#I didn’t know this was stewing lol I just get a tiny bit more bothered every time I see posts like that. it’s literally not that deep

[nielution]

Idk just. The level of hatred for cinemasins feels like the culmination of all the worst parts of the “JUST LET PEOPLE LIKE THINGS” philosophy. They’re not saying every movie they make a video about is dogshit. They’re nitpicking because nitpicking media is really fun sometimes. Some of us are just having fun with media in different ways than you want to lol.

[drowsy-writer]

I Can't Stop— regulus black x reader

Summary: An unmovable object vs. an unstoppable force (aka Reader tries to get Regulus to bed) 

Warning:  cursing, angst, bittersweet fluff, crying

Notes: Reader has she/her pronouns and is a Hufflepuff; this can also be read as either romantic or platonic also yes I sometimes face claim regulus as Benjamin Wadsworth pls don’t @ me i’m new here lol

Hogwarts 1975

Every Hufflepuff knows that when 10:00 hits, the kitchen goes silent. No pots boil, no ovens switch on―without the house elves, the place is as silent as the library on a good day. The alluring scents of the day’s meals would linger in the air, hitting the face of every Hufflepuff who entered eager to make it to their common room and call it a night.

Tonight the smells of roasted chicken and creamy beef stew were replaced with the stingy aroma of coffee as two students sat at the end of the kitchen’s massive table, books spread out amongst themselves. Two gigantic porcelain mugs were placed within arms reach and a fresh pot of coffee sat between them.

“Find anything yet?” the Hufflepuff asked. Her [h/c] curls bounced slightly as she looked up from her piece of parchment, observing the pale Slytherin boy across from her scrunch his brows.

“No,” Regulus shut another book and tossed it on top of the stack next to him. He reached over to his mug, which embarrassingly had an orange flat-faced kitten painted on it, and downed its remaining contents. He then slammed the mug on the table and ran both of his fingers through his short ebony locks,” nothing. Yet.”

“House elves are bound to wake up soon,” [Y/N] mused. She cocked her head towards the tiny door sitting next to the fireplace,” maybe we should call it a night.”

Regulus groaned as he reached for the pot of coffee and poured himself another cup. The pot shook a bit as Regulus poured it, the bags underneath his eyes growing darker. [Y/N] looked at her friend and sighed.

“We’ve gone through almost the whole library, Reggie,” [Y/N] said. Regulus took a quick swig of his refilled cup of coffee and cracked open another book,” look! That’s even the same book you opened last night. Cover and all!”

“Nope,” Regulus held up the book and tapped his pale finger on the cover where it read Volume 2. It was [Y/N]’s time to groan as she took her own mug, this one with a silly looking dog on it, and sipped at the now cold contents. Her face scrunched up as she placed the mug down,” Zatara might’ve been a loon, but he was Bullock’s assistant. He probably hid something in here so Dumbledore or anyone else couldn’t find and burn it..” 

“What makes you think that Volume 2 is gonna have something when the first one didn’t?” [Y/N] had got up from her chair, cold cup of coffee in hand, and dumped it down the drain of the sink behind her. She turned the faucet on, rinsing out the mug and gently putting it back on the drying rack. When [Y/N] spun around, she was met by Regulus’s signature scowl,” don’t get your knickers in a twist. You know I’m right. I’m always right with these sorts of things.”

“I know,” Regulus hissed. He looked back down at the book,” but right now, I’m hoping you’re wrong.”

[Y/N] huffed as she sat back down on her chair again. A small yawn escaped her lips but she knew it’d be a while until Regulus decided to pack his stuff and leave. This was the case every night since 2nd year where Regulus and [Y/N] would stay up right before the elves came back in to prep for breakfast, reading and discussing topics both school related and pure nonsense. Neither knew how this little tradition started and, quite frankly, neither cared. It was a breath of fresh air for [Y/N] and a sense of normalcy Regulus craved for within his ever turbulent life. 

As of recently, however, their midnight meetings were overwhelmed with a sense of dread. It had been months since Regulus had properly been exposed to the world of the Death Eaters and of Lord Voldemort, courtesy of his mother. From then on, he had been put into an almost inescapable hole, one that he was intent of crawling out of. Regulus might've not had the luxury of running away like his brother, but he sure as hell wasn't going to give in without a fight.

“So if I am wrong, what’s gonna happen next?” [Y/N] asked.

Regulus quirked a brow as he stopped reading the passage he was on. Not even bothering to look up, Regulus clicked his tongue in thought. He then, to [Y/N]’s annoyance, shrugged his shoulders and continued to read.

“I don’t know. Haven’t thought that far yet.”

“What do you mean you haven’t thought that far yet? We’ve been looking into Horcruxes for the past three months and you haven’t the clue as to what you’ll do next?!”

“Something like that.”

“You're so—,” [Y/N] let out a muffled scream as she buried her head in her hands,” you're insufferable, you know that? Why am I even friends with you?”

“Haven't thought that far yet either,” Regulus smirked. 

“Very funny, Reggie. Now c’mon,” [Y/N] motioned towards the stack of books,” let’s stash these away. We’ve got a Potions exam tomorrow morning, remember?”

“Yes, I remember.”

Regulus didn’t make an effort to get up and continued to read through the book. As Regulus flipped through another page, [Y/N] muttered underneath her breath as she jumped down from her seat and walked over to the Slytherin’s side.

“Alright. That’s it.”

Before Regulus could make sense as to what was happening, [Y/N] wrapped her hands around his waist and hoisted him up from the seat.

“[Y/N]?!” Regulus sputtered, dropping the book from his hands,” let me go!”

“Oh shut it, Black! You need to get some sleep!”

Still in her arms, Regulus tensed as their bodies pressed against one another. He cursed himself underneath his breath as his face flushed red.

“Just put me down. Now.”

“No.”

“[Y/N]—!”

[Y/N] tightened her grip as Regulus squirmed within her hold. She dragged him from his chair to the middle of the kitchen where he finally pushed himself off.

“What the hell was that for?”

“You need to sleep, Regulus! You can’t keep burning the candle at both ends. You’ll fall back if you keep doing this.”

“Well what else am I supposed to do, then? Run away from my problems like my brother? Ignore them? I can’t just turn away from my family and pretend nothing ever happened!” Regulus shouted. His breathing turned ragged, as if he just finished yet another Quidditch match, “what would you expect for me to do?”

“I—I don’t know! I don’t have the answers for everything!” [Y/N] retorted. Regulus groaned as he turned around, intent on picking up where he left off in his book,” but I do know that when the time comes, whatever remnants of a plan you do have, you’ll be too exhausted to do anything about it!”

Regulus stopped in his step as he stared at the rack of spices before him, afraid of meeting his friend’s eyes. He took a deep breath, composed himself, and turned around. His eyes had yet to meet [Y/N]’s as they shifted throughout the room.

“Why are you—ugh,” Regulus sighed as he ran his hands through his hair,” I just—this is how I work, [Y/N]. You’ve known it since 2nd year. Even when I stop, I can’t stop. When I go to sleep at night, my mind is still racing with all this bullshit about purebloods and Muggles and—.”

“But you can’t just—.”

“—And the fucking potions test you won’t stop telling me about! There’s so many things in my mind that I think Bellatrix’s head looks healthy compared to mine! I can’t stop thinking about my family, my house, even Sirius for Godric’s sake! I can’t stop worrying that if I were to put a pause for even a sliver of a second, everything I’ll ever love will cease to exist. I can’t risk that [Y/N]. Not for a second. Not when I have so much on the line.”

[Y/N] looked down at the floor as her friend’s words ran rapid through her head. She touched her forehead with the palm of her hand, dragging them down until they met the bridge of her nose. 

“Fucking—I know that, Regulus. I just—,” [Y/N] gave a pained expression as she pinched the bridge of her nose,”—fuck! I just want you to be okay, ok? You’re my friend. My best friend, actually. It hurts like hell because there’s nothing I can do about it. I can get you as many books as you want, sneak out around the castle as much as you want, lie to as many people as you want , but I can’t—no. I won’t stand here and watch you whittle away. Not when I can do something to prevent it.”

Regulus swallowed hard as his eyes met [Y/N]’s and the pit that had been growing inside his chest began to increase, pushing painfully against his rips. He felt his lungs constrict and if Regulus didn’t know any better, he’d say someone casted a Crucio curse on him and it was slowly ripping his body from the inside out.

“I just can’t let him win, [Y/N],” Regulus mumbled. He leaned back on the table and pressed both hands to his face, rubbing at his eyes as tears began to build up in the corners,” I can’t let that thing win, no matter what.”

Shielding his face from [Y/N], Regulus quietly sobbed as his friend stood in front of him, tears threatening to pour out from her eyes as well. Taking a deep, shaky breath, [Y/N] slowly walked towards her friend and gently wrapped her arms around him. Despite the slight size difference, [Y/N] was able to situate her friend so that his face was buried in the crook of her neck. She combed a hand through his inky, black locks.

“I know won’t,” [Y/N] said,” but I highly doubt snake face over there is going to wait for you to take a quick power nap. We’ll beat him, but not like this.”

Regulus’s grip tightened around [Y/N] and she felt his lips pull into a smile as a low chuckle emitted from him. 

“It’s amazing how you’re not a Ravenclaw with how much wisdom you spout out.”

“Well I’m far more interested in my friends then a bloody book,” [Y/N] stepped back, hands still wrapped around Regulus, and smiled,” now let’s clean up and head to bed. You deserve at least one good night’s rest.”

[vs-redemption]

Hi, its me! Im sorry for bothering you! How would Bakugou, Aizawa, and Iida react if some random kid, who had their eyes but different hair, who looks homeless and IS homeless, knockef on their door and said 'hey, do you know *insert womans name*? Youre my dad apparently' and it turns iut it was a woman they had a flimg with, who left them, and went on to abusr their kid? Like severely? Its just me projecting lol. Im so sorry have a great day!

A/N: I noticed that @madkaleidoscope got almost the same request while going through the my hero tags, so please check out their post HERE for another take on the same idea.

A Surprise Meeting (Bakugo, Iida, and Aizawa meet their abused child)

You can read the same scenario for Todoroki and Dabi HERE You can read the same scenario for Hawks, Fatgum, and Shigaraki Here

Warning:⚠️Mentions of child abuse and homelessness. Also, swearing for Bakugo!⚠️

Bakugo

“What the hell do you mean they were offended?” Bakugo growls at his manager through the phone propped up on his shoulder as he aggressively chops up vegetables for the stew he was making. “Instead of being grateful that I saved their asses, they decided to file a complaint against me huh?”

The underpaid person on the other end launches into an explanation about why a top ranked pro hero should avoid yelling out expletives while fighting villains in front of a crowd of civilians. Apparently it wasn’t an appropriate way to behave in front of impressionable children and elderly folks. Bakugo rolled his eyes as he continued cooking. He’d heard this spiel a hundred times before. He’d honestly worked hard over the years to improve the way he directly interacted with the innocent people he fought to protect every day, but he couldn’t help but get a little overzealous in the moment when taking down bad guys.

