#IT'S KIND OF FUNNY to call her that but she kind of is. it was mostly 1 sided bc she took issue with Me

[hollowslantern]

i dont even think it was that marcille was unfazed by falins chimera form I think she was fucking terrified. she was bluescreening. she's just so horrified and helpless faced with what falins been turned into that she can't see the blood for the person who spilled it and she cant see sense all she can think is that that's falin and she's right there. she's right there. that's her falin.

[helvegen-s]

Rage, rage | four

prologue | one | two | three | four

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she is clear about who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: blood, bad language, talking about trauma, bad familiar relationships (King of hybern father of the year)

Sitting in that chair, Nimue did nothing but absorb everything she saw around her: the paintings hanging on the walls, the rugs covering the floor, every detail placed on the shelves, the books arranged alphabetically...

It was all perfect. She had never imagined what the physical representation of the word "home" would be like, yet she felt it should be like this. In every carefully placed thing, she saw the affection behind it.

She stopped daydreaming and returned to the most pressing matter: the fact that, for some reason, she was tied to that chair.

Bound, but without seeing the ropes. It was an invisible force that pushed her against the wood of the armrests and the cushion of the backrest. She tried to suppress a laugh with little success because she knew effortlessly she could free herself from those ties. But well, if it made them feel safer, so be it.

She looked up, first to that male: Azriel, as she had heard others call him.

She still felt that sensation pulsing right in the middle of her being, making her gaze involuntarily go to him even in that room full of people.

Azriel felt like he was going to explode. He stood, leaning against the back of one of the sofas in the living room, positioned between Rhysand and Amren. With his arms crossed over his chest, he tried to control his breathing, counting to ten and releasing the air, counting again.

His wings trembled upon hearing the small laugh that escaped from the lips of that stranger. "What the hell are you laughing at? Do you find the situation funny?" he barked at the girl. She seemed surprised as her expression changed abruptly.

"No," she replied, furrowing her brow. She could feel the man's anger through that invisible thread connecting her to him. She tried to clear her mind. "It's just amusing that you have me tied up here. I can free myself at any moment, and if I don't, it's because I know you're afraid of me."

Rhysand's face must have been a sight. Afraid of her? He reinforced even more the restraints binding the girl to the chair, and with a sly smile, he took a step forward. "Dare to let yourself go, and you'll see what happens."

Was that some kind of sarcasm? Nimue didn't understand, she was just used to people speaking to her clearly, if only to avoid being in her presence more than necessary.

So she stood up, crossing the restraints of the High Lord like someone walking against a gentle breeze. Everyone jumped in their seats, reaching for their weapons or preparing to defend themselves.

But Nimue simply stood there, scanning from one to another: from the High Lord to Azriel, from the petite woman to Cassian, as she had heard Rhysand call him.

"I know you don't understand what I am or who I am right now, but it's okay. I'll explain it calmly, but you have to be willing to listen to me. You need me more than I need you."

Cassian let out a mocking laugh, "And why did you help us if you say you don't need us?"

And then silence fell.

Why had she helped them?

She had acted without thinking, that's for sure. She had never contradicted her father, and for the first time it was under such circumstances that something didn't fit deep within her conscience. She could excuse it with those memories that weren't hers: seeing those two humans in the Cauldron had awakened in her those memories from twenty years ago. But it wasn't just that.

Yes, she knew that within her, that idea of killing her father, ending him, stopping that plan he wanted to carry out and doing good had always been germinating. But in between there was always that rotten and unconditional love she felt for the King of Hybern, which was written in every cell of her being from the day she emerged.

"I needed an excuse," she said aloud. All the attention of those present was on her, and she kept talking. "I always knew my father was never the good one. I'm missing pieces of the story, I only know what he told me through filters. I know there are people in Prythian, I know there's going to be a war, I know everything revolves around the Cauldron. But I don't know much more."

My father.

When the girl uttered those words, Azriel felt a surge rising from the depths of his throat. How could a monster like the King of Hybern have sired such a beautiful creature?

Yes, beautiful. She is beautiful.

He stopped his thoughts abruptly, trying to ignore his own shadow's whispers. He was hallucinating, again.

"I also know that my father expected me to fight for him in this war, to incinerate Prythian's forces. He counted on an easy victory, however now..." Nimue's hands couldn't stop playing with the fabric of the dress she was wearing. It was then that she realized the pristine white fabric of her skirt was stained with blood, the blood of the Illyrians. She took a deep breath and continued speaking, "He's not going to take it very well that I've done this. That I've... betrayed him.”

