking of writing a stalker! Jason Todd x reader ?

[fear-is-truth]

wow i love the way you write nam-gyu! would you mind writing his attempt to make things right if he was given a second chance in a relationship? I’m basing this off of your last post with him where you said if he was given a second chance he would at least genuinely try. Have a great day! ❤️

NAM-GYU ❝ TRYING ❞ TO BE A GOOD BOYFRIEND. . .

content — gn!reader ・nam-gyu is still toxic & overall a shitty boyfriend・headcanons

a/n — i love this horrid man.

he starts overcompensating in small, almost pitiful ways. buying you gifts you didn’t ask for, running errands he wouldn’t have done before, doing the dishes without being asked. it’s as though he thinks he can earn your forgiveness through sheer persistence.

and it works because the bar is so low to begin with, it’s practically a tripping hazard in hell.

he’s not above love-bombing if it means keeping you. but it’s not entirely manipulative—there’s a small part of him that genuinely believes he can be better, even if he doesn’t know what that looks like.

he doesn’t like when you talk about the breakup. he’ll deflect, change the subject, or turn it into a joke. the idea of revisiting that time makes him feel pathetic, and he absolutely hates that.

keeps asking you if you’re happy. the question comes out of nowhere—he needs constant reassurance, like your happiness is the only proof he has that he’s not screwing this up again.

no matter how much he wants to try and fix things, he can’t completely shake the bitterness. deep down, he hates being the one begging for forgiveness. sometimes it slips out in muttered comments or passive-aggressive digs when he feels like he’s not being appreciated enough for trying.

gets this haunted look when you mention any moment from the time you were apart. it doesn’t matter if it’s innocent or unrelated to him—he’ll start overthinking it. where were you? who were you with?

paranoid about losing you again, and it shows in the way he checks your phone, asks too many questions about where you’ve been, or sulks when you spend time with other people.

if you call him out, he’ll switch gears fast. nam-gyu knows exactly what to say to deflect blame or make you second-guess your own feelings. he’s silver-tongued in a way that makes you want to forgive him, even when you know you probably shouldn’t.

despite his efforts, nam-gyu has a habit of reverting to old patterns. he gets frustrated when things don’t improve immediately and lashes out verbally. but as soon as he sees your hurt expression, he’s quick to backtrack, softening his tone and apologising—but the authenticity is up for debate.

there are sporadic bursts of effort. maybe he remembers a small detail you mentioned in passing and surprises you with it, or he takes you somewhere meaningful to “start fresh.” these moments feel real because, for a fleeting second, they are. but they’re often short-lived, drowned out by his issues.

he tries to hold back when you fight, but sometimes he just slips. the venom comes out before he can stop it, and the second he sees your face fall, he’s begging for forgiveness. the cycle exhausts you both.

tries to make up for his outbursts with affection. his hands are always on you—your waist, your wrist, the back of your neck. sure it’s possessive, but there’s a desperation to it too, because he’s trying to prove he still has a right to touch you.

there’s a subtle change in the way he looks at you now. before, there was always the arrogance of knowing you’d stick around no matter what. now, he’s bracing himself for the moment you’ll tell him it’s over for good.

he convinces himself that as long as you’re still there, things can get better. even if he doesn’t fully believe in his own ability to change, he holds onto the idea that you believe in him. it’s a crutch, one that keeps him from truly taking accountability but also keeps him trying—and he is. but there’s also a part of him that still believes he can’t fully change, that this is just who he is, and it’s up to you to decide if you can live with it.

[blackbirdsblackberries]

I Hate The New Hero

Chapter 12: I Swear To God...

Meanwhile, you didn't get the pleasure of going to sleep like Dick did. Your identity is as good as compromised. If only you had enough money to leave… 

Pacing around your room you try to think of what to do. The best option would be leaving - not just Gotham, but America as a whole. But, where would you go? Where would you get the money for a ticket AND the money to start over? 

You could sell some of your gear, or become a henchman - it’d only be for a bit! Just until you can get your money up, then you’d quit and make your escape. Yeah. That could work. But, did you really have it in you? To harm and steal? To know you’d been the cause of so many people’s lives? You couldn’t do that.

Sighing you sit down in your bed and pray for the night to finish so you can go to school.

-

Tim, however, is stuck at Bruce’s desk as Bruce monologues about how important it is to respond to messages in a timely manner. He forgot to message Bruce back about whatever he messaged him. 

“- Honestly, what would have happened if I was in trouble, or one of your brothers were in trouble and you decided to not respond.” Bruce states, it was rhetorical and Tim holds back an eye roll. The message wasn’t even that important… Okay, it kinda was. But, school got in the way and he kinda forgot.

“Well? What are we going to do now? If Y/N is Aranea that means-” Tim cuts off Bruce’s rant, already plotting. “That means we’re going to keep this information under wraps. We forgo plan A. If Y/N finds out we know she’d freak. Same with the others.”

The two talk for a bit longer, making up a new plan. After mere minutes of deliberation the two form a plan. 

-

Damian was confused and annoyed, you were an idiot, a hateful, disgusting and vile idiot. Yet, he was nothing if not observant, he noticed how you share the same figure as Aranea, he noticed how the ‘hair’ is a wig, he noticed all these things. 

However, he’d rather die than admit maybe you were Aranea, you had to be a sister or a cousin, someone else! And for you to hate your own blood family… It’s horrible to think about. Sure, he and Jason typically stay back from you, but that doesn’t mean their hatred is any lesser than the others. He’s sure Jason aches to put a bullet through your head any time word gets back to them about your shit talking.

To Damian, Aranea is an angel sent to comfort him, an older sister figure to help him vent his emotions, he doesn’t know where he’d be if it weren’t for her. What he’d be.

He won’t ever let someone extinguish her light..

-

The next day rolls around and you sit up, having barely slept. Rubbing your eyes you get up and proceed to get ready for school, trying not to think too hard about last night. When you get to school your friends aren’t waiting for you out front, weird. Shrugging it off you head inside the building - they were probably either late or getting something to eat before school.

Walking down the halls you pay no mind to Tim, who for some reason was staring at you with the same look one would give a shelter puppy - or an old dog about to be put down - it was sickening in a way, being watched by him like that. Did Dick tell him? He must’ve. That's why you’re getting the look you’re getting. 

You speed up slightly before turning into your first period class. The day passes in a blur, you don’t see your friends, Tim doesn’t talk to you, no one even looks at you. Something is wrong. Something is seriously wrong. When the day ends you waste no time in packing your things and leaving, the school’s suffocating atmosphere feels as though it’s lifted when you step out of the gates. You can’t bring yourself to head home yet, can’t bring yourself to enter another stuffy place.

Opting to walk along the grimy streets, rats scurrying by as if they were workers late to work. Everything seems to slow down for a minute as you walk, Gotham is a horrid, putrid wasteland of a place, yet for someone who has lived here all your life, you find this wasteland to be like a field of different types of flowers - colorful in ways unseen, quick to die yet surrounded by other life. No one dies alone in Gotham. Not truly. 

Your spider senses shoot to the heavens, freezing, you feel a kind of dread overcome you. Someone was watching, someone was waiting, someone was following. You're in danger. You have three options here.

You run, alerting the stalker you know of them. The person may be faster than you. 

You turn around to face the stalker, once more alerting the stalker you’re aware. You can’t tell who it is, they could be stronger than you, could have weapons.

You continue walking normally, not letting them know. This could lead to them attacking from behind.

Taking a deep breath you bend down, pretending to tie your shoelaces - you’ve been standing stationary for around ten seconds, if you started walking once more it may alert them. You soon stand up before continuing to walk.

The walk was uneasy, the presence of the person causing your spider senses to react violently, headaches, nausea, dizziness, the instinct to run, all of it was too much. You hated this. But discomfort is much more preferable than death. 

You curse your luck - for some reason people just weren’t around today. Though, even if they were, no one would intervene. They aren’t heroes. They wouldn’t risk their lives for a girl they don't know. 

The figure can be felt catching up to you and you bite back the scream of frustration, tears starting to rise. Why was everything so complicated?! You hate everyone! Fuck Timothy, fuck Richard, fuck Bruce and his rat son Damian, fuck Jason, fuck Stephanie, fuck Cassandra, fuck Duke, fuck Barbara - you know what? Fuck anyone who associates with that dysfunctional, borderline evil family!

You feel the person right behind you now, hell, even if you had normal senses you’d be able to tell. You turn just in time for a bag to go over your head before being knocked out. 

Taglist:

@rissareader @delias-stuff @hogwarts9 @marsmabe @randomlyappearingartist @coralaura @nervousalpacalady @citrushalo @chericia @soriansick @v0idl1nq @scrumdidiliyumyum @kittykatcreatster @feral-childs-word @anon34570 @shycreatorreview @sunny-sp3lls @fluffypackofships @cynniee @yuyuzi-ling @coffeeaddictxd @starryperson @readermommy @niggrrooo @bunbunboysworld @yanrandom @fluffypackofchips @vanilliona @wizzerreblogs @cens0r3d

[thegnomelord]

If you're up to it, I would like to request FtM reader x dragon Price, reader can be dom or sub I just need more FtM things in life besides myself😞😞 -🐆

Sure, I wasn't in the mood for porn so have some fluff. fair warning I'm not all that confident writing FTM reader so ya'll tell me if this sucks lol

CW: SFW, gender dysphoria, fluff, non sexual nudity, cuddling, scar kissing

Most day are good for you. Most days you're able to get out of bed and go about your day to day duties with confidence.

Not today.

You wake before your alarm with an unpleasant feeling in your gut, tossing and turning for an hour in hopes of falling asleep but it's useless. The morning chill only amplifies the horrid sensation — your skin doesn't feel like your own, your body doesn't feel your own. It's like roaches are crawling beneath your skin, thousands of toothpicks stabbing your nerves every time the cotton of your boxers brushes against your flawed flesh. Old words of people you once considered friends ring in your head like church bells: You're not a real man, you'll never be.

All you are, is a badly made replica in the approximation of what you want to be.

Your bones feel like they're lined with lead, every cell in your body begging you to stay under the covers in the darkness of your room for however long it takes for this feeling to go away. But the sharp ringing of the alarm forces you to rise against your wishes. You don't look at yourself when you shower, but the small glimpse of skin you catch in the mirror makes bile burn the back of your throat. Usually you're proud of your torso and the muscles you've built, but all you can think now as you put on the tight fitting army shirt is how wrong it looks on you. You try to pull on the front a couple of times in an attempt to make it baggier around your chest, before just putting on a jacket regardless that it's the middle of summer.

Recruit duty makes a bad day even worse, adding a headache alongside the discomfort and anxiety that straddle your brain. You hate how snappy and agitated you are with them, running them through grueling drills until they regret being born and have probably called you every name under the sun in their heads. The all collapse when you're finally finished with them, stepping away from them. The day's heat made you sweat like a pig, another round of bile burning the back of your throat at how your clothes stick to you.

You flinch back when a hand grabs your shoulder, quickly whirling around to look who it is with a sharp retort burning on your tongue, only to fizzle out when you're met with Price's face.

Your name sounds so right when he says it, the scent of tobacco curling in your nose as he steps closer to you, wing stretching out to subtly hang over you. "What's going on lad?" Price asks, his voice low, like taking a sip of cool water.

The question makes you hesitate, unable to meet his gaze so you fixate on counting the little chips in the concrete floor. "Just one of those days." You grunt, your voice hoarse and scratchy from belting orders all day.

Price hums in thought and then you feel his wing bump against your back, "Follow me soldier." The deep timber of his voice silences some of the dark thoughts crooning in your ears, and you're helpless to do anything but follow after him like a lost lamb. He leads you back to his room (that you haunt most nights), the place blessedly cool and dark compared to the heat outside.

The second the door closes and locks he pulls you in close, wrapping his steady arms around you and pushing your face into the pillowy bosom of his pecs. You struggle for a moment out of pure instinct, but a single call of your name makes you stop like a puppet on cut strings. He repeats your name like a caress, rolling every syllable on his tongue as his chest rumbles with a deep purr.

You melt into him, nuzzling your nose into the deep valley of his pecs and breathing in his smell. He's more intoxicating than any drug you know; beneath the scents of tobacco, dark coffee, and manly musk there's always something that your mind associates with freshly cut grass and rain on dry gravel — Comfort.

"You're so smart and clever." He croons, resting his chin on top of yours, one hand tracing the curve of your back. "But by god are you a dumb muppet." There's no edge to his words, you don't even think of fighting his admonishments. "How many times have I told you to come to me if you feel like this?"

Too many times, to be honest. You're stubborn if nothing else, you always think you can handle this on your own, you don't want to burden him whenever your mind decides to be a dick to you. "I'm sorry." You mumble into his shirt, your hands slowly wrapping around his thick waist. It always does your head in how your fingers can't quite meet in the middle of his back with how broad he is, muscle and fat shifting beneath your hands.

"Sure you are." He tuts, evidently not believing you for a second. But he doesn't pull away, tail loosely wrapping around your leg and his scent and heat enveloping you, his chest vibrating against your face. "Going to let me take care of my boy, aren't you?" The way he phrases it makes it sound like a statement, and you're unable to resist it.