Bakugo clicked his tongue in annoyance when his doorbell suddenly rang. He wiped his hands off on a towel before going to tell off whoever it was that was interrupting his very limited free time. It was bad enough he was already getting an earful from his manger while he was trying to relax. He ripped open the door and felt a hint of surprise when he had to lower his angry red eyes to find the unexpected visitor. It was a little girl.

“What the hell?” Bakugo leaned out of the doorway a bit to look for an adult that might be accompanying the child but she seemed to be all alone. His manager paused their lecture to ask if he was all right. “Yeah, but I’m going to have to call you back,” Bakugo hangs up the phone and looks back at the little girl who was glaring up at him with familiar red eyes. Her long dark hair was dirty and matted. She had scrapes and bruises all over her arms and face.

“Do you need help or something?” Bakugo asks awkwardly as he tries to slip into his comforting hero voice. “Where are your parents?”

“Mommy left and didn’t come back,” the little girl scowls and crosses her arms. She then tells Bakugo her mother’s name, causing the man to freeze up in shock at the implication. “She said you were my daddy.” Bakugo just stands speechless for a few moments as his brain tries to catch up with what he’d just heard. He knew the girl’s mom, but he hadn’t seen her in about four years. They’d had a bit of a summer romance right at the beginning of his hero career before she’d suddenly disappeared, never to be heard from again.

Bakugo lets his eyes scan over the little girl once more. He couldn’t deny she had his eyes and his scowl. He felt irritated that his summer fling hadn’t even had the decency to tell him she’d gotten pregnant. He squats down to look more closely at the dirt and injuries all over the girl’s body.

“Who did this to you?” he asks, trying to keep the gruffness from his voice. Some emotion cracks through the little girl’s false bravado then and she looks down at her bare feet shyly.

“Mommy…” she whispers. Bakugo takes a deep breath to calm the rage that boiled up inside him and offers a hand to the little girl.

“Mommy left me too,” he confesses. “But she’s not going to hurt either of us ever again, okay?” The little girl looks up at her dad, a tentative hope blossoming in her eyes. Bakugo knew this was going to impact his life in a huge way, but at the moment he only cared about getting to know his daughter and making up for lost time. “Are you hungry?��� The little girl nods her head eagerly and he leads her into his apartment. He would get her cleaned up and fed before getting started on all the legal stuff he’d undoubtedly have to endure before she could really be his daughter completely. His mind was already coming up with ways to fit parenting into his work schedule though, and he found himself looking forward to spending as much time with his little girl as possible.

Iida

Iida assumed he was going to have another normal morning as he sat at his desk, looking over his patrol route for the day. He’d taken over his family’s hero agency not too long ago, but he was already used to the daily routine. All the experiences he’d lived through during high school, not to mention growing up in a family of heroes, had prepared him for most scenarios he would encounter as a pro. He had no reason to suspect that anything out of the ordinary would happen, even as he heard the knock on his office door.

“Come in,” he calls out while standing up to start putting on his hero costume. The door blasts open and a young girl runs into the room.

“Daddy!” she shouts as she runs right up to him and throws her arms around his waist. Iida looks down at the girl in shock before glancing towards the door where one of his sidekicks stood looking as confused as he felt.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” the sidekick says a bit awkwardly. “One of the interns found her wandering outside. She was asking people to help her find you, her dad.”

Iida wanted to deny the claim immediately. He would definitely know if he had a child, especially one who looked to be around eight years old. The idea became a lot less preposterous as he looked back down at the girl. Her hair color was as white as snow, a complete contrast to his dark blue. The thing that gave him pause were the two legs sticking out from under the dirty skirt the girl was wearing. Her legs looked skinny, too skinny, aside from her calves which had tiny exhaust pipes sticking out of them. The girl looks up at him after a moment to meet his gaze. His breathe catches in his throat at her blue eyes and checkmark shaped eyebrows that were iconic to the Iida family.

“Uh, thank you,” Iida felt flustered as he looks back at his sidekick who was blatantly starting at him in shock. “I’ll handle this from here. Do you mind asking someone to take over my patrol?” The sidekick accepts the job and hurries off, leaving Iida alone with the girl. Part of him felt really embarrassed that this had happened in front of his coworkers. He couldn’t imagine what they must think of him now. He definitely didn’t seem like the type to be involved with something that could be perceived as scandalous.

“What is your mother’s name?” Iida asks, even though he was sure he already knew. The list of possibilities was very small. The little girl goes up on her tiptoes and Iida bends down to meet her so she can whisper in his ear. He sighs heavily at the name that falls from her lips. It was just further confirmation that this wasn’t some crazy misunderstanding. The information settles into his mind. He was a father.

“Please don’t make me go back to her though,” the girl’s eyes brim with tears as she searches Iida’s face for comfort. “She’s scary.” Iida understood how the girl felt. If given the option, he would choose never to see that woman again either. She had only dated him for a brief time, pretending to be in love with him in order to take advantage of his fame until she found someone higher up in the ranks to seduce. He had been so shocked and heart broken when she’d left him so suddenly, but now there was no way to hide from that mistake of his past.

“Why do you say she’s scary?” Iida asks while putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder. She winces and flinches away from his touch. He narrows his eyes in concern and asks her to roll up her sleeves. His heart fills with sadness at the welts marring her frail arms. “I see,” he frowns. “I promise you won’t have to see her again if you don’t want to, but can you tell me where she lives?”

“I don’t know. We always have to sleep outside,” the girl explains warily, painting a rather sad image of her life.

“Well that just won’t do,” he pats her on the head. “I’m going to make sure you have a comfy, warm bed to sleep in from now on.” The girl’s face lights up happily and she hugs Iida even tighter. The shame he’d felt initially was gone now, replaced by a determination to provide his daughter with the best life possible.

Aizawa

Between all his hero work and being a full time teacher, Aizawa’s opportunities to simply sleep for a couple consecutive hours were few and far between. He took any chance he could to just shut his eyes and rest for a while. Tonight he’d hoped to get a decent amount of sleep in before having to wake up at the crack of dawn to attend a UA staff meeting. However, it seemed fate had other plans for him.

It was around one in the morning when a knock on his front door pulled him from the depths of his much needed slumber. He rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes as he rolled out of bed, not even having the energy to be annoyed. “Who is it?” He asks while putting on his slippers and shuffling over to the door. There was no answer, so he pressed his face up to the peep hole. He let out a groan when he saw a random kid standing outside. If this was some kind of prank, he wasn’t sure he had the strength of mind to deal with it at this hour. He already put up with a whole class of teenagers every day who drained him of every drop of patience he had.

“Can I help you?” Aizawa mumbles after opening the door. The young boy in front of him looked to be about thirteen years old. The ends of his dark burgundy hair were frayed and had been cut sloppily as if he’d done it himself. He had outgrown his clothes a while ago, and they appeared uncomfortably small on his skinny frame. The poor kid looked extremely dirty and smelled even worse.

“Do you know this woman?” the haggard boy holds out an old photograph of a person Aizawa recognized immediately. It had been a very long time, but he’d never forget the face of the first woman he’d ever been with. He’d been so young and naïve at the time, and he still felt bitter toward the friend who’d set him up with a woman with such an atrocious personality. Aizawa knew right then and there that he wasn’t going to be getting back to sleep anytime soon.

“This is my mother,” the boy states the obvious fact. “And apparently you’re my dad.” Aizawa had no reason not to believe him as he looked into the boy’s tired eyes that matched his own. It was clear that life had not been kind to the kid so far.

“Come on in,” Aizawa invites his son inside, deciding to wait to involve the proper authorities until morning. “You can take a hot shower, and I think I have some leftovers we can heat up.”

“A shower?” the boy looked overwhelmed, as if the promise of a shower was more than he’d ever dared to hope for. Aizawa was growing more concerned with each passing second.

“Where is your mother now?” He asks and the boy shrugs.

“I haven’t seen her in a couple weeks,” he states as if that were normal. “I think she met some new guy.” That was enough to put Aizawa’s teeth on edge.

“Where have you been staying then?” he asks.

“Wherever I can,” the boy replies, sounding embarrassed. “Park benches, bus stops, train stations…” Aizawa was horrified. What kind of person left their child to survive in those conditions? Why hadn’t she ever reached out to him for help?

“What are these?” Aizawa reaches out to snatch up the boys arm. Now that he was inside where the lighting was better, he could see strange scars and scabs covering his skin.

“Cigarette burns,” the boy pulls his arm away and averts his eyes. “Mom thought it would make people more willing to help when I had to beg for money.” Aizawa felt his eyes fill with tears at the words, and he doesn’t think twice before pulling his son into his arms. The boy returns the embrace, clinging to Aizawa as if he feared the man might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

“What’s going to happen now?” the boy asks fearfully after he calms down a bit.

“You’re more than welcome to stay with me,” Aizawa finds himself accepting the role of father rather quickly. He was already responsible for so many kids already, he didn’t see the harm in adding one more to the list. “If that’s something you’re comfortable with.”

“Yes, please!” The boy nods his head, looking ecstatic as he wiped away his tears. Aizawa nods his head and pats his son on the shoulder.

“Well then kid,” he says with a small smile. “Welcome home.”

------

Aizawa Tag List:  @clovertitan  @raine-needs-help @lucacangettathisass @lea2107-foxsin @tiaraowens

[bre-meister]

I need some pre married/family angst

this is early relationship so pre-family and pre-married Cleon. I hope it’s angsty enough I kind of got distracted while writing to fight a huge ass hornet in my room ( I was super terrified ngl). This was such a journey for me to write that I don’t even have an official title for it like I normally try to do lol. This has also taught me that I need to work on angst that is not “person A and Person B fight”. Sorry for the rant here's the actual work:

Claire was mad. No, Claire was beyond mad. Claire Redfield was absolutely furious. Her rage was so blinding that she couldn’t even be bothered to apologize to the nice looking doorman as she barreled through the lobby of the apartment building of the object of said anger. She was sorry - felt the apology in her bones as soon as the smaller man began to cringe and cower slightly in her presence - but again, her anger prevented it from passing her lips.

Secretly, she did take a little pride in the fact that, as she entered the elevator, a young-looking couple decided to “wait for the next one” instead of sharing with her. It gave her a little more time to stew in her anger - pulling from the depths of her soul, every time that she had said it was okay even when it wasn’t - before she came face to face with him.

“What the hell Leon!”

The door to his apartment opened with such force that if circumstances had been different, she would have been worried about possibly putting a hole in the wall. Alas, her attention was not on the wall, but instead on the man lying on the couch in front of her. Leon was clearly either drunk or hungover. Although considering what she’d heard from both her brother - half the reason she was here in the first place - there was a distinct possibility it could be both. Claire wasn’t sure that could actually happen, but if anyone could make it a thing it would most definitely be Leon S. Kennedy.

All that came out of his mouth was unintelligible garble mixed in with a few pained groans. Claire took pleasure in that for a moment and allowed it to further stoke the flames inside of her. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was about to do. She’d kind of just gone on autopilot after getting. Chris’s concerned texts. Apparently, Leon had been ghosting everyone over the last week. So, there she stood, upset and silent until Leon made the mistake of finally speaking real words.