"Well, don't tell me."

Nimue looked up at Azriel. Was that irony again?

Rhysand gave the Shadowsinger a stern look, and everyone fell silent again, waiting for the girl to speak.

But she didn't know where to continue. What should she tell them about herself? Should she tell them what she was?

And in the midst of the prolonged silence, the High Lord spoke up, "No one knew of the existence of a princess of Hybern. If you claim to be so powerful, why did your father never boast about you?"

There was something that didn't add up in all of this and had Rhysand uneasy. He felt the presence of the female, a pale, pulsating white light in the middle of the room. It was a strange magic, something he couldn't quite categorize within the fae magic that flowed through his veins. His gaze shifted to Amren, hoping she could shed some light on the situation, but to his surprise, she looked just as bewildered as he did.

"My father never wanted my existence to be known. I..." Nimue bit her lip, weighing how much revealing everything to this group of strangers would be a good idea. "I've never left Hybern. In fact, I've never left the castle."

"How old are you, girl? Have you been locked up in there your whole life?" Amren asked.

"It's hard to say how old I am. In this body, I've lived twenty years of yours. Before that... my memories are clouded."

"In this body? Before that?" Azriel inquired. He felt like he was going crazy, wanting to pull his hair out and scream. What was happening? Of all the outcomes he had predicted for today, this was certainly one he wouldn't have even dreamed of. "Tell us the truth, or I swear I'll slit your throat."

Nimue smiled, a poisonous smile she had learned from her father.

"I doubt it. If I have to kick your ass again like I did out there, I will," she held Azriel's gaze. And added, "And with pleasure."

Azriel snorted, baring his teeth in an aggressive gesture and reaching for his dagger. Nimue simply smiled, holding his gaze without flinching.

With that mask she had learned to wear.

Rhysand rolled his eyes and brought his hands to his face, trying to process everything that was happening.

They hadn't obtained the Cauldron, they had learned of Tamlin's betrayal, they had transformed his mate's sisters, and now this. It had been a very eventful day, to say the least.

"So you're trying to tell us that you've been in this world for twenty years, but before that, you were somewhere else, right? Do you remember where?"

"Yes," said Nimue. She tried to hold back another laugh at the absurdity of the situation. "In the Cauldron."

And they fell silent again.

The expressions on everyone's faces were like something out of a painting, and Nimue let out a quiet laugh.

She had never had to explain who or what she was; everyone where she came from knew. They all knew her.

"Well," she began calmly, "we all know my father, the King of Hybern. The fanatic, lunatic and power-hungry one."

"Yes, unfortunately."

"He impregnated one of his royal concubines, and in the midst of that madness, he decided to put her in the Cauldron. I don't know if it was under coercion from the Cauldron itself, if it was a demand my father made, or what. But the woman died instantly, and in exchange for her life, I came out of the Cauldron."

"So, you're telling me that the Cauldron not only has the power to turn humans into fae, as we've seen with Feyre's sisters. You're telling me," Rhysand took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts, "that the Cauldron granted the King a daughter in exchange for a sacrifice, no more, no less."

"Yes, but it's not something that will happen again. The Cauldron created me as its own whim, just as it has done with those two humans you mentioned. Feyre’s sisters…"

“Elain and Nesta.”

"Yes," said Nimue. "What it has done with them won't happen again. Not for a long time, at least. The Cauldron only responds to its own impulses, and I don't even understand them myself. Our fae minds aren't made to understand what the Cauldron is or how it acts. Not even the mind of that creature."

Nimue pointed at Amren, who crossed her arms with a sly smile.

"Well, on that you're right. Not even this creature," she said, pointing to herself, "is capable of understanding under what desires that pot acts."

And they all fell silent again, weighing the situation and assimilating what the girl had said.

Azriel was simply angry, furious. He couldn't feel anything else at that moment. He didn't care much about the Cauldron's affairs, nor did he lose sleep over trying to understand how it worked.

He just wanted to know why he had the misfortune of finding out that his mate, whom he had been waiting to meet since he was a child, had to be the damn daughter of the King of Hybern.

"And regarding your problem," Nimue continued, this time addressing only Azriel, "well, our problem. I never knew what a mate was, as you called it. I knew that the Cauldron forged the souls of people to be incomplete, so that if they were lucky, they would find the other half they were missing during their life. But when I saw you, when I felt it, I was able to understand. I'm sorry if it's been a disappointment, but it is what it is."