Your mouth goes dry, your body stuck between wanting more and abhorring any more physical contact. But you nod your head, grumbling something probably nonsensical. And any other day you'd laugh your ass off about the fact you're practically motorboating him, but not today. Today you barely have any energy left to think.

"That's my boy." He purrs, clawed fingers gently scratching your scalp. "Shower?" He asks.

You pause, trying to string together a tangible thought. You doubt you could handle that, not with how dark and heavy your head feels. "No." You croak and nuzzle further into his chest in an attempt to hide.

"S'alright, I'm proud of you." He hums, still holding you close as he shuffles across the room with you blindly following him. "Let's get you out of those sweaty clothes, yeah?" Getting a single nod from you, he starts to slowly take off your clothes, pulling back just enough to distract you with sweet kisses. You try to help in taking his clothes off, but you feel about as useful as a small child helping his parents cook, getting a few chuckles from him.

You wind up gently pushed down on your back, spread across his bed that smells just like him and naked as the day you were born. Before the discomfort can make you shy away and try to cover yourself, he's settling down next to you, claws scraping against your jaw as he pulls you into a slow kiss. You swear you can always taste a bit of eternity every time he kisses you, so unhurried like you'll last as long as him.

"Look at you." He hums as you part, his hands sliding down your shoulders and arms to your hips. "My handsome boy." He tilts his head to kiss all over your face, trailing his lips from your brows to your eyelids, cheeks, nose, chin to wherever else he can reach. His beard is soft against your skin, evidently he'd used that beard care product you'd given him. "So strong and capable. My strong knight."

That gets the first vestige of a chuckle out of you. "Does that mean I get to lay the dragon?" You ask, your lips tugging into a small smirk. You've made that joke god knows how many times, but despite his gripes, Price loves it.

"Cheeky wanker." He huffs, his cool clawed fingers trailing along the curve of your muscles up your torso. "Later, if you're good."

A low sound escapes you when his thumbs brush the even scars beneath your pecs. "Good?" He asks, waiting for you to nod before tilting his head down, horns gently poking your skin for a second before he starts kissing along your scars. His touch is gentle like you're a precious treasure in his hoard, his lips velvet soft against the rough scar tissue. Every brush of his lips makes your skin tingle like a live wire, fire simmering in the place he kisses as he trails from one side to the other, laying equal attention on every inch of your scars.

It's pleasant. Beyond pleasant. It leaves your chest feeling so warm and full like your heart will burst through your ribcage.

You feel like a melted puddle of goo by the time he pulls away to kiss you on the lips again. You don't struggle as he lays down on his side and pulls you to him. A pleased sigh escapes you as you feel his wing drape over you like a blanket, tail curling around one of your legs and arms wrapping around your waist; like he's making sure you can't escape (not that you'd want to.)

Dragons are strange, the scales cool against your skin but his core is hot like a furnace, the duality of it calming your mind. "How are you feeling lad?" He asks, the low timber of his voice vibrating his chest.

You hum and nuzzle into his pecs, the ample chest hair tickling your face. "Better." You grunt, blindly kissing what inch of flesh you can reach. You can't keep your hands from wandering, petting the dark hair of his happy trail as your other hand traces the scales on his side. "Could feel better with a bit more attention though."

A snort leaves him, his breath ghosting over your ear. "You're insatiable." His words would be a lot more insulting if his chest didn't vibrate with a continuous purr, his tail tightening for a second before relaxing.

"You're to blame." You feel better as the words leave you, your chest light as a feather as you get to share a small laugh with him.

"Get some rest, my boy," You hum, your eyelids already starting to feel heavy as you feel him nuzzle his cheek into your hair. You don't doubt the whole base will be able to smell him on you tomorrow. "We'll see about laying dragons later."

"I love you." You murmur into his flesh, his pecs becoming the world's best pillow as you nuzzle closer. You stay awake just long enough to hear him murmur his love for you in your ear.

[vryfmi]

[major book spoilers]

my favourite concept that i barely see in l&co fandom being talked about is Lucy grieving Skull. whether you see their relationship as platonic or ship skullyle, it's stupid to deny the fact that Lucy grew to care about Skull, her actions in epilogue being the heartbreaking glimpse into the new reality for her and her friends after the events of TEG:

“I don’t know why you insist on having it with us for each meal.” (Holly) “It’s that horrid charcoaled skull Lucy insists on carrying around with her.” (Holly) I’d wrapped it up and taken it home, and kept it with me ever since, just in case.

here i want to say that im not a fan of idea of Skull eventually "coming back", re-materialising. it defeats the moral of Lockwood & Co and the growth that Skull underwent. past is meant to stay the past, living can only learn from it while dead will forever exist there. no one should disturb the dead, the past, it needs to be left at rest and let it hold its memory.

Skull wanted and longed for freedom, at first defined by breaking out of silver-glass prison, but later, very clearly defined by the peace of mind. he was scared of death as much as Bickerstaff was, that's why Skull turned his back on the other side, he chose to stay here, in the world of the living. i always read his decision to save both Lucy and Lockwood as him admitting that he could never be a part of the living world (cough could never compete with what lockwood, alive boy, could give lucy cough), so he pushed the two away as he stayed in the room with Marissa, Penelope and Ezekiel.

to me, the best ending to Skull's story is him passing on his terms, not the explosion destroying his connection with the source, but contemplating what he sees himself doing after Lucy suggested him staying with L&Co. Skull declines her offer. and chooses freedom.

obviously, that's my reading and how i prefer to interpret L&Co's ending. (it's also the reason i can't accept that christmas special as canon, im sorry, i hate happiness).

but that leaves Lucy and her newfound need of keeping skull near her at all times since Fittes HQ explosion, her wishful thinking that he'd come back. and i want to see her go through painful acceptance of losing Skull. losing a someone that she never got to know closer. losing a chance to get to know him as a friend, to admitting to have found a friend in Skull, a kindred spirit. losing someone who understood her and knew her deepest fears because these two deeply traumatised teens were so alike. losing something that she chose to define herself and her worth by. Lucy would have to come to terms with how much of a support system she had in Skull. and now, she'd have to navigate without it.

Lucy makes a remark that i can't stop thinking about.

Whenever I put my fingers on it, I got no psychic charge. The bone was dry and cold.

i could go on a rampage theorising why Lucy can't feel anything despite a) her having a strong Touch b) objects that are not sources are still able to hold strong psychic echoes. but i feel like Stroud was trying to wrap up the story and didn't want to introduce a whole new storyline of Lucy picking up fragments of Skull's past. which is a shame. i would kill for such story to be told. (please hit me up if you do.)

but say she really can't pick up anything, Skull is gone and there's not a psychic trace left of him. where does Lucy find herself then? constantly checking the skull with all her senses, wishing to see a green spark dance around the (former) source, to hear a whispery insult in her ear, to feel just anything with her touch. but it's all gone. there's nothing left. no one left. everyone else is moving on, hurries Lucy to get rid of that horrid old bone, but how can she? how can she bring herself to get rid of the only thing left? the only thing left on earth to remember a nameless boy by? the boy who could've been her friend, but she failed to trust him? failed to say thank you?

with each passing day Lucy’d feel worse because she knows how she looks to her friends, to agents, to the ones saving London from violent visitors every night, putting their lives on the line. and here she sits, wishing a ghost to appear in her attic room when she's the most vulnerable at heart.

bonus points for Lucy picking up a pencil and trying to recreate the boy she saw on the other side on paper while the memory is still fresh, while she still remembers. (but also, if we view books as Lucy's memoirs, it would make Skull's bare-bone description even more sad because that would mean older Lucy forgot the details).

what im trying to incoherently say is, Lucy would grieve. and having read almost all of the books Stroud wrote, i see that he has a very intimate relationship with grief and mourning the loss of someone dear to the point where he explores different sides and intensities of it, how each of his characters goes through it, in every single book of his. (i believe, i have three more books of his to read).

p.s. i don't want to be a hypocrite so here are fics about lucy grieving skull that i love to bits:

- i'm still painting flowers for you by terryh

- echoes by menina123

- it isn’t the same (but it is enough) by bluejay_07

- don't wanna go, but it's time to leave by fourohfourerror

[o-sachi]

Isagi Yoichi ₊⊹ Headcanons

ଳ Character; Isagi Yoichi (Bllk)

ଳ Tags; (random) regular/platonic hcs

— He’s the type of person who avoids stepping on the cracks on the sidewalk whenever he goes out on his usual walks. Whenever he does accidentally step on a crack, he lets out an audible ‘tsk’ and is a bit annoyed by the fact.

— On the top shelf of his cabinet, there’s a reused cookie tin where he chucks all the cool rocks he found on his walks. He has had the thing since childhood and now he doesn’t know what to do with it. So it has been collecting dust there and he’s pretending that it doesn’t exist.

— He’s a plain texter, but not a dry one. The only shortcuts he uses are otw, brb, ty, and btw. He’s guilty of overusing this emoji 🙂 and he unironically uses this one 😊. He uses both in a non-sarcastic manner. His top 5 emojis are: 🙂👍🏻😂😕⚽️

— His room is neat and tidy which his parents constantly praise him for. However, the colors are a bit dull. The only eye-catching area would be his manga shelf. He’s proud of his collection and enjoys rearranging it whenever he buys new manga. He arranges them by genre, so he can easily find something to read to fit his mood.

— He is a MAJOR sweet tooth. He’d eat sweets exclusively all day if he could. The only thing that’s stopping him was that one time he got extremely sick after eating too much kintsuba as a little kid. “Moderation is key,” he’d say while eating sweets.

— Despite being a sweet tooth, he’s not a picky eater. He eats anything his mother cooks which he is praised for as well. He doesn’t particularly hate any kind of food, but he’d prefer not to have bitter stuff. Even though he’s an active and growing dude, he isn’t much of a big eater. He actually gets full pretty fast.

— He likes to tell dad jokes which he stole learned from his dad. His personal favorite (which makes him chuckle a bit before saying it) is, “What has 4 wheels and flies? A garbage truck!” The only person who has laughed at that joke was his younger cousin that came to visit them at their house some time ago.

— His parents keep an odd doodle of a cyborg-looking creature picture framed in their kitchen. It was one of Isagi’s drawings from when he was just 6 years old. He gifted it to his mom on her birthday because he thought she loved his art.

— His biggest pet peeve is people who chew loudly. Somehow he can hear it more compared to other people. It irks him so much to the point that it makes him lose appetite altogether. He usually eats faster, so that he can relieve himself of those horrid sounds.

— Whenever he goes to the mall, there are 3 places he absolutely needs to visit. The first one is the sporting goods store so he can check out some new football equipment he might like. The second one is the 100¥ store (dollar store). He likes to look for cool trinkets and kitchen tools for his mom or tools for repair for his dad. Lastly, he has to go to the sweets shop that sells his favorite kintsuba.

— Much like on the field, it’s like Isagi transforms into a different person whenever he’s playing multiplayer games. It doesn’t matter if it’s the enemy or his teammate—they’re all catching some fire.

— Sometimes he can’t fall asleep quickly because he’s thinking up of scenarios (he does this to fall asleep quicker, but it has the opposite effect). He likes to repeat events if they didn’t turn out well or if it wasn’t as vivid as he wanted it to be.

ε( ε ˙³˙)ɜ ｡° ⚬ ｡ Likes and reblogs are appreciated

o-sachi © 2024

[a-romantics-guide-to-life]

⋆⟡˚ ཐི⋆♱ 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 ♱⋆ཋྀ ˚⟡⋆

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: billy the kid x fem witch reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’re the towns witch but everyone thinks your evil and vile, billy believes every word they say until he actually meets you; aka halloween is your time of year and billy is all for it

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: fluff, implied sex, hate, witch!reader, outlaw billy, halloween but its the wild west and they have witches (Ooooo)

𝐚/𝐧: heres my lil take on witch reader and outlaw billy who are both ousted from society, ofc witch r more than billy. hope you enjoy!

𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟-𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Everybody in town knew never, ever, to go up to the cottage just past the first few lines of trees of the forest.

The townsfolk would spook their children into shivering at night for fear of the witch who would cast a spell and curse them all. The mothers would make rotten smelling bread and give it to their children saying it was a gift from the witch. The children would gag and cry about the awful gift that was more of an evil warning.

Of course, none of this was true.

Although it was fact, most definitely not fiction, that you were a witch who indeed did live past the first lines of trees in the forest, that was only because some of your herbs and plants could only be grown in the dark. It was most definitely true that you could hex and curse but you’d never make rotten bread.

Who even claimed that witches made rotten bread?

“Mmmm baby, whatever is in that there oven smells heavenly.” Spoke the man laying naked on your bed. You laughed, pulling on a smoky robe. You run your fingers through your hair, your eyes turning stark black, purple haze swirling in the starry night of your eyes as you use your ‘evil magic’ to untangle your hair.

Billy turned, his midnight blue eyes piercing you back with his bullet-like gaze. You winked over your shoulder as he started to stand up, grabbing a pair of shorts. He trudged over to you, whisking your hair away as he kissed up your neck where a tattoo of a daffodil lay fully bloomed.