“Red,”

Claire didn’t let him finish. She exploded,

“No! You don’t get to do that, you hear me? You don’t!”

Claire moved towards the couch and yanked off the blanket covering Leon with more force than was probably necessary. The blanket had apparently been completely wrapped around him and, in his current state, that was enough to cause him to tumble to the floor. He let out another grunt of pain as he landed but Claire didn’t care.

“Get your ass up.” Her voice had calmed, steadied to an even tone. Her anger no longer manifested itself in yelling, but instead as a low growl behind her words.

When he didn’t make any effort to move, she said it again,

“I’m not asking Leon. Get up.”

He finally did as told. Standing he slowly moved to the small kitchen behind the couch. There he found a glass that looked somewhat cleaned and began to fill it with water.

This wasn’t the first time that Claire had been there to pick up the pieces whenever Leon fell apart. Safe to say, those instances had never quite played out like this one and Leon was a little jarred and, admittedly, a little afraid of what the red-headed woman might do. 

They stared at each other as Claire gave Leon a moment to swallow the little bit of water that was left in his glass. When he sat it in the sink and she remained silent he let his impaired brain convince him that meant he should speak.

“What’s your problem? Chris piss in your Wheaties this morning?”

The look on her face caused concern. The laugh that followed chilled him to the core. Leon S. Kennedy had faced down and won so many B.O.Ws that he had lost count but at that moment as he looked across the room at a laughing Claire Redfield, he knew that he had quite possibly signed his death warrant. He also knew that if this truly were how he died, several people would help her cover it up, and frankly, he couldn’t blame them.

“My problem?” she continued to laugh, “What’s my problem?”

Leon was getting a little nervous. In yet another mistake, he even let out a few nerve filled chuckles himself.

“No, you don’t get to laugh! This isn’t funny,” and yet she was still laughing. 

Leon was not.

“Do you know why this isn’t funny? Because I don’t think you do.”

He couldn’t have answered even if he wanted to - Claire cut him off as soon as he opened his mouth to fumble through some bullshit excuse.

“You don’t. I know you don’t because if you did you would have had your ass at the restaurant last week, Leon!”

Leon felt his stomach drop. Oh no. He really had fucked up this time.

“Sherry’s birthday.” He felt more than heard the mumbled words slip past his lips.

“Ya, Sherry’s birthday,” Claire turned around to finally close the door and Leon took the opportunity to sit down in one of the few chairs at his tiny kitchen table.

“You know, I was okay with this when it was only me you were fucking over. I know I shouldn’t have been, but I was. I told myself over and over that it was fine, you needed this time, you needed me and I was more than happy to give it to you - everything. I give you everything! But it was okay because you were always there for me too. Most of the time at least. And I get it, Leon, hell I get it more than probably anyone else. What we went through was hell, no one should have to go through that once let alone as many times as you do. But I was there too, I have to deal with that shit too. Sherry has to deal with that shit. She was Twelve Leon.”

“I know -”

“Then where the fuck were you? This was all she wanted! All she asked for for her birthday was for all three of us to be there, together and you couldn’t even get your shit together enough to give that to her. No call, no text, not even a half-assed excuse just nothing. The hurt and disappointment on her face - I’ll never forget that Leon. And to top it off, I had to cover for you and as much as I love you,” she saw that way his whole body seized up at her words, “I’m tired. I refuse to do that anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Claire.”

Claire pulled at her hair which, for once, wasn’t in its usual ponytail.

“Stop! It’s always sorry with you. For once could you just stop!”

“Stop what? Tell me what I have to do to fix this.” He was desperate. He didn’t want to lose her or Sherry. The idea of that - of finally being completely and utterly alone - was almost too much to bear.

“For starters stop making promises if you know you can’t keep them. Stop overcommitting yourself. Stop overworking yourself because that’s always how you get this way in the first place. And stop looking like that.”

“Like what?” he was a little puzzled. He may have also been on the verge of tears but, if anyone asked later he would deny it vehemently.

“Like...like I just killed your puppy or - or like I’m taking away everything from you - it’s making it really hard to stay mad!”

In any other situation, he might have laughed at that but he had sobered up enough between when Claire had burst through his door and now. Now, he really did feel that Claire leaving here like this, Sherry being disappointed with him - that truly was as if everything were being taken away from him.

“I’m sorry. I - I don’t know how to make you believe that I am, but I truly am sorry. I would never hurt you, Claire. I would never hurt Sherry.” He was pleading at his point. He didn’t know what else to do.

“But you did. You hurt us Leon, and I’m not saying that I won’t forgive you, but it’s going to take some time. You fucked up and your usual ‘sorry’ isn’t going to fix it when we always end up in the same cycle again.” She sighed and as the air left her body she could feel all of her anger leaving as well only to be replaced with immense sadness and disappointment.

Claire turned and walked towards the door. A small clang echoed through the silent room and, although Leon couldn’t see from his spot in the kitchen, he knew that Claire had dropped her spare key on the table next to the door.

“Wait! Claire, please, don’t.”

“Don’t what Leon?” She didn’t turn around, she knew she wouldn’t be able to leave if she did. So, head down she gathered her strength and continued,

“Don’t leave? Give me a reason to stay then.”

“ I love you.” It came out in a soft whisper. 

Those three simple words - the first time he had ever said them to her in a non-platonic way. They made her heart soar and ache, both at the same time. She’d imagined this moment a lot but never like this. Never at the end of a fight that had been building for a long time. Never with her back to him, preparing to leave. Never with him sitting in his kitchen, a mess, crying in a way she’d never seen from him. Never like this. And, as much as she wanted to stay…

“ I love you too Leon. But that’s not what this is about. Call Sherry, she deserves to hear from you why you couldn’t do this one thing for her.”

With that, she left. With her, Leon felt a part of him leave as well.

The tears turned to outright sobs as he collapsed on his kitchen floor - dirty. The floor was dirty. He was dirty. He hadn’t cleaned or showered in a while but it was kind of fitting. His apartment was dirty, his clothes were dirty, his body was dirty but he was dirty in a way that was deeper than just the physical sense. 

He’d let them down. The only two people in this world that he still gave a damn about. The only two people he would try for.

Then why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t he pushed himself harder? In the same sense, why hadn’t he taken a break when he had pushed too hard. Why hadn’t he tried harder to stop her? Why hadn’t he?

There were too many questions. If he left himself to ponder them for too long he’d never get up from this dirty kitchen floor and he couldn’t afford to stay here forever. He had business to attend to, phone calls to make.

First, to his job. Claire was right, he needed to stop overworking himself and he’s acquired more than enough hours to take some time off. Then, to Sherry, because he owed her an apology in more than just words. He only hoped she would allow him to make it up to her.

He wanted to call Claire - show her he was trying, that she was right and he would do better. However, he knew that would probably only make things worse. She always gave him the time he needed, now it was time for him to do the same.

But before anything, he had to get up off the floor. The floor was dirty. He was dirty. Leon was tired of the blood and grime that seemed to fill almost all of his waking hours as D.S.O Agent Kennedy. He decided he wouldn’t let it follow him home anymore. So, Leon got up.

On his way to the bathroom he passed by the bowl he kept on his front table by the door. It was a housewarming gift from Claire who knew he was always misplacing his keys and yet never making an effort to get more organized. Always looking out for him, his Claire. 

Leon wouldn’t even let himself question if there even was a ‘his Claire’. Not that he owned her, no one could ever own Claire Redfield. But, looking at the two keys laying together in the bowl, Leon couldn’t help but think they were the same - a matching set. One complementing the other in a way that, while they were separate, they were still part of the same.

Yes, Leon Kennedy got up and as he looked at his dirty face in the mirror, he turned the faucet on because he was tired of being dirty. He was ready to get clean.

[mc-lukanette]

I knoe you said you only post things if people ask for them which I totally understand, but at the same time I also wonder if maybe you could give an estimate of how many times is too many times to ask? or something?? bc there is def stuff I'd like to ask for but I can't help worrying about being a bother, since I'm very aware that you have a life & no one is paying you for any of this; so it becomes very hard to ask for something when you might not want to give, if that makes sense??

Oh my gosh, the fact that you felt so polite as to ask is precious.

Anyway, I wouldn’t say there’s really a rule of how much is too much. If you’re worried about stressing me then you could always ask me to give more details rather than giving actual written pieces, but really, I have ideas all over.

My private index of ideas is basically extensive ideas (fleshed out ideas, usually some tiny written bits here and then), expendables (ideas that will never see the light of day outside of me giving them away - not bad ideas but just not my favorites because I’m picky even with my own work - but I figured no one really wants them so I haven’t done much there), and ideas that are more thoughts than fleshed out things (you’ve seen such things in posts like 42 Lukanette ideas).

I get notes when I post stuff about them and that’s great but I really don’t need people to reblog if they don’t want to; that’s why I just ask for asks since it doesn’t require any extra effort on their blog’s part. I don’t require any sort of validation via notes, so if people just wanna be like, “hey, can you give me more details on [x],” or, “oh hey throw out some more random thoughts,” or, “show me some of your scraps just because,” that’s totally cool and I'll probably provide!

Honestly, the only reason the “this blog runs on asks” exists is because I literally wouldn’t know what to do if it didn’t lol. You guys would be getting different Lukanette ideas, like--daily, and that’s not an exaggeration!

It would be very overwhelming and I’m not about that life ahaha, so really, asks are okay! At worst, I’ll let it stew in my inbox for a while so I can think about whether I can provide anything or not. This is MC-Lukanette so I will never be like, “okay guys you need to stop talking about [x],” provided that it’s Lukanette related.

[shortkingzuko]

title: helpful hands and tender words

relationship: bato/hakoda

warnings: mentions of canon injuries/death

summary: 5 times bato and hakoda spoke their own love languages and the 1 time they spoke each other's

for the @bakodafleetweek prompt love languages (a day late lol)

read under the cut or on AO3 for full list of tags/notes

 -5

Bato had always been praised for being a helpful child; always helping his mother chew on leather so that it could be sewn, always carrying rope to and fro his father’s ship when asked, would always offer to help his older sister braid her hair. Once everyone, including himself, realized he was a boy, his helpfulness was taken out to the sea and out to hunt, and he proved that he could assist in knot tying, in packing supplies and their spoils, and in flaying the different animals that they caught. And at the end of the day, he and his brother and father would return home, tired, slick and shivering with sweat and sea spray, and as his father and brother collapsed by the fire, he would go up to his mother and ask if she wanted him to help stir the boiling pot of stew so that she could rest before dinner. Bato would never be accused of being an overly expressive person, and many of his loved ones described him as guarded and private. But every time he offered to help his mother, she would smile, place her wind-chapped hand on his face, before leaning down and whispering, “I know when you offer that you’re saying you love me.”

Bato had always blushed and swatted his mother’s hand away, before grabbing the spoon and dutifully stirring. But sometimes, when he rolled out of bed, hours earlier than necessary, pulling on his boots and coat before sneaking out to meet Hakoda, Bato wondered if his mother was right. Maybe he was trying to say something when he stayed up late repairing fishing nets, before going out on a canoe with both of them trying to tamper down their excitement as they hunted an octopus in the light of the early morning. Perhaps when he stood behind an igloo, trying to make his voice as scary as possible, he was trying to say something besides vague, spirity threats, in the hopes of frightening Kanna.