Azriel frowned, his arms crossed and the hair on his arms bristling. He felt like he was trembling with rage.

"I didn't ask for this, princess."

Nimue didn't want to admit it, but the pull of disdain she felt on the other side of the bond made her heart shrink.

"Great, neither did I."

Taglist:

@lilah-asteria @agentsofsheilds @leptitlu @just-here-reading @glitterypirateduck @saltedcoffeescotch @donttellthecats @annblvd

[tidewhims]

Pre-Family Reunion

•So It’s a few days before the families meet the baby and Nana is the first to arrive! Nana is Forrest’s Great-Grandmother on her mother’s side, she’s a strict and fun-loving lady who loves to knit by the fire or while watching the kids play. Forrest and her are super close & she was very excited to see her, but she may have jumped the gun a bit by asking nana to babysit for a few days while her & Francisco go on a trip. It was barely an hour into her being there which kind rubbed nana the wrong way but Nana could NEVER say no to her “Favorite Great-grand baby” 😂

Facts about Nana Aureliea

-Traits; Wise, Family-oriented , Competitive & Neat.

-She’s a retired jewelry designer

-she has 4 kids (2 passed away)

-she’s been married 3 times and. Divorced 2 times.

-she loves gardening and baking.

-She’s puzzle champion at the local Rec center 5 years running.

- she’s scared of horses.

- Favorite thing to do is rock in her rocking chair, gossip and tell stories.

-She loves windy days cause it reminds her of a funny inside joke her late-husband told her on their first date.

-The neighborhood calls her “the purple lady” cause she ALWAYS wears purple when going out & she loves it. (It’s her favorite color)

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

Fate request: For the Lols, how would Saber Arturia react to meeting Morderd's kid, and that kid calling her "Grandfather" or "Grandpa", even when told not to?

I know that this was meant to be a funny one, but my mind kind of took it and ran so it came out a bit angstier than I intended.

Artoria gazed at the small child in front of her with a mixture of confusion, shock, and an odd feeling of shame and regret in her chest.

“Sorry to impose on you like this Miss Artoria, Gareth was indisposed, and Bedivere was still at work and-” you began to explain as you set about getting ready to leave before being interrupted by Artoria speaking.

“It is fine, and please, just Artoria. I know that convincing Mordred to bring the little one here was a tough decision so let us just leave it at that.” 

“Thank you Artoria, I’ll be back as soon as I can!” you exclaimed as you opened the door and walked out, leaving the pair alone with one another.

The child gazed into Artoria’s eyes.

They were filled with curiosity, and then, the child spoke.

“Grandpa?”

Shock shot across Artoria’s face before she reclaimed control of her countenance before speaking.

“No, I am Artoria.”

“Grandpa!” The child happily exclaimed

“No, Artoria.” the king declared.

“*Laughs* Grandpa!” The child laughed joyously while clapping.

Artoria sighed before speaking, “We’ll have to work on it.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

As the day passed, Artoria continually tried and failed to get the child to call her by her name.

All the child wanted to do was play with her hair and say “Grandpa hair silly!”

Artoria had to admit, it was… nice.

Nice to not be… the king.

She was just “Grandpa” to this child…

It… was…

“Grandpa? Why you cry?” the child asked, concerned for Artoria’s sudden change in demeanor, and the tears that were suddenly flowing down her face.

“*sniff* Don’t worry little one. Grandpa is fine.” Artoria told her grandchild with a smile.

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

the thing is that on the actual album the concept of the tortured poet is literally only invoked ironically to make fun of her loser boyfriend in a song where she calls the two of them “modern idiots” and says they are not dylan thomas or patti smith. she literally says “who uses typewriters anyway”! to me this is perfectly fair game for taylor swift and also the song is pretty funny! if you solely listened to the album you would be like “oh taylor swift is being sarcastic and self-deprecating on this score.” maybe you would still think it was dumb but this is quite literally the only accurate reading of the intent lol. but because her songwriting exists totally cordoned off from literally any other kind of talent or taste, all the marketing for the album is typewriters and, i guess, ted hughes. like from the bottom of my heart: GIRL WHAT?

[sixhours]

Meteor

She remembers the space he’d carved around himself, and the moment she realized the distance was too great to cross.

Rating: PG Word count: 1k

Notes: X-Files revival era fic.