It was one of Billy’s favorite parts about you, the flower symbolizing so much to you. He knew how hard it was being a ‘witch’, being outed as a “worshiper of the devil.” He knew that your own dear mother was burned at the stake for fighting for what’s right. Billy knew that your father had taken and ran with you as far away as you could at six years old, hiding your powers away from society to protect you.

And you had hidden, for nearly ten years, you had run from everything and everyone. You fled from forest to forest, your father growing weaker and weaker. You had finally stopped running when you found the cottage, nursing your father back to health. But, your father didn’t make it, dying the first night from delirium, forgetting who you were, where you were, everything. He eventually remembered before going mad from grief of losing your mother. You vowed then and there to curse all love, after all, who could ever learn to love a witch as your father had?

Yet you held hope, the magically tattooed daffodil an ode to that hope. Hope that one day you could walk freely amongst the humans, you could love freely without the burden of consequence, that you could one day break your curse.

Billy had waltzed into your life blazing hot and hazily drunk. He had been punished by the townsfolk, being thrown into the forest for the “witch to have at him.” 

Which is when he met you. He hadn’t been afraid, raising his gun to you, his blue eyes piercing right through you. Billy had been surprised when he found out the “horrid witch” who had skin green as moss and a cackle as evil as the Devil was actually just an Angel no older than him. He had lowered his revolver, laughing out at the cruel irony of it all. 

Turns out, you weren’t the wicked one at all.

“I hope you do like it, after all, I’m a rotten witch whose rolls are most certainly revolting.” You purred, spinning in his arms to face him. He smiles lazily, a huff rolling from his lips.

“Well, it's a good thing that this outlaw ain’t any better than a witch baby. ‘Sides,” he lowers his voice, biting your ear playfully before whispering in your ear, his rough and broad hands holding your arms softly, “your pussy tastes too sweet for ya t’be rotten darlin’.”

You chuckle, your legs involuntarily squeezing shut at the memories of last night's heated dinner date.

He chuckles at your reaction, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. Billy walks over to where his discarded clothes lay, pulling up his trousers, barely buttoning his dark blue blouse before bringing his trousers straps up and to rest on his broad shoulders. He stands next to you, pouring himself a cup of coffee as you check on the cinnamon rolls you had baked in the oven.

You bend over, rotating the tray. Billy grins from behind you, slapping your barely covered ass. You yelp, nearly falling forward into the oven. He quickly grabs your hips, pulling you to his lower region. You stand up, turning to face him before hitting his chest.

“Billy, how dare you?!! Are you trying to get me killed??” You flail your arms dramatically.

“Guess those stories ‘bout witches getting pushed into ovens were true then, weren’t they darlin’?”

“Of course they are, who wouldn’t die if you pushed ‘em into a very hot metal oven?”

He turns the question in his head, “Ya ain’t wrong there darling.”

You huff, turning away from him mixing the frosting for the rolls. Billy walks up behind you, running his palms up and down your sides. He kisses the side of your neck, resting his chin on your shoulder. He starts to hum a cowboy song, you assume, the soothing baritone of his voice relaxing your body further into submission. All for this man. 

A true Angel among men, you thought. 

You could, and would never, understand how the world could ever put Billy through all that it had with no remorse. And people still hated and feared him?

He was as sweet as sugar and as loyal as a priest, he was kind and loving, so loving. You never could understand just how he had so much heart to love you as much as he did. 

Billy just couldn’t help it. You were amazing, incredible, truly ethereally out of this world. He thought you were a star who had fallen down to Earth, bringing light and warmth everywhere you went. 

“Mmmm, baby, ‘s so good.” Billy moaned as the white cream coated his lips.

“Billy, ya got a lil something on your lips.” You smile.

He chuckles, licking his lips, savoring the creamy frosting of the fresh cinnamon rolls that you and Billy had been eating. The cool October air seeping into your room as you sat at -your small round dining table, eating the warm and sweet rolls with your special tea.

You take a bite, the fresh cinnamon-y roll, the sweet cream topping cool on your tongue. You look up, meeting Billy’s eyes. His gaze soft and warm, heating the cold plain within your chest.

“....Is there something on my face?” You ask timidly, rubbing your chin to check for any dirt or grime.

“You’re beautiful,” he softly utters, your name like a prayer on his lips. 

You smile, taking another bite of your roll. He smiles as your black cat, Nyx, crawls onto your lap, purring softly. Surprisingly, Nyx had liked Billy from your first meeting till now. Nyx strutted her sassy cute butt across the table, head raised high as she lay on the table right next to where Billy’s hand lay.

He chuckles as his hand goes to stroke the princess head, Nyx letting out content purrs as Billy laughs even more, the sound resonating in your chest.

You summon your camera to capture the moment, Billy sitting with your cat, petting her softly with the softest smile ever as the sunlight streamed through the room giving Billy a halo. You smile as Billy turns to you after the flash of the camera, his nose scrunched and eyebrows furrowed together as his stark blue eyes close in an attempt to relieve his eyes of the bright flash of light.

You laugh as he slowly squints his eyes open, acclimating his baby blue eyes to the brightness of the world all while Her Royal Majesty Nyx has sat there, eyes peacefully closed with Billy’s broad hands splayed in her back.

“What was that for darlin’?”

“Oh nothing, just wanted to have something to remember this moment by.”

He growls, standing up and stalking over to you. Billy attacks your neck with loving bites and kisses while lifting you away and onto your bed. “I can think of another way to help ya remember this mama.”

You laugh as he unhooks his trouser straps while tugging your robe open to the cool air while Nyx struts her stuff out of the window and into your fields as laughter and groans fill the air of your little cottage.

Billy lay on you, his head laying on your belly while your hand softly cards through his brunet curls.

“Baby?”

“Mhmmm Billy?”

He sits up, his broad frame towering over your bare form laying on the bed. “Ya wanna go ‘to town?”

You chuckle, hoisting yourself up, pressing kisses along his shoulder to his strong neck. “Darling, you really think I, of all people, could just stroll into town?”

He sighs, “ ‘s just that, it's Halloween t’night and I thought, well,” he looks away sheepishly, his eyes looking out the window where Nyx had climbed back into the cottage,” though ya’d wanna come with me since they’ll be plenty of other witches around. All the kids been dressing up as of late, thought it’d be the perfect time for ya to finally come see what the towns been like.”

You stare at him, blinking. How long has it been since you’ve seen the town? How much could that awful place have changed?

“Billy, as much as I love that idea, I don’t think it’ll be safe. Who knows what they’ll do as soon as they realize that I ain’t dressed up as a witch but actually am one?”

“Pretty mama, my baby, lovely,” he kisses your head before resting his forehead against yours, his calloused palm holding your face softly,” y’know I won’t let anything, an’ I mean anything, take ya away from me, right?”

“Yea, of course. Not that you need to protect me, I can do that myself. Been doing that myself.” Your eyes flash midnight, mesmerizing Billy.

“Baby, lemme help you, yeah?” His balmy hands reach up, rubbing your shoulders up and down as he pulls you to him. You wrap your arms around him, taking in the musk and honey of Billy, drowning everything out with his heat.

You mumble a small “okay,” satisfying Billy.

“And as much as I love ya naked darlin’, Imma need you to cover up for the rest of the townsfolk.”

You snicker, spalling his chest before standing to get ready. You grab the darkest dress you have, to enhance your witchy vibes, and grab a purse filled with coin just in case.

You and Billy walk through the trees, carefully entering the town’s outskirts where children had already begun to collect candy and participate in party games on folks’ lawns. You smile, wrapping an arm through Billy’s, holding onto him for security of mind and body.

Billy leads you to the center of the town where all the festivities lay. Smashing pumpkin contests (which Billy entered just for you winning 1st place) and apple bobbing contests where you dunked your head in water trying to get an apple twixt your teeth (you had frightened everyone there by using your magic to stay underwater for longer). There were even axe throwing and shooting contests. Needless to say, to make you happy, Billy had entered and won each contest, bringing you back a fruit or stuffed animal each time. 

You continued on through the town, a show all about witches, highly incorrect you told Billy, playing at the theater on your path. You had even watched the poor little girl, an accused witch, ‘burned at the stake’ by the townspeople in the play. It was certainly informative to say the least.

At least you knew to steer clear of fires for a bit.

Billy took you too all his favorite spots, the big apple tree in the apple orchard, the bakery owned by a woman as sweet as his own late mother, and even where he ranched and the barn, which was open as a petting zoo, where he would frequently work.

You laughed as everybody treated you as a normal human, not some satanic heretic. You smiled as Billy took you around town, reveling in the fresh air of humans. You nearly cried when it all came to an end. 

You and Billy ended up on the dock of the local lake where all the ‘young folk’ swam, your legs dangling together in the cool water.

“Thank you, Billy.”

“For what baby?”

You turn to him, his eyes as dark and starry as the night sky that blanketed the sky. “For everything, for making me feel alive. For making me feel seen and real. For taking me out today even though it was dangerous.” You pause, smiling up at the moon, thanking your mother and father for sending down this man, this Angel, to you. “Thank you for today Billy. I had lots of fun.”

He leans down, kissing you fervently on your velvety lips. “Course baby. I’d do anything for ya, I love you.”

You look up into his eyes, kissing him lightly. “I love you too Billy.”

[ganondoodle]

actively fighting a full blown panic attack born out of sadness and anger after having to drive by yet another victim on the side of the road

it makes me livid how accepted it is to just let cats suffer and die disgustingly horrid deaths and live awful short lives just so what, for what?? so you dont have to play with them for an hour a day??? when i was little it was just kinda normal that they disappeared at some point, i didnt understand what it actually meant until our outdoor cat i loved dearly was found in the bushes near our house in a condition so horrible my dad has never told me and i have never dared to ask, she only made it to 6 and had horrible scars and infections before that i allowed my family to convince me to let my first own cat outside, we only had her for a year, she died at only 2 years old, i am still suffering from the guilt, it has never let me go, she went missing for a week and i walked the entire vilage up and down every day, yelling her name, wandering into the forest alone, talking to every stranger i met until one morning my mom told me that our neighbour who works for the city asked if we had a white cat with a very specific collar she had- he found her on a busy road crossing in the next bigger city, i never even got to bury her, its haunting me, the thought of her wandering lost and scared in the city for a week until meeting an awful end gives me headaches, the fact that i was the last one to see her alive, that i put her outside bc we were late for school and had to leave quickly, that she had come home with oil in her fur from crawling through maschines and cars before, that i was worried but still didnt act, that it is my fault, any time i am up to late its coming back, it will never let me go, if i had stood my ground and not allow her outside unless on a leash or similar shed still be alive today, any time i read a description at our local shelter it comes back, they still advocate for outside cats, all of them, even if they have only been an indoor one before, its madness my older sister had a cat, i dont even know how old he got but it wasnt long either, he got hit by a car in front of their house, she has two now again and the only reason she hasnt let them outside is because they havent shown much interest in it, i tried to warn her before and she didnt listen and shes still resistent, even after losing one too

i have seen so many on the side of the road, anywhere i drive i see them, i cannot forget a single one, we are surrounded by farm land and all its giant maschinery, its still common to poison rodents, why do people value them so little, you wouldnt let your dog just live outside in the woods and streets for half the day or more, you wouldnt just throw your guniea pigs on the road and tell them have fun, you wouldnt just let your bird roam outside, there probably assholes that do that too but you cannot tell me its as common as outside cats

i dont understand it, i dont, i wont, i never will, i will never forgive myself this poor little animal that was my responsibility having to pay the price of my ignorance, or my own weakness letting my family convince me despite the awful way we lost one before, it makes me want to explode it hurts my brain in grief and anger i can barely contain

cats deserve to live a safe and long life, i get only having them inside may feel like you are locking them up, but do you think that not doing so is worth having them die a painful death? being poisonend? on purpose even by disgusting people that hate them? abused and chased by other animals and dogs? hurt and lost? cutting their lifespan in half? if they even make it that far? the amount of wildlife that they kill unnecessarily so when all of that is already in a steep decline everywhere? and if they eat what they hunt get infected with diseases or again, poison? die somewhere in agony? if cared for they dont care about going outside, plenty can be leash trained or given a secure way to roam like those cat proof aviary like things, if you dont want to put effort into caring for a cat DONT GET ONE, ALL pets require adequate care, and if you think cats are the easiest bc you only have to feed them every now and then IF they come home? you suck, you are an asshole, i hate you and you do not care about them, if you just want to occasionalyl feed and pet an animal go to the petting zoo

(this is about pet cats of people who can absolutely afford to keep them healthily inside, i know feral cats and those in poor neighbourhoods are a thing, even if not here where i live, and thats a whole other but still similar problem and not the point of this post)

[jaykaysthicthighs]

The Path Of A Singer | JJK

excerpt | the appearance of your old lover pops up on tv, and the horrible memories showed itself once again.

genre | heavy angst, cheating, abuse, minor fluff

rating | 18+

warnings | strong language, present & past, toxic relationship, mental & physical abuse, jk cheating, panic attack, alcohol and drug consumption, lots of crying, heartbreaking conversations, jk being vile, lots of yelling, jk manhandles the reader, mention of abusive father, mention of ptsd, reader being selfless (you might not agree with the decisions she's made, but don't hate her; she's a broken person), maybe more

wc | 4K+ (very short)

notes | it's been a hell of a long time since i wrote and posted anything....!!!

my inspiration came from watching the movie insidious: the red door lol. the reason for the mature rating is because of the strong language, the heavy conversations said, and the talks of alcohol and drugs. i want to say that i'm not romanticizing this type of relationship or the behaviors of the characters, i'm just making a story that maybe some people might have gone through. sometimes the decisions made or thought of does not make you a bad/horrible person. everyone had a reason good or bad; you just have try to be understanding. i also tried to make this as heartbreaking as possible, but for some reason i feel like it's not. hopefully it does pull some heartstrings for you guys.