Maybe he was trying to say something every time he helped Hakoda play a prank on his family, every time he agreed to go out fishing with Hakoda instead of focusing on his own chores, every time that he stayed up late to help Hakoda study the ‘Chief Lessons’ that his dad had given him.

Bato heard his mother and father saying that they loved each other all his life, he heard his sister and her girlfriend whisper it to one another with pink cheeks, and his brother say it to more than a few girls and boys than their village really allowed. Bato could probably count on one hand how many times he had said those words himself, the words getting stuck in his throat in embarrassing ways. It seemed that Hakoda had no expressing it to others, always throwing affection around so casually, always so flippant with the words that seemed to choke Bato.

Never towards him, of course, but what else did he expect? Bato could never say the words that he was certain he felt, but he could still show Hakoda, he thought. He could get up early to go fishing, and he could help him on hunts, and he could lie to their parents so that Hakoda wouldn’t get in as much trouble as he really ought to have. Bato would lighten the load that pressed down on Hakoda’s shoulders. And maybe one day, Hakoda would understand what it meant.

 -4

Hakoda could never keep his hands to himself. He was forever reaching out to touch weapons, jewelry, animals and furs that everyone had to swat his hands away from. Every week he would come home, hands red and chapped, because he took off his mittens outside to handle something and got too distracted to put them back on. His mother would tut, before smoothing balm onto his tender, dry skin, berating him for being so childish  when he was almost a man!  and for never learning to keep his gloves on and his hands to himself.

It never seemed to stop him though. Every time Hakoda saw something pretty or saw something that made his heart quicken, he yearned to hold it, to pet it, to gently cradle it in his hands. It was such second nature to him, that he barely realized when he was slipping his mittens off to brush a loose strand of hair out of Bato’s face, as they were leaning over an ice fishing hole.

Bato startled at the sudden touch but his expression returned to one of pleasant neutrality when Hakoda tucked the loose hair behind his ear, making sure not to jostle the newly implanted bone piercing that poked through the skin.

“Thanks, Koda,” Bato said, before looking back at their unmoving fishing poles. Hakoda nodded and though he looked back at their poles as well, his eyes kept flickering back to Bato’s face, the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the curve of his nose, and the plumpness of his lips. Hakoda left his hand out of his glove, and though the cold bit at his skin, he just held it in his lap, as he waited for the strands to fall out of their tucked hiding place again.

As they sat there for the next few hours, catching just enough fish to consider the trip successful, Bato’s hair fell out of place a few more times, just infrequent enough that he couldn't be bothered to retie it. Each time Hakoda waited a few minutes, before casually reaching up to smooth it back. Bato’s hair was thick with just a slight wave to it. Hakoda couldn't tell whether the roughness he felt was from his own hand or from his friend’s salt-dry hair, but it felt comforting, grounding, and had a familiar coarseness that Hakoda found ever so pleasing - so similar, and yet so different than Kya’s smooth curls.

It’s only when he gets home and his mom is berating him for removing his gloves again - without even a thank you for the fish! - that Hakoda realized that he was perfectly capable of touching Bato's hair back without removing his mittens, and questions why he didn’t just leave his gloves on.

He thinks he knows the answer, but he doesn’t much feel like dwelling on it.

 -3

Sokka and Katara were a handful; a joyous, beautiful, and well-loved handful, but a handful none-the-less. Sokka’s was at the age where it seemed like he’s always awake, always trying to put things in his mouth, and is always full of energy (until he was tired, at which point he would simply flop to the ground, taking naps in the most inconvenient of places). Katara, on the other hand, had only just started her feeble attempts at crawling, to the absolute excitement of Sokka, and to the pride and fear of Kya and Hakoda. Often, though, after a few minutes of scrabbling around on the floor, unable to make any headway to her desired destination, she would pout and cry, pointing at where she wanted to be until someone helped her there. Kya and Hakoda often left their igloo with bags under their eyes and smiles on their faces, with Kya holding one of their children in the back of her amauti, and Hakoda hiding the other in the front of his parka, their tiny face barely visible through the neck hole.

Bato had never felt so much happiness as he did when he saw his friends lovingly hold their children, and when Hakoda and Kya first passed their swaddled up babies to him to hold, whispering in their children’s ears, “This is Bato, sweetheart, this is Bato, he’s going to take care of you.” Bato wasn't afraid to admit he did shed a tear.

Surprisingly, the time he was able to spend with Hakoda barely decreased, as Bato started to offer his assistance in taking care of the kids and helping Kya and Kanna around the house. Some of the other men in the village looked at him with strange yet knowing glances, eyebrows raised, as Bato threw himself into helping another couple’s children instead of focusing on getting a husband and having children of his own. Bato knew that if he made himself available, if he stopped deflecting any conversation that led to the question of ‘ Would you allow someone to court you’, if he stopped spending all the time that he didn’t have at Hakoda’s, then he probably would be able to find someone that wanted to date him, love him, who would want to try and have kids with him, biological or not.

Bato knew this and still choose to tell Hakoda and Kya that he was able to watch Sokka and Katara for the night, so that they could get some rest, instead of going and drinking around a bonfire with men who looked at him with desperate eyes.

He bathed and fed and rocked Katara - and then Sokka because he felt left out, even though he was getting a little too old for it - to sleep, tucking them underneath his warmest furs, before making sure that their clothes were clean for tomorrows wear. Both of them woke up multiple times in the night, and each time demanded Bato’s full attention until they drifted off to sleep. (Bato allowed himself to have a moment of selfishness, as he imagined a future where his own children could be sleeping next to Sokka and Katara, a child with his nose and height, with hair slightly lighter than his own and a sense of humour that-

Bato cut the thought off before it could go too far. It wasn't worth it to dwell on impossibilities like that, and while many men in the village could relate to Bato's angst of being the last of his family line - now that his older brother had passed in one of the recent raids - he knew that that wasn't the drive of these fantasies.)

    The next day Bato emerged from his igloo with tired eyes and a soft smile as he passed Katara and Sokka back to a well-rested Hakoda and Kya. They laughed as Bato told him about his evening, and Kya gave him a side-hug in thanks. Hakoda reached up to place a mitten covered hand on Bato’s arm, gave it a squeeze, as he proceeded to tell Bato about their plans and duties for the day. Bato nodded along, waved vaguely at Kya as she led her children away, listening intently to Hakoda, until he finished speaking, at which point he removed his hand. Bato didn’t care if his feelings for Hakoda were never returned, or even noticed by the man. Seeing Hakoda smile without it turning into a yawn for the first time in weeks was reason enough to push past any feelings of sadness and help him, seeing Kya’s delighted reunion with her children - even if they were only separated for a few hours - was enough to solidify his feelings of friendship and respect for her.

Bato knew that his reasons for his servitude for Hakoda were selfish; they were driven by his own hopes that by helping him cook just one more meal, helping him tie one more knot, helping him catch just one more fish would commune what he felt for him, with no illusions of reciprocity. It never did, but at some point, Bato stopped being disappointed and just started looking for the next opportunity, without any expectations.

 -2

Hakoda always found a reason to touch Bato, now that they were off at war. Whether it was on the ship, with him placing an unnecessary hand on his back to steady him, or at a campfire, where he would squeeze next to Bato on a log that was much too short and bump knees with him, or when they shared a tent and Hakoda would pile all their belongings up to one side so that when he moved in the night, his hand would eventually find Bato’s chest, feel it rise and fall in steady motions. Sometimes when Hakoda would wake up before Bato, he would leave his hand there for a few more minutes, basking in the warmth of his friend’s body on the palm of his hand, the muscle underneath strong but relaxed, as he watched the slightly rounded outline of Bato’s chest move, shallower and faster until he was almost awake, before removing his hand. Hakoda knew it was irrational to be scared of Bato dying in the night, something much less likely than Bato dying in battle, or falling overboard or any other number of horrible ends that could befall on him. But seeing his companion sleeping, seeing the worry lines of his face smooth out, his hair flopping over his eyes, and body in such an open and calm position, made Hakoda smile, but also stressed him out. Sleep was when they were their most vulnerable, even with the multiple warriors keeping watch at all times, he couldn’t shake the worry. He knew that if the Fire Nation attacked during the night, if they managed to take out the guards, and if they managed to set the camp ablaze, there was little he could do, just waking up from sleep. But if something were to happen to Bato in the night - whether it was an ailment or nightmare - Hakoda would be able to feel it, would feel the shutter in his chest, or the rapid beating of his heart and he could do  something to ease Bato back into a pleasant slumber.

Hakoda knew that Bato must have been aware of his tendency to reach for him during the night, as Bato often arose before Hakoda, but he never brought it up. Hakoda didn’t know whether to be relieved that he was saved from the embarrassment or disappointed at being robbed of the chance to speak about his reasoning.

Hakoda was almost sure of what his reasoning was, after so many years of pondering. But Bato never asked, never pushed, never reached over to join hands with Hakoda, and though he always smiled and was pleasant in the face of Hakoda’s affection, he never initiated or returned it with such gusto.

Hakoda allowed himself to have the few minutes of the morning, with his hand on Bato’s chest, his evenings pressed against his sides, and his days with steadying hands on his back.

 -1

The scars on Bato’s arm and torso limited his mobility. Though he could get the joints and skin to loosen up with the help of copious amounts of salve and massaging, they would soon tighten, leaving him slightly off-balanced as he tried to learn his new limits, and how to push them.

It left him with objects being continuously being taken out of his hands, with people always trying to ferry him away from the hard manual labour needed to rebuild their village, and with people much shorter than him constantly stretching up to reach things for him that  he placed on the tallest shelf for a reason. It left him angry and huffy, annoyed at how his fellow tribe members saw him after his return from prison and war. It reminded him of being a child, before his growth spurt, before the village, outside of his family and Hakoda, took him seriously as a man, always smiling in a condensing way before plucking weapons out of his hand.

“I want to help,” Bato said to Hakoda, frustration clear in his voice. “There’s plenty I can do, even if my arm seizes up.”

“I know, Bato-”

“If you know, then you’ll let me do something.”

Hakoda met his glare with a raised eyebrow. After a few seconds, Bato huffed and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, ignoring the slight pulling sensation it caused. Hakoda grinned as if he won something.

“I know you want to help, Bato, and I’m not trying to stop you from helping, but it’s clear that you’re trying to bite off more than you can chew.”

“How?”

“You tried to go seal-bass fishing yesterday, by yourself.”

“So?”

“Supposing you caught a fish, would you have been able to carry a hundred-pound fish, plus your gear, back?” Hakoda levelled his gaze. Bato huffed again, letting his arms drop from their crossed position.

“I just hate not being able to do anything.” Bato looked at his friend. “I hate not being able to help you.”