Originally posted at ao3 01/19/2016

~*~

She makes her way up the long drive, the old farmhouse looming like a specter from her past. There are no lights in the windows, just a cold, hulking shadow against a darkening sky; an apt metaphor if she thinks about it too much, which she won’t.

“Where are you, Mulder?” Scully whispers to herself. His car is parked next to the porch. It’s evening, too early for sleep.

The air is damp as she leaves the warmth of the car, carrying a folder of papers. Spring has turned the ground to mud beneath her feet, and she, in her most expensive pair of heels, frowns. Her good boots are at the bottom of a box at the back of her closet along with the rest of the things she never unpacked.

The porch creaks in the same places, the screen door still protests on its hinge. She knocks once before trying the handle, finding it open.

“Mulder?”

The house is dusty and silent. She curses under her breath, gooseflesh rising along the back of her neck, wishing she had her holster. Three months on the job after so long away and she’s still not used to carrying.

She’s debating whether to check upstairs or leave the file on the kitchen table when a voice calls her name from outside.

“Scully?”

She steps onto the porch, squinting into the darkness. “Mulder? Is that you?”

“I’m out back,” he calls. “Watch your step.”

She turns on her phone’s flashlight and makes her way to the back yard. A shadow sits on the frame of the old pickup they haven’t used in years.

“I’d have left the porch light on if I’d known you were coming,” it says.

She points the phone in that direction, eliciting a wince from her partner as the beam hits his eyes.

“Ow, Scully.”

“Sorry,” she mutters, shutting off the light. “What are you doing out here, Mulder?”

There’s the distinct sound of liquid sloshing, the kiss of a bottle at his lips.

“Just sittin’ and thinkin’.”

“In the dark? It’s chilly,” she says, rubbing her shoulders for emphasis.

His face resolves as her eyes slowly adjust. He’s sitting on the tailgate, legs dangling off the end, a beer nestled between his thighs.

“I thought you’d be working.”

“Guy can’t take a break once in a while?”

She smirks. “Who are you and what have you done with my partner?”

“Hah-hah, funny. Have a seat, Scully.”

She does after a pause, easing herself onto the tailgate to join him.

“This’ll warm you up,” he says, offering her a beer.

“How many of these have you had?” she asks, accepting the bottle with a raised eyebrow.

“Just the one, doc. Don’t worry,” he says. “It’s not that kind of party.”

The cap twists off; the taste of malt fizzes on her tongue, goes down smooth.

“I take it you’re here for business and not pleasure,” he says, nodding to the folder in her lap.

“Mm. It’s the autopsy results for Lisa Baylor. Scrapings from her fingernails revealed traces of skin; they’re processing the DNA and I asked the lab to run it through NICS. We’ll have the full results in the morning, but I thought you’d want to get an early start.”

“You ever heard of email, Scully?”

“You mean the thing that keeps you tethered to your computer at all hours? Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” she mutters.

He offers a wry smile. “You didn’t have to drive all the way out here for that.”

“Maybe I wanted to talk about the case in person.”

His voice grows soft. “You don’t need an excuse to visit, you know. You always have a place here.”

“I wasn’t looking for an excuse.”

“Checking up on me, huh?”

“Mulder,” she sighs. “Don’t start.”

A cricket chirps in the grass at their feet, filling the stillness that hovers like a black mist. She remembers the space he’d carved around himself, and the moment she realized the distance was too great to cross.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says finally, nudging her shoulder in apology. “Been a rough year. Sometimes I forget we’re on the same side now.”

“I’ve always been on your side, Mulder,” she murmurs, feeling their history like a lead weight in her chest. “I’ve only ever wanted what was best for you.”

“I know,” he nods, then holds out his bottle. “Truce?”

“Truce,” she agrees, letting the glass clink softly. For a moment, the silence is comfortable, familiar, and she closes her eyes.

When she opens them, she’s looking at his profile in the dusky light. With his beard shaved and his hair trimmed, she can almost see the man she met twenty odd years ago. Without thinking, she reaches out to touch his cheek, the stubble rough against her fingers.

He looks over, bemused, and she pulls her hand away, still feeling the ghost of his skin against her palm.

“You clean up good, G-man,” she says.

He chuckles, his gaze turned upward. “Hey, it’s starting.”

He points to the sky and her eyes follow, trying to see what he sees. A pinprick of light flicks across the sky, followed by another, and then another; the beginnings of a meteor shower.

Mulder reaches behind them and pulls out two rolled sleeping bags, settling back against one in the bed of the truck. She doesn’t ask why he brought two instead of one, for the same reason she knows the extra beer in her hand was never intended for him.