You finally arrived home after an exhausting day of work. Your roommate wasn't home yet, so, luckily for you, you're able to binge eat without the concerned eyes of your friend watching you.

You walked your way to the kitchen and made yourself some sandwiches, you also grabbed some water on the way to the living room. When you made it to the couch, you plopped down heavily. You grabbed the remote and started scrolling through the channels. You came across a channel that was showing a music festival, and without thinking about who might be performing you clicked on it.

The first performer was a group called XG. As they were performing, you happily ate while vibing to their songs. At one point, you started singing as well, not caring that you still had some food in your mouth. If the neighbors were able to hear you, they would probably think someone is dying - yelling for help.

When you finished, you got up put away your dishes, and made your way to your room to change your clothes. As you were changing, you felt a bit lonely. You and your friend don't have any pets, no companion to keep any of you guys company. You exited your room with a simple sweater and shorts.

You made it back to the living room with a content expression on your face, unfortunately, it wouldn't last long. As you were about to get yourself situated on the couch, you looked at the TV screen, and the one person you never wanted to see again was singing.

You fell to your knees with a hard thud, watching the screen with horrid eyes. It's been three years since you saw him. In those three years, you tried your damned hardest to avoid anything and everything that involved him in it. The pain he caused you still resides in your little heart.

You didn't realize but you started crying; the tears rapidly falling. Your body started shaking; the little goosebumps displaying your skin. Your chest felt heavy like a huge wave crashing on you, and the water is rising up into your nose, making it hard for you to breathe. You felt like you were suffocating, and the lack of air was making your head light; dizziness taking its place.

On the outside, you were frozen, but on the inside, you were trying to claw your way out. You felt like you were scratching every surface of your body, but you weren't moving an inch. Your brain was screaming for help, but the only thing leaving your mouth was the hardness and unstableness of your breathing. Right now, you were wishing for your friend to come home right now and save you.

Three Years Ago

You were in your car driving your way to your boyfriend. Jungkook's manager called you demanding that you come and pick him up. You don't really know what happened, but from how his manager sounded, you were thinking that he got himself drunk and high again, causing thoughtless actions.

Not too long ago, Jungkook was able to get into his dream record label. After years and years of hard work, passion, and dedication he was able to pursue his dream. What you didn't realize is that with Jungkook getting to follow his dream of being a singer, he would soon lose his sense of self. In just two weeks he was starting to drink, and in another week, he started experimenting with drugs.

As time went on, so did your patience. You would try and try to stop him - to help him, but every time Jungkook would stop your advances. Pushing you away and causing you pain made Jungkook feel superior, it made him feel proud that he reached a certain height in life.

Your guy's relationship now consists of yelling and crying. Jungkook started to mentally abuse you, but even so, you would accept it. You didn't have the strength to leave him - to leave the man you love since middle school. You couldn't leave the man who would write songs about you, the man who would wake up during dawn and make you a big breakfast, the man who would call you no matter the time, the man who would always tell you how much he loves you every second of the day. You didn't have the strength to leave him.

With all your anger, you finally made it to the studio in one piece. When you entered the building, the looks on the staff's faces were concerning you. One of the staff went up to you and told you to not go inside the studio. You looked at them judgingly and pushed your way through them, but they still tried to stop you.

"What is the problem? Let me through!" you yelled. They gave you a sad look and apologized, "I'm sorry ma'am, but Jungkook is very busy, and I don't think it's a good idea for you to go inside there." Your anger was boiling, steam coming out of your ears. "Sorry for yelling at you, but I don't fucking care if he is busy. Jonny called me saying that I need to pick this asshole up, okay? If you're worried about me finding out that he is high or drunk - even both, don't. This is not new to me."

The staff in front of you looked like she was on the verge of tears. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she got the chance, a disheveled woman left the room your boyfriend was in. You watched her with wide eyes as she left the building with a smile on her face. You stomped your way to the studio door ignoring the pleas from the staff. You pushed open the door causing a loud bang, startling the man recognized as Jonny.

Jonny swiftly got up and the first thing you noticed was the bloody nose. You walked your way to him digging in your bag grabbing some tissues for his nose. Gently placing it on him, you politely demanded, "Where is he, Jonny?" The man before you faced his eyes on the floor. "Jonny, you called me here, so, don't fucking hide anything from me. Where is he?"

The man took a step back letting the blood freely fall again. He shook his head, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called you. I've ruined everything." You gritted your teeth and threw the bloody tissue at his face. "Where the hell is he, Jonny?" you yelled.

A second later, Jungkook swung the bathroom door open with nothing but some sweats on. Your heart dropped from his appearance. It was evident that he had fucked the girl from earlier. You guys made eye contact, and you could tell immediately that he was high out of his mind. "Get out, Jonny," you said without looking.

When you heard the door shut, that's when you crumbled. Your eyes started blurring with the tears that were coming. Your body shaking with rage. You walked up to the fucked-up man and slapped him. "Why? Why? Why the hell would you do this to me?"

Jungkook harshly grabbed your wrists and laughed. He laughed like what you had said was something funny. You can smell the horrible alcohol leaving his mouth as he laughed. "Because it's fun, babe."

The pain rippled throughout your body. You snatched your wrists away and bellowed, "You're hurting me! You're destroying me! What does she have that I don't? I thought you loved me?" Jungkook towered over you; he grinned, "I don't love you." Your whole world died. Never had Jungkook spouted those words. It tore you limb from limb, slowly but surely. And that was all it took for you to call it done.

You were fine dealing with his hurtful ways. You were fine being the punching bag. But you were not fine being cheated on. Even with Jungkook in this fucked-up state, not once had he said that he didn't love you, and not once did he ever cheat on you. You felt lower than before, and you didn't want to feel like that. You knew that the moment he started doing drugs and drinking alcohol, the man you once knew would be gone. Still, you had hoped there might be a tiny sliver of him inside, but today proved - his words proved you wrong.

Your eyes hardened and your expression became stoic. Without trying to sound broken you seethed, "We are done! You fucking hear me? I am done with your shit - with everything!" As you walked your way to the door, Jungkook rushed in front of you and pushed you to the ground.

The wind got knocked out of you; you started bawling your eyes. For the first time, you were scared of the man before you. Jungkook locked the door behind him and dragged you by your feet. You tried kicking your feet, hoping that his release would loosen, and you could run away. But before you knew it, Jungkook locked you both into the soundproof booth.

When his grip on you was gone, you scurried to the corner of the booth shielding yourself with your bag. Jungkook walked to you and kneeled to your level. "Don't hide from me, baby." He gently grabbed your bag and tossed it to the other side of the booth. You closed your eyes; you couldn't see the monster of the man you love.

You felt Jungkook tenderly cupping your jaw. You trembled beneath his fingertips; quietly whimpering. It stayed like this for a few seconds until you felt his touch disappear. With your eyes still closed, you could hear Jungkook digging for something. You heard a rustling sound of a Ziplock bag. You knew better, you knew that he was using drugs right now.

"Open your eyes, ____," Jungkook demanded.

You didn't answer, you didn't move. This pissed off the man in front of you. He slapped you, making your body jolt, making your eyes open. You brought your hand to your cheek, tears threatening to fall. "See, it wasn't that hard?"

"W-what do you want... from me?" you stammered.

Jungkook seethed, "You can't leave me. I won't let you leave me. You owe me. All that money I spent on you, all those years I wasted on you - I want that back! And the only way you can pay me back is by being my bitch. You are fucking mine, ____!"

You finally let the tears fall again. Your whole body shook like lightning shooting throughout you. Shaking your head, you wailed, "No! No! No! Please! Don't do this to me, Dad! Stop hurting me!" For the first time today, Jungkook felt his senses come back. Your words panged his heart.

Your mother was never in your life. It was always you and your father, but your father was an abusive man. He would try to find any little thing to blame you for, just for him to lay his hands on you; from hitting, kicking, even to cutting. You had met Jungkook when you were thirteen years old, he comforted, protected, and helped you. When you finally turned eighteen, that's when you moved in with him - that's when you finally felt peace.

Jungkook cupped your face into place. He frantically said, "____, it's me. Your dad's not here. It's me, Jungkook." His touch burned you; you felt like dying. You mustered all your strength and pushed him away. You gripped your shirt and yelled, "No! You're not him! You're not Jungkook! You're a monster and I don't even recognize you!"

Monster... That simple word rang in Jungkook's mind. Monster... Such a terrifying word. If he was a monster, his reason would be because of you. Unfortunately, all the drugs and alcohol in his system weren't enough to keep him sane for one minute. Jungkook launched at you. His hands wrapped around your throat, choking you, but still letting you breathe.

You started clawing your nails on his bare arms. Digging deep that blood starts making its presence. But all that Jungkook could see right now was red. He couldn't feel the pain you were giving him; he couldn't hear the agony in your voice; he couldn't see your wrecked state. Red became his friend.

"You are the reason for my horrible being. You are the reason why I'm a monster. You bitch! If you hadn't kept pushing me to pursue this fucking career, I would've still been the same. If you hadn't been so loving and caring and supportive, we wouldn't be in this predicament. I can't believe that I fell in love with a disgusting person like you. I can't fucking believe that I let you take control of my whole being!"

Right when you were on the verge of passing out, Jungkook released his hold on you; he backed himself on the other side of the booth. You were catching your breath. Your hands shakingly touched your neck, throbbing against your frail fingers. You were painfully coughing; mentally asking God to help ease your pain. Your eyes went in and out of vision; red and black dots were the only thing in sight.

Jungkook watched you with dark eyes. He watched as you were struggling to regain your previous state. He watched as you were crying from the pain, he inflicted on you. He watched the one person who was always with him, the one person who loved and cared for him no longer be the same. He killed you, painfully and slowly.

Present

"____, look at me. It's okay. It's okay." Your friend Lia gently held your face in place. She called out your name, praying that you would settle. She watched as you were frantically breathing; your eyes looking everywhere but her; your body shaking like the room was freezing.

Your panic attacks rarely happen, but when they do, Lia feels so useless. She wished that she could help ease your pain, she wished that she had the power to prevent this. But all she could do was hold you and tell you that you're okay.

Minutes go by until you are finally back. "____?" Lia cautioned, "____, look at me. Are you okay?" As you looked at Lia, you could see the worried expression painting her beautiful face. You hated yourself for making her feel like this, but you couldn't help it. This feeling will never go away; it gets buried six feet under, but once he appears they come back.

"Lia," you whispered, "I saw him again... on TV." Lia took a deep sigh; she hated the pain he caused you before and now. She wrapped you in her arms, holding you with such care. The second you were in her arms, you broke. You cried and cried, loudly speaking your pain.

Lia felt her shirt dampen, but she didn't care. Whatever you do to her, she will take it all in, as long as you feel better in the end, Lia will gladly be your tissue, your enemy, your punching bag. Lia murmured against your hair, "I'm here. I will always be here." She held you tighter; she didn't want you to fade away from her.

You took deep breaths to calm down your nerves. You pulled away from Lia and made your way to the couch. You brought your knees up and buried your face in the space between. You hissed, "I hate what he does to me. He's not even here!" This time you whispered, "And yet, he's able to bring me down to my knees... scared."

Lia met you three years ago; months after your event. You were just a newly hired TA. When Lia first saw you, you looked like a girl who was barely keeping her life together. You told her beforehand - when you started room mating with her, that you have PTSD and that your panic attacks happen from time to time. You didn't really tell her the whole story, just that you were in a very abusive relationship and that you experienced something so terrifying. She accepted you with an open mind and open arms; from then on, Lia became your rock.

Lia got up and sat right next to you. She wanted to ask you a question, but she was scared that you would hate her or push her away for asking. But this question has been in her mind for a while now. After taking a few seconds thinking to think it through, Lia wiped her sweating palms on her pants and inquired, "____, if you don't mind me asking... why didn't you call the police on him? You should've, 'cause I don't think he should be performing after everything he's done to you."

Your eyes started getting blurry; you told yourself the exact same thing, but there was a reason. With your head still buried, you softly replied, "It's easier said than done, Lia. I wished I called the police on him - I wish I could call the police on him, but I can't. Because in simple words... I love him. I hate myself for loving him. Even after everything he has done to me, and everything he has said to me, I love him. Does that make me a horrible person?"

Lia felt herself invisibly jumping out of the couch. No way does she think you're a horrible person. You're just a person who's been through something horribly traumatic. Her heart was filled with so much pain for you. Lia positioned herself so she was facing your small figure, and expressed, "____, no way in hell are you a horrible person. Far from it! I won't be able to say that I relate or know what you're going through, because I don't. But I am able to say that I'll support you and understand your feelings and decisions."