And that was as close to an outright confession as Bato could bring himself, with him and Hakoda growing, not necessarily closer, but more intimate. Despite Bato’s igloo being rebuilt, he still spent many nights at Hakoda’s, ate dinner around his table, and still found himself close to his side any chance he got. The freedom of being home had resulted in Bato growing more attached to Hakoda, instead of relishing in the distance that ships and tents and camps did not allow.

Hakoda looked at him, and his smug look dropped slightly and was replaced with one of affectionate worry.

“There are ways to help me besides hurting yourself,” Hakoda chided, playfully. “You are not the only hunter in the village, Bato, others can catch fish for both of us. You can help me by taking care of yourself.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Bato replied. Hakoda sighed and beckoned Bato to come closer. He complied, lowering himself to where Hakoda sat at his kotatsu. Hakoda pulled him so that his face was pressed against Hakoda’s strong shoulders. Bato sighed into the warm skin of Hakoda's neck.

“Fine, if you want to do something besides take some time off - which some people would kill for, by the way - you can help me read over all these trade proposals.”

Bato pulled himself away from Hakoda, looked at him for a moment, searching for any condensation or pity, before nodding and situating himself at the table, adjacent to Hakoda. He felt Hakoda bump his knee with his own.

“Get a load of this proposal,” Hakoda said after a few minutes of silence, shoving a scroll under Bato’s nose. “Aren’t all these taxes  tariff- ful!” Hakoda barked at a laugh at his own joke. Bato groaned. “You know it would help me if you laughed at my jokes.”

“Maybe I don’t want to help you that much after all.”

 +1

In the months since Bato and Hakoda began their official 'courtship', more tentative and slow than anyone expected of them, considering their long friendship and history, they found that while they were often on the same page about nearly everything, they had a more difficult time in expressing their newly actualized romantic feelings for each other.

While Hakoda was prepared to hold Bato in public, wrap his arms around Bato’s slim waist, to pull him down for kisses and caresses, Bato was more reserved in public, happy and most comfortable when they limited their affection to simple handholding and the occasional cheek kisses. Even bunny kisses reduced the taller man to a blushing mess, often shoving Hakoda away forcefully in his flustering.

They never seemed to need long conversations about most aspects of their lives - be it work, dinner, whose house they were going to move into (Bato had pretty much already moved in with Hakoda and his children) - yet they both still found themselves stuttering over the words that they both knew they felt for each other. Privately, Hakoda felt that he had a decent excuse - he hadn’t had a relationship or had said those words in a romantic setting since Kya.

Privately, Bato thought his excuse was better since he hadn’t said the words in a romantic sense at all, since he was always saving them for Hakoda.

So, they fumbled their way out of conversations were those words would crop up, though they tried desperately to make the other understand anyways.

It was a summer morning, the sun had already been out for days, when Hakoda found Bato sitting cross-legged, fumbling in front of a mirror on the floor, his right hand tangled in his hair and making noises of frustration.

“What’s up?” He asked, watching at Bato turned slightly, his hair not yet tied up and slightly knotted from his fight with it. Bato held up a thin leather cord.

“I can’t tie my hair up,” He said simply, not bothering to mention why. Hakoda already knew that his arm had been stiff lately, the slight increase in sun exposure making the skin tender and making him avoid massaging his joints.

“Want some help?”

“It’s fine, Koda, I’ll figure it-”

“Let me help.” Hakoda interrupted, already walking towards him. Bato fell silent as he looked up at his partner, turning to face the mirror and watch him through that when Hakoda sank to his knees behind him. “I want to help you.”

“Okay.” Bato’s voice came out soft and gentle, as he held up the hair tie. Hakoda took it and placed it on the floor, reaching over to grab a comb instead.

Hakoda raked it through Bato’s thick hair, revelling in the feeling of the strands passing under his fingers as he smoothed over them after each stroke. He worked carefully, undoing the knots that Bato’s previous attempts caused, and admiring the streaks of grey that were scattered throughout the otherwise dark mass.

He looked in the mirror and saw that Bato had closed his eyes and that his cheeks had taken on a slight flush. As he ceased his movements to admire his partner, Bato opened his eyes again and made contact with Hakoda’s through the glass. They stared at each other for a few moments, and slowly Bato reached towards Hakoda’s free hand and held it. He gave it a tentative squeeze and Hakoda smiled.

Bato smiled back, letting go and closing his eyes again. Hakoda resumed combing until Bato’s hair was a silky curtain. Instead of just tying it back, as Bato often did as of late, he began to braid a few strands together, holding the finished pieces between his pinky and ring finger, before gathering the rest of the hair needed to complete Bato’s wolf tail. When he was done, he ran his hands over his work, making sure everything laid flat and that it wasn’t too tight, and to relish in the feeling of intimacy that the two had garnered.

Bato reached to grab Hakoda’s wrist, pulling him down so that Hakoda was giving the man a loose back hug. Hakoda buried his face in the crook of Bato’s neck, feeling him lace his fingers with Hakoda's, lifting one hand up to place a soft kiss on the rough knuckles.

He looked up into the mirror again, smiling when he caught Bato’s eye, and both of them knew what the other was trying to say.

[slashhack]

Leatherface (Thomas Hewitt) X Reader: Spring Break

anonymous: May I get a Thomas Brown Hewitt first meeting reader who doesn’t see him as dumb or scary and shows him kindness in small ways. (Perhaps she is on a road trip and gets stranded?)

(Note: Sorry for the ridiculously long wait! Hope this lives up to your expectations! And sorry about the word count... I just couldn’t stop writing, lol.)

“Are we almost there?”

Ash tightens her grip on the wheel, gritting her teeth. “We’re about twenty minutes closer since the last time you asked, but no, Damien, we are not ‘almost there.’”

“God, we’ve been driving forever!” Damien says, sighing heavily. His on again-off again (currently on again) girlfriend, Katelyn, nods emphatically in agreement.

“When are we gonna stop? I’m hungry, and I have to pee,” Katelyn whines.

Ash’s eye twitches. Next to her, in the passenger’s seat, Frankie fiddles with the road map. She seems unaware of the fact that Ash is contemplating driving into a tree to shut Katelyn and Damien up (in a way that doesn’t involve them subjecting the rest of you to gross make-out noises).

“Do we have any water?” You ask. Unfortunately, rather than diffuse the mounting tension, all your question does is shift Ash’s ire to you.

“No, we don’t,” Ash replies tightly. “Which wouldn’t be the case if someone had stocked up before we started, like they were supposed to.”

You sink a little lower in your seat.

Frankie reaches out to place a soothing hand on Ash’s knee. “Deep breaths, babe. There’s gotta be a gas station or a rest stop or something somewhere around here. We can stop in, grab some stuff, and get right back on the road.”

“Wouldn’t have to if everyone had just done their part in the first fucking place,” Ash mutters.

Damien snorts, barely attempting to disguise it as a cough. Katelyn outright laughs.

Needless to say, your spring break road trip with your dorm-mates is not going well. The past few hours have seen growing friction between all of you, and you’re almost certain that - despite the fact that one of the goals you’d made for this trip was to form positive relationships with the others - the rest of the group may or may not be planning on stranding you in the middle of nowhere.

(Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration. Sure, they may not seem to like you all that much, but they're not evil. They wouldn't leave you out in the middle of Texas with no way to get home.

...Right?)

At the first rest stop you find, you volunteer to get out and get coffee and breakfast bars for everyone (except Katelyn, who hates coffee). When you’re handing Ash hers, you lose your footing, and about a quarter of the fresh-brewed coffee sloshes onto her lap. Ash swears a blue streak, insulting you in pretty much every possible way. Frankie gives you a sympathetic look as she mops up the spill and consoles her girlfriend, but doesn’t say anything.

When Damien busts out his radio and asks what music everybody wants to hear, you tentatively offer a suggestion, and he ignores you. You repeat yourself, thinking that it’s possible he just didn’t hear you, and he rolls his eyes.

“I heard you, I just don’t wanna listen to some dumb bullshit.” He grins. “My radio, my right to veto garbage tunes, dude.”

Katelyn laughs. “Ooh, put on K-OKLA!”

Damien smiles crookedly and extends the antenna. “Anything for my girl.”

You decide to take a nap.

(At this point, anything is better than this.)

A good while later, after the stash of granola bars and beef jerky has dwindled down to nothing, you finally reach what appears to be a tiny general store in Travis County. You once again volunteer to go on a supply run. (You’re only mildly disappointed when nobody offers to come with you, or even to help you pay.)

The wooden door creaks as you enter, and when you cross the threshold you aren’t surprised to find a homey interior, complete with photographs and a taxidermied buck’s head mounted on the wall. There’s a woman with cat eye glasses smoking at the counter, so you approach with a shy smile.

“Um, do you have anything that comes in wrappers or is resealable?”

The woman takes a thoughtful drag from her cigarette before saying, “I got some jerky I can wrap up for ya.”

You nod, digging out the remainder of the money you had allotted to the trip. “That would be great. How much is that?”

Praying that what you’ve purchased is enough and having nearly depleted your funds, you step outside, plastic bag in hand. “Hey guys, I got some-”

The bag of jerky slips out of your hand.

The van is gone. In its place, you find your suitcase, laying in the dirt. Dumbstruck, you walk toward it.

You can't believe they ditched you. You thought they were better than that. You thought…

You aren't sure what you thought.

They're probably long gone, and now you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere. You don’t have a car, you have barely any money, and you certainly don’t have any idea what the hell you’re supposed to do.

Behind you, the door to the shop creaks open.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” It’s the woman from the shop.

Blinking hard, you say, “My friends left me.”

A gentle hand is placed on your back. “They left ya?” There’s a pause. Perhaps the woman sees your suitcase, because she says, softly, “Oh.”

You take a shuddering breath, and then bend down to pick up the bag. You turn to the woman.

“Is there anywhere I could stay in town?” Remembering the alarmingly small amount of money in your possession, you add, “...For really, really cheap?”

The woman shakes her head. “Ain’t much around for miles.” She hesitates. “But…”

Your breath catches. “But what?”

“Well…” The woman puts a hand on her hip, and with the other hand she adjusts her glasses. “I s’pose you’re welcome to stay with my family and me for the night. Just for the night, now,” she says pointedly. “Then tomorrow we can have the sheriff drive you to the next town over.”

You feel a fresh wave of emotion crash over you, and almost collapse under the weight of your relief.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” you say. Then you laugh. “Gosh, I don’t even know your name, and you’re being so kind to me…”

The woman smiles gently at you - the first time you can recall her smiling. “My name’s Luda Mae, dear.”

You offer your name in return, thanking Luda Mae again for her kindness.

Against all odds, it appears that your horrid luck is taking a turn for the better.

Luda Mae has two sons. She tells you about them as you help her close up shop and on the trip to her home - first about her eldest son, who sounds curmudgeonly and abrasive, but well-meaning when it comes down to it, and then about her younger son, Thomas. From the second she begins speaking about him, it’s obvious that she adores Thomas; you tell her so, and she nods.

“I love my boy with all my heart,” she says firmly. “Thomas has seen so much pain, all his life… Lord knows my Thomas has earned a little love.”

Luda Mae also tells you about her brother, Monty. She doesn’t have much to say about him, other than that he’s in a wheelchair and that you aren’t to let him bother you.