She pulls the rolled blanket behind her and lies back to watch the show. Her eyes flit from one corner of the heavens to the other as more of the blue-white streaks make their way across the night, and she marvels at how the stars can still stun her with their beauty, how the universe in all its endless mystery can be so breathtaking, even after bringing such grief.

His voice is rich and vulnerable, spoken to the open air. “It wasn’t all bad, was it, Scully?”

She doesn’t have to think. Her response is as immediate and as involuntary as a heartbeat. “No…it wasn’t.”

She finds his hand without trying and listens to the sound of their mingled breathing as the sky falls around them.

cc @today-in-fic

[hathorneheiress]

Episodes of surprise

Avery's POV

Sometimes they come fast. Bringing me to my knees. Other times it took a little while. Torturously taking it's sweet time to get to me. Today was the time it came fast.

I was in my room getting ready for the day when my breathing became labored and I began shaking like a leaf. I had never had to deal with panic attacks but now I did. I noticed it not to long after losing my mom but it got worse when I became the richest teenager in the world over a year ago. In that short time I had been shot at, threatened, bombed, in a coma. Chloroformed and kidnapped. Almost lost people I hold dear and so much more. Definitely something to spike my panic attacks.

I was on the floor in an instant. Cupping my hands over my ears I rocked back and forth. Trying to focus on my breathing it did nothing to calm my nerves. Oddly, it only made it worse.

"Heiress, just breath." the voice sounded so far away yet so close at the same time. Then I saw my boyfriend's face right next to mine.

Jameson Winchester Hawthorne was everything and nothing I had thought I would have for a boyfriend. Emarald green eyes that usually sparkled in mischief was filled with concern. The constant smirk was replaced with a frown. The one thing that was the same was the unruly dark brown hair. So artfully mused. 

Most people saw Jameson as a spoiled billionaire grandson with an adrenaline rush and a need for riddles and adventures.   And he was, but only me and his brothers knew there was more then the outside people got to see. He was also kind, caring, funny. Gave me distractions when I needed them the most. (And sometimes not) Gave me the best back rubs and hugs. Was a perfect kisser. Did I say that?

I felt his warm hands cup my face. "It's ok Heiress. Focus on me."

A peaceful sense came over me and was able to concentrate on his words. "J-Jameson." I murmured shakily. "What are you doing here?"

"I got home early. And I'm glad I did. How long has it been going for?"

"Not long." I confessed burying myself in his chest. He smelled of expensive cologne, whisky, bad morning breath, and cake batter? 

I sat up. "Where have you been?" I asked suspiciously.

He gave me his most charming smile. Proof he was doing something he was not supposed to be doing. "A surprise."

I gave him a look. He laughed. "Alright Heiress, you win. I'll show you what it is. But you have to promise me you are up for it. Especially after your episode. (Jameson always called it that. Trying to be discreet which I appreciate.)

Honestly, I had forgotten about it. But that's what usually happened. I'd be having a panic attack and Jameson would miraculously appear. He'd get me talking about other things and then everything negative I felt went away.  "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."

"Anything for you Heiress." We both rose from the floor.

Taking my hand he led me through the house till we got toward the kitchen. Why were we going there?

He seemed to read my mind. "You'll see."

"Surprise!!!!!!!!" People shouted as soon as we walked through the doors. I jumped in shock. Everyone I loved and cared for was there.  Xander and Max stood in a corner holding large amounts of punch. Libby, with Nash at her side, stood next to a gigantic pile of cupcakes. There was a least 200 if not more. Frosted with every color under the sun. I noticed Grayson in another corner holding a very wiggling Tiramisu. I couldn't help but giggle.

Thea, Rebecca, the Laughlin's. Alisa Oren, and Zara too. 

Why was everyone here? It wasn't my birthday or the anniversary of when I came. "What's the occasion?" I had to ask. "Why is everyone here?"

"It's officially Avery Grambs appreciation day!" Xander shouted out.

"What?"

Jameson explained. "We have been noticing how stressed out you have been getting. And we decided that you need to take a break. Also we wanted to show you how much you mean to each and everyone of us." He smirked. "Including Thea."

"Ha ha Jameson Hawthorne." She gave a smile that only Thea herself could give.

"So all this is just for me?" I couldn't get over it.

"Just for you. Including the cupcakes. You have to eat all 300 by yourself."

I playfully gutted him in the stomach. 