You lifted your head but still kept your eyes on your knees; you muttered, "I met him when we were thirteen years old. He was a very shy and reserved kid - hated social interactions. I remember..." you quietly giggled without realizing when you were remembering the fond memories, "I remember when he used to make small mixtapes every anniversary with letters. He wasn't always a horrible person. He used to be kind, supportive, and loving. One of my favorite things about him was his selflessness towards me. I loved that he would always think about my needs, what I wanted, what I was thinking, and how I was feeling, but in turn, he did the opposite for himself. It was a blessing and a curse."

Lia looked at you and saw the small smile showing. This look was rare for you, and every time it made its appearance, Lia would always treasure it. "He must have been a great person for you to smile like that." You furrowed your brows; you turned to Lia with confusion. "What smile?" you questioned. Lia rolled her eyes, "Well, there's no smile anymore."

You took a deep sigh and apologized, "I'm sorry for talking about him. It's just - just talking about him in this light makes me happy and warm... even if it only lasts for a few seconds." Lia noticed that you started tearing up. Your face was slightly contorted with pain; you were trying not to cry, holding it in but it didn't work. Your tears were freely falling, and Lia comforted you once again. You quietly whimpered, "During that time I called him a monster, but really, I don't want to remember him as the monster in my life because at one point he used to be my prince who saved me from one. I try to think and talk about him in this beautiful light that he used to be under - I want to remember him as that, but the pain he brought upon me is too hard to ignore." You started wailing at this point, "It continues to haunt me, and I hate it! I want to hate him, but I can't! I can't!"

Lia felt herself crying for your pain. She felt herself slowly dying by your words. It truly kills her that her most precious and beautiful friend is going through so much pain. As you both cried into each other's arms, you could hear Lia continuously apologize through her cries. You were so grateful to have such an amazing person as her.

Once you were calmed down, you pulled away from the still tearful woman and wiped her tears away. "Don't cry anymore, Lia." you sniffled, "What happened to me - what's still happening to me would never be fully cured, but I know that whatever happens next, you'll be by my side, and slowly but surely, I won't be able to be to feel the pain anymore. Okay?" Lia nodded her head with a soft smile. You're right, as long as she's with you and as long as you are with her everything will be fine. You guys are each other's glue - each other's person.

There is no doubt in your mind that this pain will pass by. You don't know how long that will take, but until the day comes, having Lia with you eases your heart from pain as much as possible.

"You mailed her my letter?"

"Yes, Jungkook."

The tired man finished his show with a bang, and even though people enjoyed his performance, Jungkook couldn't seem to feel all that happy. For the past year since he finished his rehab, nothing has felt more depressing.

The morning of that night when he woke up, Jonny had told him that you had left, and he was to go to rehab immediately. He hated you for leaving, he hated that you left him in such a messy state. Jungkook blamed everything on you. Jonny had told the ill man that if it wasn't for you, everything that he had worked so hard on would go down the drain. At first, Jungkook didn't understand why you left or what Jonny was saying, but as time went on, he knew that everything was his fault. His addictions and his abusive behavior were all his fault. The reason for your disappearance was his fault. Your pain - everything was all him.

Jungkook knows that there will be no way for him to fix the things he has done and the things he had said, but even so, he would try his damn hardest to fix it. When he finished rehab, Jungkook made it a mission to send you a letter every week, telling you about his days throughout the week, how much he loves and cares for you, telling you how much he is so regretful. Deep down he knows that he is being selfish, he knows that he should let you go - let you move on, but the helpless man is stuck in the past. The past is what keeps him alive. The past is his only source of reason. Jungkook doesn't want to let go of that one thing he has left of you.

Jonny felt so much pity for the man, he didn't have the heart to tell him that he didn't know your address. He would accept the letters, promising that he would mail them, but when night rolls around your letters would be burned. Jonny wanted to quit being Jungkook's manager, but you begged and begged for him to stay with the broken singer. You wanted Jungkook to at least have one person for him to lean on when things get hard. Jonny admires your strength - how strong of a woman you are, so, he agreed.

"You should just stop already, Jungkook. She's never gonna mail you back. I know your reason, but you lost her, and you can never fix that." Jonny was getting tired; tired of seeing the broken singer trying with no prevail.

Jungkook walked up to his manager and lowly whispered, "You think I don't know that, Jonny? Ever since I learned that everything is my fault... I knew that she would never come back to me. Yet I still hope - even if that hope is microscopic or nonexistent, I hope that I will be able to see or be with her again."

The fatigued man took a few steps back and lowered his heavy head down. His eyes searched the floor trying to keep his tears at bay, but it didn't work. The salty tears of this poor singer escaped and landed harshly on the wooden floor. Sniffling, the fatigued man uttered, "You think I don't know that you burn my letters?" Jungkook lifted his head up and saw the ashamed manager looking back at him.

He continued, "You're not as discreet as you think you are, Jonny. I went to your hotel room to ask for a favor... and I saw you burn my eighth letter with sadness swimming in your eyes. I connected the dots from there, and I realized that you never sent any of my letters because you don't know her address, huh? You're left in the dark like I am, huh? You know nothing about her whereabouts, about how she's doing, about anything, huh, Jonny!" The manager kept quiet; didn't know what to say.

Jungkook slumped down on the nearest chair with a hard thump. He leaned his head back with closed eyes and softly whimpered, "I now understand the meaning ‘You reap what you sow’… I'm never gonna stop. I know I can never fix this, but I promise you Jonny, I will never stop. Ten years - fifty years from now, I will keep writing her letters... knowing that deep down all of this is for nothing. I don't care if I'm shaming myself by doing this - I don't care about anything but her. She's not mine anymore but I'm forever hers. Let me live like this. Let me live with the consequences. Let me drown myself in this regret."

The destroyed man opened his eyes and gently moved his head to the side to see the lone figure of his manager feet away. With a deep sigh, Jungkook claimed, "You're just my manager, right? So, don't involve yourself in my pitiful life. Just do the job you were hired to do, along with getting my letters. Don't care what you do to them - burn them, keep them hidden, rip them up... doesn't matter, just don't let me know about it; let me falsely believe that you mailed them to her. Alright? Now please get the car... I wanna go home."

[admirationandromantics]

Guilt and Grudges, Epilogue

Finally, the ending you've all been waiting for! (It's the dirty stuff you've been waiting for, let's be honest here). As I've said before, got a lot of exams coming up, so I'll not be as active in the next few weeks. I know that Michael is also a popular character, so let me know if you would like something like this for him as well <3 Enjoy the very last chapter of the Chris x reader game based story!

At the police interviews, they were slow to get us some medical attention. It took so long, that when the doctors took a look at Emily's infection, they had to rush her into surgery to stop it. Her parents even threatened to sue the police station. 

There was no sign of either Joshua or Jessica there. We met Matt, who said he’d been down in the mines, and was continuously chased by this monster. Of course, no one believed him. When he explained it to us, we told him everything that had happened, and he was truly floored. I can only imagine how scared he must’ve been, being in those mines, all alone, thinking a murderer was after him, and then seeing that horrid creature. 

Even after taking all our testimonies, the police didn’t take us seriously. The only thing they truly believed was that someone had died, and the suspects? We were them. I heard Sam through one of the rooms, begging them to check the mines. Both Emily, Chris, Mike and Matt told them to do the same. After relentless begging from all of us, they sent a search party. After all, the Washington family was doing the same, and after the bad investigation of their daughters, they refused to let them go lightly when they considered their son, their last child. No way was he going to get swallowed up by that mountain as well. 

Chris begged them, after all, he wanted to see Josh again, to see if there was any chance he was still alive. Ten days went by, and we finally got results. Josh was found, starving and hallucinating down in the mines. They found the body of the old man, who he’s struggled to keep himself away from eating. This news made Chris as happy as I’ve ever seen him. Josh was sent to the hospital, and after that, a psychiatrist. He was put into a mental institution, and put on a new set of hardcore drugs. Even after half a year, he’s still there. Chris visits him regularly, and I think that’s what helps him the most on the path to recovery, having a safe person to confide in. He said that he tried talking to him about what happened, about the monsters, and the prank. The staff tells him that it’s all in his head, that it was all a part of his hallucinations. Chris tried to tell him otherwise, and he spiraled, fell deep in anxiety and depression yet again. His fearful stress demeanour, as well as survival instinct kicked in, and he lost control. We then decided not to tell Josh about all that happened, but that it was better for him to think that he made it up. Part of me hates it, and a part of me envies him. I wish I too could imagine none of it happened, that it was just a bad dream my head conjured up. 

The worst part about everything? They found Jessica. Just like Mike had told them, she was dead. I heard some of the details of how. She was down deep, her jaw ripped off her body. They all assume she had some type of episode, and fell down the mines. The mineshaft was fucked up, and when she fell, some type of sharp metal rod must’ve punktured her, and ripped it off. They said she died almost instantly. For her sake, I hope it was true. 

We all went to the funeral some days later. All except Josh and Emily, who both were still at the hospital. Sam had some bad burns on her back, but some gel and check-ups later, they said she would be recovering fine. Everyone of us was full of cuts and bleeds, so we all were put on antibiotics, just in case. 

Now, a year later, the dreading feelings and stress is starting to make its way back to me. Luckily, both Sam and Chris have helped me a lot. Sam and I still go out for our coffees, now more than usual. It feels good to talk to someone who doesn’t think I’m crazy. Chris and I basically live with each other now, visiting, eating, sleeping together. I often try to invite Ashley out with us, but she rarely replies. I heard that she and Matthew have been hanging together a lot lately, which calms my nerves. At least she’s talking to someone, being with someone. Sam is also keeping in touch with Mike, while Emily has isolated herself from all of us. I understand why. In the interviews, she couldn’t stop talking about how Mike pointed a gun to her head, but considering everything else we said, they didn’t take it seriously, and he didn’t get into any trouble. Last thing I heard, she was getting back into her studies, and solely focusing on them. 

At the anniversary, Chris and I went to Jessica's grave. There were already several fresh flowers there, some from Mike, Emily, and other family. I even found a small card addressed to her from Ashley, but I didn’t open it. That must’ve been between them two. After leaving a few pink tulips at her grave, Chris and I went to his place, and we had dinner, and watched some reality tv. We didn’t want to watch a movie, or something scary. All we wanted was a stress-free night. Both our families called to check on us, and during the night, Chris also called Josh’s institution to check on him. They were allowed a supervised call, which went on for two hours. I don’t think Josh handles this day very well, and I don’t blame him. I don’t blame anyone. 

Just to be sure, I texted both Ashley and Emily. I asked how they were, and hoped they were fine. I told them how I find today difficult, and I get that they might too. I put a lot of sympathy and guilt in my message to Emily, trying to emphasise how sorry I was. I didn’t get much back, just a thumbs up and that things were fine. Ashley just told me she was trying to forget things. 

Even though I lost contact with Emily and Mike, as well as a lot with Ashley, things started to get easier. We slowly went back to normal, and the heavy coffee-conversations with Sam turned to conversations about school, family, tasks, romance and daily life. We were all putting things behind us. I went back to university, doing my best to finish my degree. I sometimes see Emily in the halls, and I give her a small wave. They’ve slowly grown more friendly, and I’ve seen her with more and more people over time. It truly makes me happy. 

***

“Chris!” I yell as I walk in the door, arms full of groceries. “Door, please, help!” 

“Coming!” He yells back, jogging over and taking one of the bags out of my hand. 

“Hey” He smiles, closing in and giving me a small peck on the lips. 

“Hey you” I respond, cheeks heating up. He closes the door, and walks with me to the kitchen. 

“I find it cute how you still blush when I kiss you” He comments, starting to pack out of the bag. He opens the fridge, putting some of the vegetables inside. 

“Really, you like still having that effect on me?” 

“I certainly do” He says in a goofy voice, and I shake my head, putting some oatmeal in the pantry. 

“How were classes?” He asks, looking up at me, finishing up his bag. 

“Ugh, boring. Felt like I got nothing out of today” 

“So, not that productive?” 

“Nope, feel like I’ve wasted a whole day of my life” 

He smiles, walking over to me and putting his arms around my waist. He leans down, letting his head rest on my shoulder. 

“Hey you” I ruffle his hair. “I still have groceries left, you need to let me put them back” 

“And if I don’t?” 

“Then I’ll- fuck!” I mutter, feeling his lips on my neck, one of his hands reaching up to move my hair out of the way. 

“Chris…”

“Mhmmm?” he asks innocently, tongue and lips going off on my skin. I lean into him, putting the fruit I was holding down on the counter again. He starts sucking, leaving small red marks all over me, working up to my jaw, and back to my ear. He takes it in his mouth, biting down, making me let out a small moan. I feel him smirking against me, hands slowly wandering under my shirt and up to my chest. 

“Fuck…”

“Quite a sound you let out there” 

“I didn’t-”

“You didn’t mean to? I think you did” he whispers, his warm breath covering my ear, going down my neck. He continues to work with his mouth, tongue moving down to my shoulder, before biting down again, harder than before. I yelp, body jolting a little, but he keeps me in place, holding me tightly. His hands wander up, touching the edge of my bra. I sigh, leaning deeper into him, wanting him to touch me more. Just the thought alone gets me going. 