“You’re a guest, and we treat our guests with respect. If he starts actin’ up, you just let me know,” she gives you a little pat on the arm.

You smile bashfully. “I will.”

When you finally make it to Luda Mae’s family home, you’re curious, but not shocked; you’re a big believer in not judging people based on their appearances, after all. Why would a little old lady, running a mom-and-pop general store, living in a plantation style manor with her family throw you for a loop?

Entering the house, you immediately see an old man in a wheelchair - Monty, you presume - sitting in the living room watching television. He looks up at the sound of the opening door, doing a double-take when he spots you.

“Who the hell’re you? What’re you doin’ in here?” He makes to wheel himself around.

“Now, Monty, don’t you start none,” Luda Mae says. “This here’s a guest of ours. Stayin’ with us for the night, that’s all.”

“What for?”

Luda Mae looks at you, nodding as though to give you encouragement. Taking that as a cue, you say, “My dorm-mates - we were on a road trip, and I got out to buy some food for everyone. By the time I left the store, they were gone. I found my suitcase laying on the ground outside.”

Monty is silent for a moment, as though he’s mulling over your situation. Finally, he shakes his head and turns back to the television, muttering, “Hoyt ain’t gon’ like it…”

Luda Mae scoffs, putting her hands on her hips. “Don’t matter none what Hoyt likes, this is my house, and he ain’t too old yet to listen to his mama.”

Monty doesn’t have a response to that.

You feel your respect for Luda Mae growing more and more by the second.

Luda Mae gives you a brief tour of the house after showing you the guest room, in which you’ll be staying for the night. She walks you through the kitchen, points out a couple of different bathrooms, and tells you where her room is - “just in case of you findin’ yourself needin’ somethin’.” She also, strangely, makes a point to tell you to avoid the basement. You’re curious, but you don’t want to be rude, so you don’t ask why. You do ask if her sons live with her.

“They do. Hoyt’s the sheriff, so he ain’t gonna be home for a while, but Thomas is probably down in the basement. Doin’ what, I couldn’t tell ya, but he just about lives down there.”

Well, that answers your unspoken question, then.

“Don’t you worry,” She continues, “you’ll be meetin’ Thomas and Hoyt. Wanna make sure they know you’re a guest - ‘specially Thomas. He’s a little bit protective.”

Once again not wanting to risk seeming rude, you nod as though you understand. (In truth, you’ve got even more questions now, but you’re not going to interrogate this nice woman in her own home. After all, if there was really a problem with you staying, you’re pretty sure she wouldn’t have invited you.)

Luda Mae is in the middle of asking how you feel about stew when you hear what sounds like a sliding metal door being opened. She gets a slightly nervous look on her face; she lifts a hand to her mouth and says, “Oh, that’ll be Thomas.” She glances at you for a moment before calling, “Thomas! C’mere a second, I got somebody for ya to meet!”

You hear footsteps coming towards you from the direction of the basement. They’re fairly heavy - Thomas must be a sizeable man.

After a brief pause, a figure - a very tall figure - comes to loom in the doorway.

Luda Mae clicks her tongue, putting a hand on her hip. “Don’t be shy, now. C’mon in here.”

Thomas’ shoulders rise and sink slowly in what you suspect to be an inaudible sigh, but he obeys, stepping further into the room. Now, you have a clear view of him.

He’s easily around six and a half feet tall, with long, wavy dark hair that reaches his shoulders. Curiously, he’s also wearing a strange leather muzzle-like contraption that encompasses much of his face; it shows his eyes and mouth, but covers his nose, ears, and most of his skin, and the straps come up over his ears, meeting over the top of his head.

Smiling and giving a little wave, you say, “Hello,” and tell him your name.

You think he gives a short incline of his head, but he doesn’t reply. He looks you over, and you can feel yourself starting to shrink under his silent gaze.

Luda Mae puts a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry none. Thomas just ain’t a talker; don’t take it personal,” she gives you a reassuring little pat, and you relax again.

Luda Mae’s attention drifts to the clock on the wall, and she does a double-take. “Good gracious me, is that the time? I best get supper goin’. Stew is all right, you said?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am!” You say, nodding. “Stew is more than all right with me.”

“Good, good,” Luda Mae turns to Thomas and says, “Sweetheart, you mind keepin’ our guest company ‘til Hoyt gets back? Don’t want him to think we got trespassers.”

Thomas gives a single, slow incline of his head.

Luda Mae seems pleased. As she goes to leave, she pats you on the shoulder and says, “I’ll leave y’all be, then. Don’t you worry; you’re in good hands.”

As his mother rushes off to the kitchen, Thomas gives you an unreadable look, surveying you once again. Apparently satisfied with whatever he sees, he turns around and begins to walk off. You assume that you’re supposed to follow him, so you do.

Thomas leads you outside, and the two of you walk for a bit, toward a small garage which stands separate from the house. When he reaches the entrance, Thomas stops, looking back at you over his shoulder for a moment.

It dawns on you, after a moment, what he wants.

“You want me to wait here?”

Thomas nods.

You smile. “All right, then.”

Thomas goes into the garage. You hear the sounds of metal scraping and what you presume to be things getting moved around. You’re beyond curious as to what’s going on, but you resist the urge to crane your neck and try to see. Thomas asked you to stay back for a reason, after all.

After a few minutes, the sounds stop, and Thomas returns, a sack hefted over his shoulder. He gestures with his head for you to resume following him, and you do so without argument.

“Where are we going?” You ask without thinking. Thomas gives you a look out the corner of his eye, and you feel warmth rise in your cheeks. “Sorry.”

You’ve never encountered someone who can’t speak before. You wonder what it must be like, not being able to verbally communicate. You imagine it must be very difficult.

The two of you walk for a good while longer before reaching a fence that you assume marks the edge of the Hewitts’ property. Thomas grunts, swinging the bag off his shoulder and opening it.

He walks a couple of feet along the fence before pulling out - to your surprise - a bear trap, which he places on the ground, kneeling down to set it.

“Is there… Is there any way I could help?” You ask, startling yourself. Thomas seems to be nearly as caught off guard as you; he glances at you, his brows furrowed. After a moment (during which you consider rescinding the offer, just out of embarrassment), Thomas nods shortly. He picks up the burlap sack and holds it out to you. You accept it, surprised when its weight nearly topples you; Thomas had been carrying it so effortlessly, you hadn’t realised how heavy it must be.

You’re not sure how long you spend following Thomas around the property, setting new traps, checking old traps, and sometimes just stopping to look out over the vast space, but you do know that by the time the bag is empty, your feet are starting to hurt. After the bag is empty and you’ve covered every square inch of the Hewitts’ land, Thomas leads you back to the garage, once more indicating for you to wait outside as he takes the sack from you and goes in.

As you wait for Thomas to return, a sheriff’s car pulls up to the house. A man in a sheriff’s uniform, with bushy eyebrows and light, silvery stubble, gets out. When he sees you leaning up against the outside of the garage, he immediately starts toward you. Taking a moment to recall what you know about Luda Mae’s eldest son, Hoyt, you realise that this must be him.

You smile, waving a bit. To your confusion (and discomfort), this seems to cause Hoyt’s expression to sour considerably. He’s yelling as soon as he’s within earshot of you: “What the hell’re you doin’ on my property?”

You shrink back against the wall, your eyes widening. “I-I…”

“Get the hell outta here,” Hoyt shouts, advancing on you quickly. “You’re trespassin’ on private property! You don’t get outta here right now, I got a right to shoot ya!”

“P-Please, no! I’m not- I swear I’m not trespassing, I, I-”

Hoyt makes a grab for your forearm with one hand, the other lifting up, and you stiffen, squeezing your eyes shut, preparing yourself for a blow.

Only it never comes.

Opening your eyes, you suddenly find something - or rather, someone - obscuring your field of vision. Thomas.

“Tommy? What the hell’s goin’ on here,” Hoyt growls. “We got trespassers?”

Thomas shakes his head firmly. He reaches back and tugs you forward to stand next to him, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder.

You can see, now, that Hoyt looks bewildered.

Thomas nudges you, and you realise now is your chance to explain yourself.

“I-I,” you pause, take a deep breath, and then continue with as much conviction as you can muster. “I’m not a trespasser, I’m a guest. L-Luda Mae invited me to stay for the night after my… my dorm-mates abandoned me.”

Hoyt doesn’t seem convinced, but just as he opens his mouth, Luda Mae’s voice floats across the yard from the backdoor: “Supper’s ready! Y’all come on!”

“Comin’, Mama!” Hoyt calls back reluctantly. To you, he says, “We’ll just see about that, won’t we, now?” With that, he stalks off toward the house.

You watch him go until the door closes behind him. When it does, you let loose a shaky breath, lifting a hand to your mouth.

Thomas is still standing next to you. His hand is still resting on your shoulder, the strangely familiar weight helping you stay grounded.

“Thank you, Thomas,” you say softly, almost timidly. “Thank you for protecting me. That was…” You sigh. “...That was really scary.”

Thomas seems unsure how to respond. He nods, his eyes avoiding your face.

He doesn’t remove the hand from you shoulder. You find that you don’t really mind.

You reach up hesitantly, placing your hand on top of his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Let’s go inside,” you say.

Thomas nods again, and the two of you set off for the house.

You almost swear that you see the faintest hint of a blush on what little you can see of his face.

[roronoaxd]

you sure look good tonight

pairing: kurodai

summary: Kuroo leaned on the doorway, resting a hand on his hip, doing his best to look as seductive as possible before whistling low. “Hello gorgeous.” He purred, extending the syllables to catch Sawamura’s attention.

Sawamura walked over, a smirk gracing his face, and he reached up to tug at the two ends of the towel Kuroo left around his neck. “Hello handsome man, who I’ve never seen in my life.”

words: 1200+

warnings: none... but you can look at this photo for an idea of why i wrote this lol

cross posted on AO3

When Kuroo had come home from a long day of college classes, chemistry labs, and doing his teacher assistant duties… he knew Sawamura would have left food for him in the kitchen, so he could eat dinner, shower and then crash into bed.

On days like this when Kuroo left their tiny apartment at eight AM, and didn’t return until well after eight PM, he knew his time with Sawamura for that day was pretty much nonexistent. Sawamura wouldn’t wait for Kuroo to get home to eat dinner, even if Kuroo begged him to (not that Kuroo minds, he knows food always comes first for Sawamura, and he’s accepted that). So when he unlocked his door, and slipped off his shoes, making his way to the kitchen, he wasn’t surprised to find some stew simmering away for him to eat along with rice that was kept warm in the rice cooker.

As Kuroo sucked down his dinner, he looked around for any sign of Sawamura. Seeing as Sawamura hasn’t came to greet him, Kuroo figured he was probably working away on one of his many essays, earbuds in and ignoring the world as he worked.  Kuroo scrolled through all his social media profiles on his phone as he finished up with his food before cleaning all the dishes and leaving them to dry on the dish rack.