"Oh thank you!" I went around and hugged everyone there. And got dog kisses from Tiramisu as well.

What started out as a horrible day turned into one of joy and fun. We consumed more cupcakes than I will admit and talked for hours about random, stupid things that only the Hawthornes and us would talk about.

It was good to be loved and appreciated. 

[swordmaid]

brienne is actually kind of insane for calling jaime kingslayer right at his face. just imagining this 19yo calling a 34yo man cunt trash worthless piece of shit waste of space waste of air shithead get fucked idiot unprovoked AND anytime he opened his mouth it's actually so funny to think about

[fruutes]

maybe don't name ur plane-loving husband's daughter after a dead pilot...

Dude the way my jaw dropped. The gasp I gusp.

Listen!! Listen. I thought it was SO clever ok!! It's dedicated to him and Emily!

Maybe it's a prophecy... love u Amelia it was nice knowing u.... or maybe I should just make her build a habit of refueling as often as possible...

[spywhitney]

How I sleep knowing I'll never trust anyone that hates Sydney but worships Richie:

[ritterdoodles]

Failgirl extraordinaire

[sexynetra]

Dawn defending Amanda in untucked oh what if I cry actually

[strawberrywindow]

I couldn't stop thinking about an AU where Daniel resorts to gathering vitae again, this time to 'cure' Hazel, after his Brennenburg adventure💫, thoughts all mainly derived from this loadscreen text that tells us that Hazel is still in hospice care by the time the game's story began.

As much as I love Daniel, I don't think he really learned all that much from his experience even in the most charitable ending towards him in which he saves Agrippa. I can very, VERY easily see him slipping back into old ways if it meant saving Hazel. The most he seems to approach viewing torture as bad is when he realizes he himself no longer counts as an innocent so he can't justify killing others to save himself anymore. But killing no good, horrible, bad people to save HAZEL? Now, we're cooking with gas 😀 💀

[electrificata]

things my 38 yr old nightmare-millennial manager from my last retail job did

we played music and there was a rule that we stuck with one person's playlist for an entire day, and if you changed it even for one song while it was hers she would give you a really serious lecture about how this was about respect and she would never do that on another person's day. it was her playlist 5 days a week.

play this song and talk for an uncomfortably long time about how her and the de facto assistant manager (24, underpaid, essentially functioned as calming companion labrador to her cheetah) liked it because they were so close and so simpatico and both so "dark" ("yeah, we're dark")

also she'd rhapsodize about the band ajr in general and this song in particular despite the fact that everyone else was clearly irritated by them

explained to me that she lived her entire life according to an extremely literal interpretation of the song "take me or leave me" from rent (shes straight and i never saw her flirt with a single person so i think she was listening only to the chorus and using it to justify never listening to anyone or evolving as a person)

would, at the drop of a hat, launch into a lengthy and enthusiastic defense of some random minor reality star (different each time), usually starting with something like "people hate on her so much but..." and ending on something like "actually she would have called the cops on anybody so it's not racist that this time she happened to call the cops on a black woman for flirting with her boyfriend" or "i know he didn't even touch her he was just in the room with the other guys when they [redacted]" and then she'd like. keep talking and keep looking at me with her eyes full of a desperate need to be validated in her feelings and it would get more uncomfortable the longer i didn't agree with her, and then i'd be like "i don't know if i'd call that not-racist" and i could see her desperation peaking because deep down she knew she was wrong but didnt want to admit it and id only be saved when a customer came in to take her away

when the de facto assistant manager gave 2 weeks notice on the phone (i was on shift with him she was at home) she immediately began sobbing and hung up and nobody heard from her for two days

fired me a week after that so they could keep him

[bloomfish]

i have to say, I'm happily taylor-neutral but I do think the hate, in general, is over the top. Like it's just pop music, some people are going to like it and some aren't and I don't understand why it matters that much. Like I saw a rather annoying post saying (I guess as a joke, not that funny to me though) that actual tortured poets stick their heads in ovens and like 1. that's... again, not funny 2. taylro is a woman at the end of the day she has a god-given right to feel connected to sylvia plath just like the rest of us. 3. anyone can be a tortured poet you just have to feel tortured and write poetry. it doesn't have to be good. a 13 year old writing emo poetry in her suburban bedroom can be a tortured poet I don't think it's that big of a deal and that's probably who the album was aimed at. 4. why would you say that anyway, it's stupid

[puppyeared]

I want to believe this is how they found Hunter