“Wanna move this to the bedroom?” he asks, and I nod. Still, when I turn around, I can’t help myself. My arms fly around his neck, holding myself up on my toes as I connect our lips. I feel his tongue move into me, exploring all the corners of my mouth. He presses himself deeper into me, pulling my body against his as he starts moving backwards, forcing me to follow. His hands fall out of my top, now only touching me over it. I whine in protest, but he stops me with another kiss, almost choking me with his tongue. 

“Feeling needy?” 

“Yes” I admit, not fighting it at all. 

“Wow, not even walking around the bush? You’re absolutely desperate” he whispers in my ear while slowly unlocking the door to the bedroom. I hum and nod, wanting him to get on with it already. He lets out a small laugh before pulling me in again, silencing me with another wet kiss. Slowly but surely, he drags my top off, leaving me in my bra. He pushes me down on the bed before going on top. I can already see the tent in his pants, which I know he struggles not to let out at once. Still, I want him now. I tug on his zipper, trying to get it down, but he stops me, taking both my hands and holding them over my head. His left hand holds both of my wrists down, making sure I can’t do anything. 

“Oh, I think you’re a little too eager” 

“Please, Chris…”

“And now you’re begging as well?” 

“Please…”

He sighs, before using his right hand to slowly undo my pants. His head returns to my neck, sucking and biting, making me let out all sorts of sounds. I can’t help myself, moaning as my core turns warmer and wetter. I start rubbing my thighs together, desperate for some sort of friction. 

“Fuck, you have no idea how turned on I get by seeing you like this…” he whispers, letting his fingers slowly slide under my panties. I whimper, wanting him inside me at once. My pants aren’t even pulled off, and he starts teasing me. His fingers ghost over my clit and folds, making me jolt my hips up to make contact. 

“What do you say?” He asks, obvious teasing in his voice. He’s so smug, but I’m too turned on to be irritated by it. 

“Touch me”

“Maybe I didn’t hear you right, what do you say?” 

“Touch me, please” 

“That’s right” He moves his fingers closer, but stops right over my skin. 

“No, no, no” I cry out, frustrated. 

“But who’s going to touch you?”

“You are, please!” 

“I want you to say my name” 

“C-Chris” 

“And now, full sentence”

“N-no, just touch me” I try to get my hands free, desperate to feel something, but he’s strong, and holds them down, pinned to the mattress. 

“Come on, you can do it” 

I sigh, legs giving out as I take a breath. 

“Please, Chris, I want you to touch me, please, please!” 

“That’s a good girl, and a damn desperate one, don’t you think?” 

I hum in response, feeling his fingers finally touch me. They glide over my soaking wet folds, and he snaps his tongue. 

“God, how wet you are. And I just started touching you…”

I breathe out, finally feeling some type of stimulation. They move upwards, coated with my wetness, and slowly start rubbing my clit. I give a loud moan, friction filling my body as electric jolts rush through me. It doesn’t take long. He knows what makes me come fast, and especially when having been teased like this. The knot in my stomach tightens, and my body stiffens as I’m on the verge. I can’t stop moaning and whimpering, hands trying to break free so I can hold him. My mind gets foggy as I near the edge, shaking from the sensation. I shout his name, and take a small breather as pleasure runs through me, body already tired from the build-up it had. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps up the pace, making the knot in my stomach appear again. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I whimper, voice unrecognisable as I near the edge. 

“Oh, you’re doing so well for me, darling” he purrs, keeping up his pace and touching me exactly where needed. 

“Kiss me” he commands, and I lean my head to the side, finding his lips. I can’t help moaning into him, yet, he keeps it up. I feel my vibrations being sent down his throat, having to stop for air several times for how much noise I’m making. 

“Chris, I’m gonna-”

“I know” 

I come a second time, pleasure washing over me as the knot gives out. I breathe heavily, my underwear being completely soaked, and my core throbbing for more. He doesn’t stop, keeping up his pace and getting me worked up again. 

“C-Chris!” 

“Oh, come on, you can do it one more time” 

“I’m so tired” I whimper, but I’m interrupted by a loud moan, my hips moving with his fingers, not getting enough. 

“Yet, your body is begging for more” 

I can’t answer him, my high reaching its end again, this time faster than before. I moan out his name again, and he stops, letting me ride this one out. I feel a surge of pleasure rush through me, making me tired, yet making me crave him more. I want him inside of me. 

His fingers slowly move down to my folds again, feeling how wet I am. He lets out a small chuckle, toying with me, barely putting his fingers in me. 

“You’re so wet. Your underwear is drenched”

“Mhmm” 

“Oh, is it difficult to answer me already?” 

I nod, looking up at him pleadingly. He smiles softly, leaning down and pressing a kiss against my forehead. 

“Who would have thought you could handle so little? Maybe I should stop, and we should just go to bed?” 

“N-no, please!” I urge, suddenly feeling a bit panicked. 

“No? But you’re so tired? You seem exhausted” 

“I-I’m not, please” 

“Can you prove to me that you can handle one more time?” 

“Yes, yes, yes” 

He smiles, slowly inserting one of his long fingers in me. I moan, clenching around him as he presses into me. He’s moving my whole body with his rough thrusts, and I moan continuously, feeling him getting deeper and deeper each time. I feel another orgasm close in, and I whimper as I get closer. Suddenly, he stops. 

“You sure you can handle it?” 

I look up dumbfounded, seeing him struggling to hide a smirk. He knows what he’s doing, delaying me like that. It’s torture. I’m desperate, and I was so close, I can still be, if he just starts touching me again. 

“I was so close, please, please, don’t stop touching me Chris!” I whine, trying to get my hands free to finish the job myself. 

“Oh, see how much you’re struggling” He mocks, suddenly thrusting two of his fingers in me. I cry out, the sensation taking me by surprise. Now, he gets even deeper, and fills me up even more, and I quickly reach the edge again. 

“Fuck, please don’t stop, don’t” I plead, my body shaking in anticipation. 

“Then come for me” 

With that, I do. I feel myself clench on his fingers, and coating them in my cum. My head is dizzy, and my body is softly vibrating from the aftermath. His hand is slowly removed from my heat, and he lets my hands go. He stands up, starting to remove his pants. He gets down to his boxers, and then drags off his shirt, letting me see his body in all its glory. I sit up, uncomfortable in my own wetness. 

“Oh, don’t you like sitting in the mess you made?” I shake my head in response, looking up at him, hands already on his thighs. 

“If you do a good job, I might let you take those wet clothes off, okay? We have a deal?” 

I nod, fingers moving up to his boxers, eager to have something in my mouth. I drag the fabric down, revealing him. He’s very hard, his cock springing up from his boxers, straight in my face. I take him in my hand, then take a long lick over his length. He groans, hips buckling in my face. He’s struggling to hold his composure, which makes me feel all warm inside. His hands move down my neck, collecting my hair behind my head, before he positions himself. Slowly, I let him inside my mouth, and he sighs, starting to move. I don’t take his full length, instead only half, which is already filling my whole mouth. His free hand goes down to my chest and moves under my bra, starting to pinch my nipple. I whimper, sending vibrations down his length, making him groan again. Suddenly, he grabs my hair harder, forcing me down on him, taking him until I gag. Both my hands automatically go to his hips, trying to hold myself up. 

“Oh? Is that a bit much for you, hun?” 

I try to answer him, but I can only make unrecognisable sounds with his cock filling me up. He pinches my nipple again, making me moan, and opening my mouth even more. This gives him the chance to pounce into me again, filling me up until I gag again. 

“Difficult to talk with my cock in your mouth?” 

“You look so fucking good like this” He groans again, pulling me down on him again. He goes on a steady rhythm, and I do my best to stop my gag reflex, failing many times. I feel saliva run down the corner of my mouth, tears threatening to fall from my eyes. 

He can’t take the waiting anymore, and he forces himself out of me, and lifts me up on my feet. My lips are captured in his, and he pulls down my pants and panties in one motion, then undoes my bra, letting it fall to the floor. Both his hands go to my breasts, kneading and pinching, making me moan into his mouth. He pushes me down on the bed again, now completely naked. 

He can’t be slow anymore, now looking at me like a raging animal. His head goes down between my thighs, and he plants a long lick over my folds, soaking up how wet I got from sucking him off. He hums, sending hot vibrations over my clit, making me whimper with need. My hands go into his hair, holding tightly as his tongue starts working. One of his hands goes to my entrance, massaging and teasing, while his mouth and tongue starts sucking my clit off. I feel my orgasm approach quickly, stomach tightening as my thighs struggle to keep themselves open. In a quick motion, his fingers are inside me, his other hand kneading my thigh. The mix of sensation, his tongue against me, flicking as sucking on me. It’s too much. With another loud moan, I finish again, coating his mouth. 

He lifts himself, getting on top of me and positioning himself on my entrance. I’m still riding out my high, and waits a bit for inserting himself, instead using the time to coat his length in my juices, rubbing up and down my folds. 

“Are you good?” He asks, genuine concern in his voice. 

“Yes, please, I want you inside me” 

He doesn’t need more of an answer than that. He pushes himself inside, my wetness making it easy for him. Still, I’m tight from coming so many times, and we both moan simultaneously when our bodies hit each other. He goes deep, pressing himself all the way in, hitting my cervix in the process. I let out a whimper, the pain mixing with pleasure, making me even wetter. He leans down, kissing me while holding himself up. After a few seconds, we part, and he starts moving. He starts slow, but steadily he builds up a faster rhythm, still making sure to get all the way in me, hitting that stinging point every time, making me cry out. 

“Fuck, you feel so good” He moans into my ear, upping his pace. I feel myself clench around him again, head getting foggy and dizzy as I reach the edge yet again. 

“You’re doing so good for me” he whispers, sweating and groaning as he starts nearing his own finish. He keeps going, keeping up the pace and making that knot in my stomach tighten again. My hands fly around him, nails digging into his muscular back, earning another loud moan from him. My body tightens, and I clench around him as I come again, his own orgasm not far away. I keep panting and whimpering, feeling pleasure roll over me again, as he keeps going deep into me. 

“Chris, I-I can’t” 

“Yes you can, you’re doing so well for me” 

With those words spoken, I clench again, coming all over his hard length. He doesn’t stop, instead, going faster as he starts groaning, nearing his own end. I can’t control myself anymore, the sensations are too much, and my body is tired and overstimulated. It takes almost nothing to make me finish yet again, which I do. 

“My cock feels that good, huh?” 

I come again, body warm and sweaty, head dizzy with overstimulation. I feel so needy and horny, still wanting more after nearly being destroyed by his fingers, tongue and cock. His moans grow deeper and more raw, and he buries himself deep inside me as he comes. I moan again as well, clenching and holding onto him for dear life. 

Slowly, he moves out of me, both of us laying beside each other and breathing heavily, processing what just happened. My vision is still a bit foggy, and my legs have definitely stopped working. He turns, one hand going around my waist and pulling me into him. 

“Sorry if I went too hard on you” 

“Don’t be” I smile, giving a small laugh as I turn to him. He smiles, pulling me in and giving me a sweet kiss. I return it, feeling his soft lips on mine. He pulls back, looking me over. 

“Want to take a bath?” 

“I would love to”

Taglist: @porcelainbluedove @b3rryb3t @batteryacid404 @fordthegamelord819

[my-pjo-stuff]

HEAR ME OUT,

AU where instead of Annabeth and Thalia, Luke met Ethan and Alabaster on the run. It could work age-wise, both Ethan and Alabaster are around Annabeth's age.

He wouldn't have gone to Hal's house without Thalia there- so imagine if instead he meets both Ethan and Alabaster when they seek shelter under the same bridge.

The two boys met each other first and were immediately attached at the hip. Their same age, similar reasons for running away and status as demigods wouldn't allow for any different. When Luke sees the two boys, no older than nine and huddled together with a torn and dirty blanket to keep warm, he couldn't do anything but take pity. So he does what he did with Annabeth,and immediately takes Alabaster and Ethan under his wing. He shows them the robes of demigod life, explains to and teaches them what they need to know and looks after them. Ethan and Alabaster are completely enamored with Luke meanwhile. This strong, nice older guy showing up and suddenly protecting the both of them? Offering them comfort, and care? How could they not look at him as if he hung the stars himself? Luke in the meantime tries his best to keep everyone well fed and taken care of. He's just 14, yet he finds himself in charge of two nine year old boys whose only question when he tells them to jump is "how high?". And Luke finds that he can't complain much. Because they are a family. They are brothers. And he will not fail them like his father did him. That doesn't mean that he's not worried about all the monster attacks, especially when Ethan and Alabaster would inevitably reach the age of 12 and their presence would only grow even more.

This is probably why he takes the offer when a satyr finds them and wants to bring them to camp. The decision was up to Luke in the end, both Ethan and Alabaster would follow him unquestionably afterall.