He made his presence known by heading to their shared bedroom, standing in the doorway. True to his thoughts, Sawamura sat at a desk in their room, reading glasses on as he typed away on the keyboard. Kuroo waved his arms, hoping the movement would catch in Sawamura’s peripheral vision and cause him to turn his head. It did.

Sawamura removed one earbud, and turned towards the doorway, a small smile gracing his lips. “Hey…you’re home. I left dinner on the stove for—”

“I already ate it, I’ve been here for about half an hour by now.”

“Why didn’t you come save me earlier?” Sawamura pouted cutely, pausing his music, saving his document and getting up from his seat to walk over to Kuroo. He placed his arms around Kuroo’s waist, standing on his tiptoes and kissing Kuroo chastely on the lips.

“I figured you didn’t need saving.”

“How was your day?” Sawamura asked, his hands tracing up and down Kuroo’s spine, leaving him a puddle of goo.

“Better now.”

“Don’t be a sap.”

“My day was fine…long, but fine.” Kuroo replied, his own hands resting low on Sawamura’s hips. “I don’t want to talk about my day. Did you miss me? That’s what I want to know.”

“Not at all… I actually got a lot done while you were gone, and I kind of want you to leave again.” Sawamura teased.

“Two seconds ago, you wanted me to save you from your essay, and now I’m not even welcomed in my own home.” Kuroo leaned forward, allowing his forehead to rest on Sawamura’s shoulder as they just stood in the doorway of their bedroom, embracing each other. He turned his head into the crook of Sawamura’s neck and breathed in Sawamura’s scent: pine from Sawamura’s favorite body wash, laundry detergent from a dingy black t-shirt (which Kuroo suspects belongs to himself and not Sawamura), all with a hint of citrus. “I see you showered without me.”

“Was I supposed to wait for you?”

“That would have been nice.”

“Maybe try again tomorrow.” Sawamura suggested, patting Kuroo on the back.

“At least try not to fall asleep without me.” Kuroo said, pulling away and straightening up.

“I’ll try.” Sawamura said making his way back to the desk to write more of his assignment, while Kuroo made his way to the bathroom to shower.

Kuroo wrapped a towel around his hips, then placed a smaller one to hang loose on his shoulders, walking over to the mirror after his fifteen minute shower. He wiped at the condensation across the mirror to reveal his image. His hair was soaking wet, laying flat for once and he grabbed his toothbrush to make quick work of brushing his teeth before bed. As he brushed, he looked over his lack of facial hair, and then stared into his own golden eyes, his mind started to wander. As he spit out a mouthful of toothpaste, he smirked as an idea came to the forefront of his conscious, and now there was no way he could go on about his night without trying it out…

He hung up the towel that was wrapped around his waist, threw on some boxers and exited the bathroom. He returned to the bedroom doorway, watching Sawamura power down the computer. Perfect. Kuroo leaned on the doorway, resting a hand on his hip, doing his best to look as seductive as possible before whistling low. “Hello gorgeous.” He purred, extending the syllables to catch Sawamura’s attention.

This could go two ways. Sawamura could become hot and bothered, walk over, kiss him and do that thing with his tongue that Kuroo absolutely adores. Or Sawamura could just be bothered, and nag that Kuroo’s hair was dripping water all over the place. Kuroo hoped it would be the former option, he was in a playful mood right now.

Sawamura walked over, a smirk gracing his face, and he reached up to tug at the two ends of the towel Kuroo left around his neck. “Hello handsome man, who I’ve never seen in my life.” The look in Sawamura’s eyes was one that Kuroo would never forget. He was a little surprised that Sawamura played along, but it was definitely welcomed.

“On the contrary, I think we’ve met before.” Kuroo kept his voice low and seductive. He wanted nothing more than to kiss Sawamura, maybe push him down onto the bed, and have his way with him but he also wanted to see how this improv session would turn out.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah…on a volleyball court? Back in high school.”

“Hmm… I doubt that. I would have definitely remembered you.”

“You have a point…you did kind of have eyes for that Nekoma captain, I wouldn't be surprised if he's all you do remember. Cool guy, that Kuroo dude. Sexy too.”

“I ended up dating that Kuroo guy, you know? He’s actually quite nerdy and far from cool. Sexy is kind of a stretch also.”

“You still with him?” Kuroo questioned, pushing off the doorframe to invade Sawamura’s personal space, pressing against him. “That Kuroo guy?”

“Yes, I am...and believe it or not, I’m kind of stuck with him. I also wouldn’t have it any other way… which is why I must do this—” Sawamura’s hands removed the towel from around Kuroo’s shoulder, shaking it out before placing it upon Kuroo’s head, using it to soak up some of the excess moisture, tousling it about as he did so, probably trying to return it to a semblance of his signature bedhead. “There.” Sawamura wrapped the towel back around Kuroo’s neck, smoothing his hands down Kuroo’s bare chest, chasing a few stray water droplets that were running down his abs.

Kuroo found his eyes closing, and he leaned in blindly, hoping Sawamura would kiss him. Instead, he felt Sawamura’s hands push against him, and Kuroo’s eyes shot open to see Sawamura walking backwards until he could take a seat at the edge of the bed. Kuroo's eyes raked over him, noticing for the first time, Sawamura’s lack of pants. “Are you going to just stand there in the doorway, or are you going to come over and kiss me?” Kuroo bit down on his bottom lip, slinking his way over to push Sawamura down on the bed, leaving a trail of kisses from Sawamura’s shoulder up to his lips.

[anothergirlrecovering]