It's not Grover who found the three, instead just being another, random satyr stumbling upon them by sheer luck. But they do arrive at camp at the same time that Thalia and Annabeth reach it (the two having still found and met each other without Luke). They arrive at exactly the same time as Annabeth and Thalia infact, to the point of even meeting up with the girls and Grover right as the enter camp. Monsters are still chasing Thalia and Annabeth as in canon, and they still don't manage to get to camp in time. Thalia still sacrifices herself for the rest, Luke in a half-desperate attempt to at least save someone grabs Annabeth and drags her along as he makes his way to camp together with Ethan and Alabaster. Annabeth hates him in that moment. She hates this stranger who just grabbed her arm and dragged her away from Thalia as she lay dying. She screams and fights and wails as she's dragged away, her only caretaker ripped apart by monsters behind her. She doesn't understand why Grover isn't helping her as she screams for him. The satyr instead just starring at the gruesome scene of Thalia's demise in front of him. It hurts Luke having to do what, and he wishes he didn't have to. But he knows that if he let's that girl go now, she'd most certainly die to the monsters who already took the life of her friend. Ethan and Alabaster, thank the gods- trust him enough to stay quiet and calm. Or at least as quiet and calm as two scarred children can be. Luke knows that all he can do now is making sure he and the others cross over the border safely while trusting their two satyr guides to manage the way themselves.

That night still ends horrid, for everyone involved. Luke is honestly just glad that neither Alabaster and Ethan got hurt. Chiron and Camp all say he's a hero for at least saving the little girl whose name turns out to be Annabeth. It was only his quick thinking that allowed the group to enter camp safely. Luke doesn't feel like a hero. Annabeth, against all the logic she knows, can only see the boy that separated her from Thalia. She has no one know, the only thing leftover from her caretaker being the tree she was turned into. Alabaster and Ethan cling to Luke even more. They do not know camp, and Luke just saved their lives.

Without the relationship to Luke Annabeth distances herself quickly from him. Their relationship mellows out to cordial after a while- once emotions calmed down and Annabeth got older. But they honestly don't have much to do with each other, especially after Annabeth got claimed and moved to the Athena cabin. They are cordial and know the other's name. But not much else. Luke focuses on Ethan and Alabaster. He makes sure they are taken care of, and find belonging. Once they all get claimed and all stay in the Hermes cabin it only secures their relationship even more. The fact that Luke is closer to Alabaster and Ethan now only serves to grow his hate the gods even faster. Because now he's the one comforting Ethan when campers are mean to him for his godly parent again, he's the one listening to Alabaster when he vents about the disrespect he and his siblings have to endure,

When Luke's quest happens and goes wrong, it only get's worse. At the end Luke still joins Kronos and plots to overthrow the gods, only now with both Alabaster and Ethan at his sides from the very beginning. The three of them have stayed together for most of their lives, and they'd stay together no matter what. When Luke gets posessed by Kronos, it was Ethan begging his big brother to return to them that woke Luke up.

[hannahhook7744]

Are You, Are You, Coming To The Tree?

Summary: Grin and bear it. That was the mantra Harriet kept repeating in her head.  Grin and bear it.  Trigger warnings: Inhumane conditions, swearing, perceived discrimination, drinking, childhood trauma, etc. Merry Christmas @panthera-tigris-venenata .

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

It would come as a surprise to absolutely no one that Harriet Hook hated Christmas. 

Christmas on the isle was cold and dreary and it usually snowed horribly or hailed—making it harder to find edible food and durable shelter for those of the isle who had nowhere else to go but the horrid great outdoors. 

Many didn’t survive the long winters. 

And while the isle mourned and fought amongst themselves, Auradon showed cheerful movies about reindeer, talking snowmen, and Santa Claus—movies that were chalked full of things the isle kids would never have like unspoiled eggnog, freshly baked christmas cookies, gingerbeard men, and presents in good condition handed out by smiling parents who loved their children and had the means to give them such things. 

Harriet hated the holiday. 

And she didn’t believe in Santa. 

At least, not the version presented in the cartoons and movies they would show. 

In her mind, it was all bullshit.

The real Santa Claus wasn’t a kind man who rewarded truly good children. No, the real Santa Claus was a holier than thou bastard who only rewarded children who were perceived as good—not accounting for the abused or neglected children who would never be considered good by those around them or for the children who had no choice but to be bad by society’s standards to survive. 

He didn’t care about any abused children in Auradon, if there were any left and he certainly didn’t care for people like Harriet. 

The real Santa Claus hated Isle kids and that was apparent. 

Harriet was almost eleven by the time the Isle’s Santa started distributing presents to every living kid on the isle and fixing up the graves of the dead kids after all. Old enough to know that The Isle Santa wasn’t the real deal. 

She’d had several Christmases of disappointment by then.

Several Christmases of the adults in her life barely being able to scrape by and find enough food to keep her and her siblings alive. Christmases that usually ended up with them all getting drunk till they passed out when they thought she and her siblings couldn’t hear. 

Her and Harry and CJ had all gotten presents, sure, but it wasn’t anything magical like what was shown on TV—no, it was just stuff they needed and if they were lucky, a toy that wasn’t too far damaged when it was donated to the barrage. 

Her dad was always drunk in the days after. Ashamed, angry, and bitter about the fact he couldn’t do more for them. 

By the time the fake Santa started leaving gifts, Harriet was able to tell that the gifts weren’t from a workshop in the North Pole but handmade by someone inexperienced or fished from the barrage and the ocean. 

All it only made the pirate captain hate the holiday more.

Why wouldn’t it? 

Harriet only had bitter memories of the holiday. 

Memories where she knew Santa  and Auradon hated her. 

Harriet hated Christmas. 

But if there was one thing that could make Harriet celebrate it?

It was her crew. 

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

“I’m sorry. Did I just hear that right?” Sammy asked, staring at her—and for some reason, he looked a bit nervous. 

“I need your help to make Christmas special for the rest of the crew, the twins, and Owena—the kid Uma’s crew took in.” Harriet gritted out. Eye twitching slightly. 

She didn’t like having to repeat herself. 

Especially not when it came to this situation. 

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the only one who can keep a secret.”

Sammy snorted and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “that’s what you think” but Harriet didn’t question it because she was nowhere near drunk enough for that conversation. 

“Now. Do you have any ideas or not?”

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

“How the hell are we supposed to hide a whole ass tree from the entire crew?” Harriet asked, taking in the tree Sammy had apparently chopped down with her eyes. 

It wasn’t a pine tree. 

Not like the ones on tv anyway. 

Nothing on the Isle was anything like it was on Auradon TV. 

The tree was long, skinny, and battered with sparse, discolored leaves that were just barely hanging on and looked like it had been dying long before Sammy or her was born—which, since it had been growing on the isle, it probably had been. But still, it would be heavy and if it was just going to be the two of them carrying it then it would be hard to sneak it onto the ship without anyone noticing. 

“By carrying it in when everyone is out.” Sammy said blankly, as if it was obvious—shaking a can of green spray paint before he started spraying the tree. “Now. Keep an eye out so we don't get jumped.”

Harriet bristled slightly. “How, exactly? Someone's always on the ship. Nikita, Raymonda, Na’vi, Nova, Henry, and Anais live on the ship, and it's a coin toss on whether your brothers or any of the crew’s siblings and cousins will be on the ship or not. Not to mention our actual crew and don't even get me started on the youngin’s in Harry's crew.”

It felt like the ship was never empty these days. 

“Which is why I called in a favor Homicide, Kai, Ula, and Uziel owe me and got them to agree to distract everyone for a couple of hours starting at exactly 6:00 O’Clock.”

Harriet raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “And why exactly do three of my cousins owe you a favor?”

Sammy let out a long suffering sigh before giving her an unimpressed look. “Do you really want to know or do you want results? I can only give either or. Not both.”

“Just shut up and paint the damn tree.” 

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

Grin and bear it.

Grin and bear it.

Grin and bear it.

That's what Harriet had to do. 

Grin and bear it.

Grin and bear it.

Grin and bear it.

GRIN AND BEAR IT. 

‘It was for the kids and for the crew,’ Harriet reminded herself, grunting as she backed up the gangplank with the top half of the tree gripped firmly in her hands. Trying her hardest to keep a decent grip on it knowing that it was likely to break into pieces if the damned thing was dropped—it would be the luck of an isle kid, after all. 

It was for the kids and the crew, and Harriet was not going to quit until the stupid tree was hidden somewhere in the ship and decorated so nicely that all of her friends would weep in delight from the sight. Achy back and creaky neck be damned.

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

The tears the crew of the Queen's Fury and the children would be crying would not be tears of joy. 

Of that, Harriet was sure, as she looked at the newly decorated Christmas tree with a barely disguised grimace. 

Sammy had managed to dig up three Christmas bubbles (two of which were broken) and some flickering fairy lights in the barrage but that hadn't been enough to fill the tree. 

So they'd had to take some…. creative…liberties. Like tapping a couple of lanterns to a couple of the branches and breaking into Madam Medusa, Eq, & Cruella’s jewelry boxes for the best earrings the isle had to offer to hook onto the tree next to shiny bottle cups, broken glass bottles, and fish bones. 

They'd thrown one of Harriet's old hats on the top as a tree topper and used a moldy bite ridden rope as garland. 

It looked more like a crime scene than a Christmas Tree and joy was the farthest thing from what the pirate captain felt when she looked at it. 

And Harriet could just tell by the look on Sammy's face that he hated how it looked too, no matter how much he tried to claim otherwise. 

Christmas was going to be a disaster.

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

“What are you lot doing here?” Harriet asked with an exhausted stare, too tired to speak above her ‘inside’ voice. 

Homicide (Morgie's eldest son) shrugged, a big red sack draped over his shoulder.

Behind him were Kai (Morgana of the sea’s daughter) and Ula & Uziel (the son and daughter of Uliana), all three with big red sacks of their own as they walked up the gangplank.

“We owed Sammy a few favors.”

The raven haired girl just let out a long suffering sigh, deciding that she just didn't want to know why that was at this point. Harriet wasn't scared to ask, per say (lie), but she figured that this whole thing was likely something she would need deniability on. 

Even if she'd end up stuck dealing with the fall out regardless.

“That doesn't really answer the question but come aboard, I guess.”

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

Presents and enough food that they could have a feast. 

That's what Harriet’s cousins had brought on Sammy's behalf.

“You crazy son of a bitch, what do you have on them?” Harriet’s eyes didn't stray from the pile of presents tha nearly filled the storage room they'd hidden the tree and food in. 

Christmas was in the morning. 

Sammy definitely had to be blackmailing them. 

The blonde didn't even deny it, not looking away from the (mostly canned) food he was looking over. “You don't want to know.”

“Sometimes, Sammy, you scare me.”

“Not enough to keep you sober, apparently.”

Harriet snorted. “No one scares me enough to keep me sober.”

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

The next day the pirates of the Queen’s Fury and the Lost Revenge came together and feasted on badly made Christmas cookies, crepes, slightly used candy, rum, slightly out of date eggnog, and much more.

They danced, they sang sea shanties, they told stories, and they laughed when the roughhousing broke out. 

Nobody had cared what the tree looked like and Diego had even laughed when he recognized some of the earrings on the tree as his aunt’s. 

It was a good night.

Harriet would even call it a merry one. 

It was the best (and even only, for some of them) Christmas any of them had ever had. 

[mrstellmeafuckingsecret]

Sometimes I'm having a good day then I randomly have flashbacks to posts I've seen on tumblr. Mostly of; cat animagus regulus, regulus replacing peter, regulus and sirius being best friends, dramatic sirius, James being all people pleasing and not arrogant at all (save me arrogant rich boy James oml), remus being a jerk for no reason and being borderline toxic for sirius and I'm not okay any longer. But I cant express that to anyone at school cuz they'll just be like who tf are u talking abt????