Lynn 97

I’ve got there honestly a little bit late so n I use the bathroom and she invited me in. I sat down and I said it smelled really good in there and she turned on one of her lamps and turn off the overhead light and said she was not in the mood for overhead lights. What a mood lol. I said it smells good in there and she said thank you and she said she got a new essential oil and it was one called refresher something I said it smelled like citrus and she said it was orange eucalyptus bland but that she really liked it which is why she picked it. She ask how my week has been and I said it was good and that I’m tired because I haven’t really been sleeping good because I keep having all these bad dreams and I told her about how it has been usually one of three where it’s either that I’m gaining weight and freaking out or I’m back in treatment or Erin is there and I was like what the heck it’s literally so annoying. I told her about how we went and visited my husband’s family this weekend and how mad I wasn’t my husband‘s mother For the way that she was so selfish and wanted to keep my husband’s father’s dad a big secret and I said how my husband was like I’m glad I didn’t know that at age 12 because that would’ve been so damaging and Lynn was like yeah no kidding. And I said I was just really frustrated by the way that she handled it and that it bothers me for my husband and also that it makes me mad that she has apparently been stewing about this for an entire year and just never said anything. Lynn was like well you know how she is and this is kind of typical for her and I was like yeah I just really hate that and I said how she was like mad about the dog and again he was out on a tether in the backyard and her dog is dead now so it literally doesn’t matter but she just was being difficult for no reason and with his family coming to town his mom asked us what the plans were and we wer elike you’re the one hosting so you should know? I said it was just all annoying and when I tried to get them to figure out what our thanksgiving plans would be since they are coming to us I still couldn’t get a straight answer from them and they were like oh well we are going to run our 5K in the morning so we will come after that and it was like OK so basically they never set a time that they would be coming and they never said how long they would be staying and one of the sisters won’t even have her kids and she doesn’t know if she’s going to come and we were just like whatever this is so annoying. I said we will see how the holiday goes. I said also that lately I have noticed with working more the treatment center that I have been triggered by that certain smell near the kitchen area which smells the way my dad‘s deli did when I was 17 and how it made me realize how I felt so responsible for the success of the deli even though that’s crazy because I was just 17-year-old kid and I member wanting to work all the times that I would be free labor and I was like I don’t know why and Lynn was like that’s just what kids do. She said you know just as well if not better than I do, kids pick up on their parent stress and then who did they blame and I was like them selves and she was like yup what do kids always say when their parents divorced and I was like that it was their fault her that they could’ve done something to prevent it and she was like exactly they always want to feel a sense of control and my guess is that you picked up on your parents stressed around everything and wanted to feel in control and put on yourself. I said that made sense. She said that’s probably where it came from. She said she would be curious to know if me having dreams about all of this is a good sign with me processing it. I said I hoped so because I don’t like waking up drenched in sweat and freaking out. She asked me if I would be OK to use the lightbar to continue this work and I said sure and she said that last time was coming up around all of this was a lot of shame and I said yeah and she asked me to keep me curious about what the dreams I’ll have in common with each other. I said I wasn’t really sure because in the first one with gaining weight and freaking out it’s a feeling of not wanting to be noticed or seen because of weight gain and not wanting to be noticed for that but in the second two it’s like with going to treatment it’s that feeling of wanting to be seen and wanting to matter and in the third one with Aaron it’s also this feeling of wanting to matter and to be validated and with that dream there’s even some anger because she acts like everything is fine and then there’s a part of me that is angry that she doesn’t know how bad she hurt me which maybe sounds petty. She told me to notice that. The order of everything after is kind of jumbled but at a point I had notice that over the weekend when we were driving To my husbands family the compromise was that she would watch the game on his phone but I got to play the waitress soundtrack and sing along to him and we were singing together and there was one part when I saying the I’m not defensive part and he started laughing and was like I’ve never heard you do a southern accent and I literally started crying because I was so embarrassed and I just hate that feeling of embarrassment and he was like what the heck I thought it was cute and funny and I’m laughing with you not at you but I couldn’t shake that feeling that there was something wrong with me. I noticed that in eighth grade there was a time when I was making fun of a kid on my school bus and imitating him to a few classmates and I remember that they thought it was just the funniest thing because of my facial expression and at a point I realized they were laughing at me not with me and maybe I interpreted that wrong but I was just so embarrassed and I’m rethinking I’m never going to impersonate anyone ever again because this is terrible and that they would ask me to do it all the time and I always would know I would always feel so embarrassed and stupid. I noticed how I always felt like an outsider and that I don’t think I realized at the time just how weird they were but they had all been in the same tiny super Christian school from preschool on in there was only like 10 of them and it was like I was different but really maybe things would’ve been different if I had gone to public school. She told me to notice that and I noticed how there was a part of me that feels almost betrayed because I remember Rosie putting her arm around me on the first day of school in seventh grade being like she’s a part of our group she’s one of us but then In reality I wasn’t a part of the group. I noticed that may be part of my identity started to develop as being this good girl because I saw that being super religious was perceived well and if I couldn’t fit in with my peers at least I could be a teachers pet in my coach would like mean a lot and I sort of adopted this identity of being this good Christian girl. I explained how I don’t know the word for it but right now there’s like a part of me that just feels kind of jaded by at all where it’s like it feels like everything that I grew up believing was one big sham and I got kind of tricked into believing it or something like I don’t know how to describe that feeling of having the blindfold taking off but feeling like all of it was a load of crap and I told her about my friends mom just died and how they had preacher is lined up for revival service after her healing and she died and it’s like well yeah they had called hospice in for a while and maybe God could’ve healed her but the I explained how I don’t know the word forever right now there’s like a part of me that just feels kind of jaded by at all where it’s like it feels like everything that I grew up believing was one big sham and I got kind of tricked into believing it or some thing like I don’t know how to describe that feeling of having the blindfold taking off but feeling like all of it was a load of crap and I told her about my friends mom just died and how they had preachers lined up for revival service after her healing and she died and it’s like well yeah they had called hospice in for a while and maybe God could’ve healed her but the reality is that you can’t pray with authority and expect that your prayers are always going to be answered that’s just not how that works and it’s silly to think that but I feel like I’ve thought that way my whole life and then I noticed there’s a part in that feels mad that it took me this long to figure it out because I had so many blatant examples because even if we didn’t count my grandma stuff there was also my youth group leader when I was in the eighth grade who had liver cancer who was also my Spanish teacher so I knew her pretty well. I explained how everyone had anticipated her healing and there were all of these people in our youth group for having visions from God that our youth group was going to grow and this was going to be a great testimony and then she died and it was like I never questioned if I was just like oh she got the ultimate healing and that was that and there’s a part of me that’s like why did I not question it then and Lynn was like be curious about that and I pointed out that I was totally that Eno kid with band T-shirts which Lynn started laughing I was like yeah you can picture it right Cell that was me and I had taught myself guitar and I was always writing these super depressing songs but I would always end them with a transitioned verse about God saving me or rescuing me and the reality was that that never happened and I never felt any different it’s like I was a rationally hanging onto this idea that it would happen and I don’t know why and Lynn was like OK be curious about that why would you have hung onto that and I was like I mean I guess just because there was a book and I hope that if I could just follow the book and get it right then I could feel some kind of way like if I could just be good enough then I would feel love and peace and with my parents there was no book there was no guided just felt like a dead end of no matter what I did wasn’t gonna be enough but at least with the Bible there is something telling me that I could get to those things if I could just get my shit together. She asked me what would happen if I had included to that and I was like well I mean honestly I think I would’ve killed myself because the only reason why I didn’t kill myself was because I was really afraid that I would go to hell if I did. I noticed that I have an anxious temperament and I guess it makes sense that I would easily latch onto it very fear-based religion. I explained how I can remember as a little kid that after I saw toys story I was terrified that my toys were going to come to life and be mad at me so literally every night I would say I love you to all of my toys and say I love you to all the ones that I didn’t say bye name but I forgot because I still love them too and Lynn was laughing and then I said as I got older that switched to praying at night and begging God to forgive me of any sense that I forgot to say and any scenes that I may commit in my sleep because I was afraid that what if I send while I was asleep and then died and went to hell. I said I was also always afraid that my friends wanna go to heaven with me because there was this mentality that we had the right way to believe in everybody else did end and if you didn’t believe the way we did then you aren’t going to heaven. I said All of my friends were Catholic so I was definitely always worried that they were not real believers so they wouldn’t be in heaven with me especially Michelle. I said that I don’t believe that anymore and she said to notice that and she said so believes can change right and I said yeah and I said but part of me is afraid that what if they are right and what if I’m wrong because there’s no guaranteed correct way of thinking and I think that’s what’s hard about all of this. I teared up one saying that I feel like there’s a part of my identity that has been taken and I don’t know what to replace it with because I feel like I have build myself up as this super Christian person but I don’t identify that anymore and I don’t really know what to make of that and I feel guilty for it. I also at some point said how Debbie is a heroin addict now and she got expelled from high school for burning down their auditorium so it’s not like she turned out to be super successful after she was mean to me. I also had said that I think I was always somewhat real conscientious because I was in a bad kid but at the same time I don’t think I became as intensely real conscientious as I am now until middle school when I went to that private school and took on that identity of being this super Christian kid because I can remember as a little kid getting in trouble for forging my mom‘s signature on my assignment which is obviously not real conscientious. At one point she asked me to keep going and I was like I don’t know I just feel anxious and she was like OK go with that. I also noticed with fear that I was I was really afraid of lightning with the homey brother was scared of storms I would take him and have him sit on the couch with me in front of the window and I convinced him that lightning was just God updating his photo album in heaven and so we would sit there and smile at the window to make sure that he had some good pictures of us and then every time there was thunder I would say that God was bowling and I would turn into a game of like do you think God got a strike or a spare or a seven and I think just noticing that there are maybe some good elements to religion at times I don’t now. I also noticed that even if I hadn’t believe it all I wouldn’t have said anything because I wouldn’t have wanted everyone talking about me and I remembered how there was a guy damn Warren who is the principal son who is gay and everybody talked about him and wanting to get him saved because you know gay is the worst thing a person could be in their world.when Lynn was talking about me taking responsibility for my parents as a kid with the deli she also brought up how parents are almost always o blame and that she tells her clients that in a nice way even though they don’t want to hear it lol but she was like come on, your two kids have behavioral issues at home but things are great at school? Hello? They’re trying to communicate something is wrong in the family. I think one of the most profound things that Lynn said was that when I mentioned my fear of what if the church I grew up in was right and what if me changing my believes is me basically ruining my life and jeopardizing my going to heaven and all of that and she was like whose Voice is that, yours or there is and I was like honestly I’m not sure at this point and she was like well we are all reading the same book right? And I couldn’t help but laugh and I was like yeah that’s true and she was like so somebody isn’t right and I was like yeah I guess that is true and she said she isn’t a Bible scholar by any means but the truth is supposed to set you free and it sounds like it hasn’t I said that’s true and I definitely didn’t and she said well do you have been going to a different church for a while now and it seems like they I am healing and when you think about Grace and loving others and trying to do the right thing when you can all of that is freedom The freedom to love and to mess up and to experience Grace, that’s freedom and it sounds like your current church has that and I was like yeah they’re definitely really different and she was like I know and she pointed out that the way Jesus lived taught us a lot about how he wanted us to live and who he hangs out with and she said Jesus often questioned authority because of the common miss use of power and authority and making sure that they weren’t spiritually abusing people and she pointed out that she thinks what I’ve been through would fall under that category a spiritual abuse. I said that made sense. and she said and like I said we all have the same book here and I was like although you have the extra cannons and you’re Catholic Bible and she laughed and was like honestly I don’t think I’ve ever read them. She said she doesn’t remember them going over it but then again, she might not of been paying attention. She was like I might’ve been to focus on the cute boy next to me. I laughed and said that that made sense. We scheduled for the three weeks now since I won’t be here next week since she is out for Thanksgiving. I asked her if she is going to see boy raced and she was like what is it and I was like the movie about conversion therapy and she was like oh yeah no things like that just make me feel too angry. I was like well the hope is that the people who aren’t like us will go see it and have their minds changed and she was like but you know that they won’t that’s not how this works you know that and I was like I know but I’m still going to go see it and she was like OK will you let me know how it is. I told her I would and I wished her happy Thanksgiving and headed out.

[supernatural-firstwatch]

Season 8 Episode 16: Remember the Titans

- Awesome. Not only is he drunk driving but also sleeping behind the wheel. And he just left him there!! AW MAN!!! Eagle is gnawing on him! That just blows. :( HOLY SHIT! He just got up! WHAT THE HELL IS RIGHT!  LOL! 

- Oooh! The boys are back home! I love that the Men of Letters bunker is home now. Awh, no, Sam is still coughing up blood :-( Sam, Dean can see right through you. He knows you’re hiding something. Hehe, Dean walking around with a bathrobe is just too funny.

- I love this state trooper. He’s totally chill with the fact the dude is a “zombie” (he’s something all right). Aim for the head is right. 

- WOAH! He’s alive again! And his injuries healed! Bobby never said that grizzly bears beat everything. Woodchipper wins because it CHIPS EVERYTHING INTO TINY PIECES! Oh, the boys got at him right quick. 

- All he does is die? HAHAHAHA!!! Dean just made a South Park reference. Is this the first South Park reference of the show? Really? I’m actually surprised if it is. 

- Who’s the creeper stalking Shane? Who somehow lost his memory in Europe after an avalanche?? These people sleep so weirdly. Woah! Girl has a knife and wants to kill him! WOAH! WITCH?! SHE JUST BLASTED SAM CLEAR OUT THE DOOR AND DOWN THE STEPS! Well, Shane can fight! DYAMN!  AND SHE JUST VANISHED! WTF?? WITCH???

- Don’t worry about it, Sam and Dean. He’ll die now and then come back to life in a couple of hours. Clearly he did some mojo training up in those European mountains and acquired the way of the something or other. 

- LOL! “I feel like I’m sitting Shiva.” “That’s not... I-- Nevermind.” Oh Dean, sitting Shiva does not mean what I think you think it means. HAHAHAHAH!!! “What do we know of that has Jason Bourne fighting skills, dies a lot, and has a history with violent women?” “I don’t know. You?”

- Okay then. Shane got jiggy with it and had a son. Does he even remember that? OMG Dean, you just can’t help yourself. But it’s true. Super awkward to have a heart attack while having sex. Oops. Yah, okay, I would freak the fuck out and run too. 

- Wait. SHANE IS A TITAN?? PROMETHEUS??? OOOOOOOOH!!!!! The bird eating his liver!! That’s part of the myth! Zeus chained him to a mountain for stealing the fire of Olympia and a bird ate his liver during the day and at night it grew back again, only to be eaten again. Oooh!! ARTEMIS! Leave Artemis to do her thing, man. 

- Awh man! Are you kidding me? The curse is hereditary?? How does Sam know that it’s genetic? And that seven marks the first rite of manhood in Greece? GODDAMN IT! YOU FUCKING WALKING ENCYCLOPEDIA! I love how they just casually talk about killing Zeus, a God. Cause, you know, they’ve actually killed plenty of gods. HAHAHAHA!!!! Dean ended up with the easy job. Buying jewelry from new age people :P

- Don’t be stupid Hayley. Did they not tell her what the plan would be? To let Zeus stew for a bit and then come back and see if he’s more inclined to talk then? *groans!* SERIOUSLY?? They didn’t bother to tell her how it was going to go down?? She’s a civilian! It’s not like she’d be privy to how hunters think! 

- Ooo, Artemis is not liking what she’s seeing. That’s cause she’s always been one of the better goddesses in Greek mythology. LOL!!! Sam trash talking a god. Love it. He has a little plan up his sleeve. Prometheus in love with Artermis? Oh msn, Sam, what journal did you get that information from? LOL! Sam name dropping Greek bard names and Dean just looking all “Who the fuck are those fuckers?” Wait. Did Sam read this somewhere or did he guess just by the way she was looking at Prometheus and the kid??

- YAH!!!! ARTEMIS AND HER SILVER BOW!!!! Like fuck she’ll obey you. Also, wait. Stop. How could Artemis and Prometheus have been having a thing?? ARTEMIS IS A VIRGIN GODDESS!!! She shunned all men! Like Athena. 

- Dude, no worries. It’s not like Prometheus can die. Unless Zeus decides to lift the curse and LET him die. Oh wait. Except that her weapons CAN actually kill gods. And Zeus did die, so does the curse die with him then? Oh, I guess so since Dean is lighting up Shane’s body. 

- AWH, DEAN! Yah, of course you know Sam’s hurting. Because he can’t hide shit from you. And asking Cass to keep a look out for Sam. I don’t know that Cass has the power to really do that :-/

Where is Cass anyway?