!!!!!!!!

i love aus i love reconciliation i love wondering how things could be different or how x character would fit into a narrative but some things are just !! incorrect !! regulus isnt an animagus!! its very fucking hard to become one!! he is NEVER described as intelligent!! quite the opposite!! also, he isnt crookshanks!! he's fucking dead!! he committed suicide!! it's literally one of the three things he canonically did!! stop taking that away!!

regulus could never ever replace peter!! he would never fit into the dynamic the marauders have!! he's also a fucking nazi and remus is equivalent of a jew!! sirius would've hated having him there!!

why? because regulus was a major part of why he wanted to leave leave leave his house!! he was suffocated at number twelve!! constantly compared to his picture perfect brother!! his brother, who was a soft idiot!! who was naive and gullible!! who was the opposite of sirius in everyway!! it was never ever sirius and regulus - it was sirius or regulus!! sirius vs regulus!! they likely had a very complicated relationships!! its very very possible they hated each other!! "i have a brother i could never hate him 😖 i understand sirius, im sure they loved each other <3" unless you grew up in the 70s in a very very uptight house with a mother who was clinically insane and an absent father, both of which supported ethnic cleansing and genocide of a race you live amongst, and your younger brother, who you've likely considered your closest in that torture chamber, ends up going further than your fucked up parents by joining in the ethnic cleansing, by being obsessed with fucking hitler, by fighting against you in war, all while being praised for doing so while you're abused for not wanting to kill innocent men, women and children until you runaway as a teenager to go to the house of someone you've only known for five years because of how horrid it is, i dont think you understand!!

and sirius is called dramatic!! sirius black!! who was in solitary confinement for twelve years, charged for being the very thing he did so so much to be the opposite of, charged for murder of his sanctuary, of his best friends, of his godson, of twelve innocent bystanders, betrayed by one of his closest friends, who was homeless for over an year, who was trapped again in a prison of his old home, constantly exposed to triggering stimuli like his fucking mother!!!!!!! and being made comments about which he deals with so very maturely!! he is dramatic!! despite the fact that he barely, if ever, brought it up!! and if he did, then only to his godson!! his last remaining person!! good god, he suffered so much and he's never, ever allowed to complain!!

and james!! god!! what do we know about him? that he had a massive ego!! a massive heart, yes, but he was proud!! stop with the perspective that one has to sacrifice themself to be good!! i know most people here are teenage girls, that we are taught that this is the only way to be, but it isnt!! especially not to a wealthy pureblood (=white) boy in the 70s!! he likely was incredibly selfish!!

remus, god remus, after sirius - this is the character assassination of the centaury. his entire character revolves around his cowardice!! how unlike a werewolf he is!! how he does everything possible to be the very opposite!! he ruins his life because of how he fears ruining other people!! but fanon remus - he's a fucking proud werewolf, i dont care what people say!! he's abusive, he's a sex-addict, druggie - he's an asshole!! he is literally fenrir greyback!! the man who ruined his life!! 'mr tell me a fucking secret' my ass!! and its just funny! its cute and wholesome and let's focus on how he suffered and how hot he is, when there's no evidence of most of these claims!! let's, instead, focus on how horrified remus would be at what he's portrayed as!! he's portrayed as the very thing he's tried to be the opposite of!! this is just one more example of sirius' trauma being put onto remus to make him some tragic hero, when that in itself is remus' tragedy!! that he died and left an orphan to a fucked up kid, that he had no friends and couldnt hold relationships, that he's forgettable despite standing out, that he's outshone despite being intelligent - it's just not as romanticizable as 'my dad hates me and i'm really hot and smoke cigarettes'

i just yapped so much because god its so annoying!! no one sees it!! "let people have fun" yes, but lets call bullshit out!! dont romanticize toxic relationships to young girls @ marauders fandom!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[sr71blackbirdd]

Written in the plane with literally zero research just vibes because I didn’t want to buy internet

Set sometime in late autumn of 1918

CW: Fatphobia (ish), Racism, suicidal ideation, mentions of pedophilia

I am one of five left. Hellmann was shot from behind a Maxim gun, Goldstein and Müller died from the same grenade, and many more whose names I have chosen to forget still lie in no man’s land. Gruber’s our crooked captain, he doesn’t like us much. “Why’d we have to lose Hellman,” he moans, “he was the only one of you that could read and shoot”. I can shoot just fine so long as my glasses aren’t covered in dust. How’s that my fault? “Are you deaf and blind Bohrer?” He’ll say in his horrid Swiss accent. I think he hates me most because I’m our only Prussian left. Expects godly feats of a Prussian. Half the other boys aren’t even German (exactly 2.5 because Austria is… well…). I am the only enlisted man, the Bavarian and the Italian are conscripts, and nobody knows where the Austrian came from. The boys I am with are, in the above order, Kirchner, Vargas, and Edelmann. Edelmann is my brother’s age, or perhaps older, I think he has a girl waiting for him at home. Vargas is an immigrant, he’s fighting for his citizenship in some sense, though it was never his choice. Kirchner is the most interesting, a church boy from Munich, least likely man to be at war. Clergy or clergy-in-training get to argue they’re pacifists. I’ve never met someone out here who’s a proper devoted man of god, most lose their faith in less than a month.

As for what these boys look like, Kirchner and Edelmann actually look quite alike, brunets, glasses(almost the same exact frame!), lips that don’t hold a smile for more than a couple seconds, straight hair, nice teeth. Edelmann is darker and sharper and Kirchner is twice his size, both in height and width. Would be utterly intimidating if it weren’t for his timid personality.

Vargas looks like a girl on the other hand. Narrow frame, narrow hands, the narrow eyes of a temptress, a beauty mark under one of his eyes, dark skin and bright brown eyes. If he did not need to cut his hair for service, it would not be hard to mistake him for a lady.

I have been in this war two years, you would think I would be able to ignore loss, to leave those boys in no man’s land unnamed, but it won’t be so easy when these boys are picked off. For the first time in my life, I think I like most of the people I am with. Except Gruber. I have never felt I belonged, among peers I was an outsider as my life was always full of drills and my interests were often deemed unusual. Among my family, I was not fit for service. I did not take drills seriously, I did not go above and beyond in any field of study I had no interest in, the most crucial of which being military history, and according to my mother, my head was always in the clouds. I fit in among these boys. They tease me for enlisting, call me a poor fool. They make fun of me for other reasons, my eyesight is far worse than Kirchner and Edelmann’s after all. They tease me for being Prussian, though to say it’s undeserved with what I say about them would be a lie. We stay merry. At the end of the day, we are all brothers, a bond formed in blood spilled and bullets fired. Blood and steel, my father used to say to me all the time, blood and steel. Our bonds are made in blood and steel.

Today was a good day! Nobody died, the French seem to be backing off for now, they are hungry just as we are, and their trenches are as filthy as their rivers! Our trenches are hell but from the French trenches I’ve raided our hell is another man’s heaven. Fresh rations came in today, Kirchner went back for seconds, I had always wondered how someone could stay plump during the war until I met Kirchner. He seems to get hungry when he’s stressed, and the war is nothing but stress. He doesn’t like when I eat meals with him though.

I have been attempting to teach Vargas German in our downtime. He is older than me but nobody would know, those Italians tend to be less intelligent or so I’ve heard, he speaks Italian very nicely, but I have, perhaps intentionally, taught him much in terms of vulgar slang in place of standard German. I am the only one who speaks Italian, so he follows me around like a puppy. Edelmann came to me today and asked me advice on a letter he was writing, he did not show me the letter, just recited a passage from it. I know nothing of women. He tends to forget I am younger than him. He knows I have been in service for two years, he does not remember those two years started when I was sixteen years of age. I spend the most time with Kirchner, he is fine with Vargas being there most of the time, the three of us drink together… or the four of us really, Edelmann only refuses to join us when he is tired or writing a letter. How he manages to sleep without drinking evades us young folk. Perhaps your mind and bones are more tired at twenty-five than they are at eighteen and nineteen. Alcohol is our sleeping draught and caffeine all we wake up for.

I spoke with Kirchner today about our futures. He seemed not to like the topic. “My future is in No Man’s Land,” he told me. I asked about his past instead, why did he choose to join the war if it seemed so bleak to him. “I am a conscripted man, I chose nothing.”

“You could have gotten out on pacifism,” I told him.

“But then I’d have to dedicate myself to the lord.”

Kirchner was devout. Very devout. Painfully devout. His Catholic faith had been a source of annoyance to me for all our time together, as a Protestant born and raised, we often got into joking fights about it, not aided by the fact everyone else left is Catholic. I asked him why that was a problem. He replied that he hated god and the church and Catholicism more than anything. A genuine loathing for it. More genuine than any loathing he felt before. In his words:

“I hate this war, I hate our leadership, and most of all I hate my father, both he who art in heaven and he who preaches his word on earth.” We drank a bit before I pried further. In that time Kirchner asked me a bit about my own father, how I felt about him and my destiny to serve all my life in endless, ridiculous conflicts puppeteered by people like him, who just wanted more blood and more iron. He was clearly drunk at this point. Kirchner is very large but he does not eat when he drinks nor does he have any water with it, it seems specifically so he can get drunk. I told him I had no resentment of my father, he was doing what is best for me. Were I not in the military, where would I be? I hardly have the skills for a normal job. He claimed that was the same boat he was in, and it was a fault, perhaps even one designed to be a fault. I could never be a banker, he could never be a lawyer, we were stuck, a general and a clergyman. Dying in this war was our only way out. He put a great many words in my mouth, but I am thinking there might be truth in all of them. He said many more things in that ramble, wove poetic about a General and a Clergyman dying together on the same battlefield, a man who mediates peace and a man who mediates war, he said he was in love with me. I did not ask how he meant. He said he loves me and would love to die as Goldstein and Müller did, together, just too close to a grenade. He can’t go back, he said. He can’t go back because if his father were to give him a hug, if his father were to kiss him in greeting, if his father were to so much as pat him on the back, he would shut down worse than he ever had out here. I asked him why, he said the Catholics are devils who sodomize children. I couldn’t tell if he was exaggerating or not. I didn’t really want to know if he was exaggerating or not. He ended the night with a big, sloppy, drunk kiss on the cheek and told me he wasn’t sure what he’d do without me.

Vargas and Edelmann were sitting a while down, Edelmann was teasing Vargas for being Italian again, he was joking in turn. I don’t think I was necessarily walking straight as as soon as Edelmann saw me he came up to me and offered me support.

“How’d you get so much to drink?” He’d asked.

Kirchner stole tons of wine from the French a while back. That was the answer and that’s what I said. They sobered me up with stale bread and muddy water. Despite this, it was a very gay time, we played guess who with some cards Edelmann had made a while ago. I was Gruber, and insultingly they said as a clue that he was only one step away from who I currently am. I wish I could write more about about the good than Hermann’s Kirchner’s ramble but I was less drunk when he was talking than when they were talking.

Today was a good day.

I got to know Kirchner better, I had fun with Vargas and Edelmann, and Gruber laid off us the entire day.

I wish every day were like this.

It was cold today. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones. Even with our military uniforms, which are heavy and woolen, the cold still bites. When weather gets like this, Kirchner becomes the most popular man in our division. It is not unwise to sleep close to one another in weather like this. It is an instinct of our primitive ancestors. Kirchner the warmest of us. He can tolerate the cold better than the rest of us. Gruber often criticizes Kirchner for taking extra but in the ice those criticisms disappear. Vargas gets cold easiest, he is not used to the German cold as is. I would offer him my coat if I hadn’t lost weight. Had a terrible case of something that messed with my stomach, the medics said it was stress. Hah! Can you believe that? Stress? Were that the case most men in the war would be stressed. The humors are out of wack, I write that in a mocking tone, humors, stress, all a bunch of crap. Kirchner is very nice to Vargas, he’s very nice to everyone, it’s why I thought him such a good Christian before he told me he hated god. He allows him to sit with him even when he is having a meal, and of course Vargas jokes about how much he eats in a sitting, which Kirchner does not seem to appreciate, but he does not want our little Italian to freeze.

Often we treat Vargas as more of a pet than a person. Perhaps it is bad but he seems to like it, I’m convinced it’s the only reason he’s still alive. Vargas has a tendency to… space out. He’s forgetful, impulsive, you name it. Not quite fit to be behind the barrel of a gun in my honest opinion, but he’s a tiny thing with a cute accent who looks like a girl, what are we supposed to do? All boys have their stupid whims and desires and Vargas is just one of the ways we fantasize. Edelmann thinks this is queer and homosexual, this contributes to my theory that he has a girl waiting for him at home. Vargas is only about 160 cm tall, we have all taken turns flinging him over our shoulder before. I can only imagine being a tiny Italian among Germanic giants.

Ever since I got sick, Vargas has kept an eye on me. Even if he’s basically clinging to Kirchner, he still watches me constantly. When something seems too stressful or whatever he offers to do some of it. “You can’t read” I always reply. “You don’t know enough German” is another common excuse. Really I just don’t trust anyone to do what I do right. I am not some basic private, some of my rank was bought, but two years is a long time to stay alive in this landscape. That may also be why Gruber dislikes me, I’m a threat.

We’ve been, all day, preparing for an assault from the French. Who would assault in this weather? I’ve been thinking. I realized that is something we would do. I can only imagine how brutal the Eastern Front must be this time of year, especially with the Russians. Their war, I’ve heard from my brother, is less monotonous, but the Russians are brutal, monsters who wear the clothes of men. He claims he saw evidence of cannibalism at a Russian camp his men captured. The war over there is basically over compared to here. I think my brother worries a lot about me losing my mind out here with what I tell him, and I’m not entirely sure if I am of sound mind. I have always been a bit scatter brained, terrified of things that looking back, seem utterly infeasible, I think it’s saved me more times than it’s caused problems. For some reason though, I keep managing to convince myself I’m going to hell, I have stopped believing in such foolish nonsense objectively, but some days I am overcome with it. Kirchner says it’s a consequence of a Christian upbringing. I have also been remembering things that according to other folks, never happened. It is part of why I have been more stringent in maintaining this journal. I don’t want to forget, or to remember something that never happened. If I can check here for the day’s events I will not lose my mind fully. Other men speak of ghosts in the trenches. Noises that go beyond the whistling of rockets. Haunted moaning… apparitions, Edelmann claims he keeps running into a ghost when he gets up at night to use the bathroom. Honestly I think he’s just lonely. That’s just what happens when you don’t romanticize Vargas, what can I say. I am glad I am not that degree of insane yet. We must all stay close with one another should we hope to survive another year of this with our brains fully in tact. I will not put a bullet through my brain, and neither will anyone else in this division, at least not until the new year.