#because now they've left. they're fucking gone

[devotioncrater]

.

[alexaloraetheris]

Oh boy, I feel like it's time for a post nobody will like.

We all know clothes are getting worse. Recently I found some jeans I bought in high school, and since I lost weight recently I tried them on and they fit, so I'll be wearing them once we get out of the Hell season.

But I took them and compared them to the most recent pair of jeans I bought, and... Honestly the difference in quality is so fucking stark it made me want to give up on life. The jeans I wore in high school have gone through everything. I'm talking half of Europe here, because one of our teachers was pretty big on school trips everywhere she could get the money for. They've been washed, tumbled, survived an actual car crash and they're still good.

The most recent pair I machine-washed ONCE, everything else was hand-wash only. I babied them to the max because they made my ass look like was on Instagram. Do you know what they look like now?

They're full of fixes like these. They lasted less than a year on their own. I got another decent year out of them SOLELY because I kept fixing them. And fixing them again. The crotch alone I had to fix SEVEN TIMES. I COUNTED.

And these weren't cheap jeans! C&A jeans tend to be around 40$ these days, and I got these for about 30 with a discount. I expected them to last me AT LEAST a few years, because those high school jeans? THEY'RE THE SAME FUCKING BRAND.

Considering this was the quality I was getting for nearly 40$ I figured I might as well get the same quality for 15$ and downloaded SHEIN. I didn't get jeans from them but I got some light, fluttery summer pants in the style that, honestly, I fucking love. I got three pairs for the price of one C&A jeans, and I am aware I will have to baby them even more, because out of the five pairs of pants in total I have bought on SHEIN only ONE is made of the fabric that I might be brave enough to machine wash. And with SHEIN continually getting sued for using sweatshops I probably won't be getting those pants again.

So what to do with that shitfuck situation?

I am insanely lucky my grandma knew how to sew really well and didn't mind me looking over her shoulder as long as I was quiet. I am aware that's not a skill everyone has, but quite frankly? When nobody has any money and even paying big bucks for clothes does not guarantee any kind of quality, and even fucking THRIFT STORES are full of just junk now, I think it's time to face the facts.

You need to learn how to sew.

I'm not talking about sewing your own clothes, though if you can and you have the time and patience, it's probably the best option (good luck finding decent fabric, because we can't even find THAT anymore unless you're ordering from fucking Belgium). I'm talking about fixing up seams and sewing on a patch, little repairs that make your clothes last. It might be junk, but with sewing you can make it last twice as long for the price of a spool of thread.

Now that I've pissed off everyone who is, for some reason, morally opposed to learning how to sew because it's a 'girly hobby' or 'supporting the patriarchy' (a take that left me baffled like nothing else) I'm going to piss off everyone who already knows how to sew.

I recommend getting this little guy.

It's called a stapler sewing machine, for obvious reasons. If I recall correctly, it was invented to fix clothes on the go for fashion shows and/or cosplay. It does only a chain stitch and needs to be pushed manually, but if you need to, like, hem your trousers and you don't want to spend half an hour on doing it manually (and don't already have an actual sewing machine) this is a lifesaver.

Here's a tutorial how it operates:

Now, why am I recommending this? Because it will only set you back six bucks. I got two right off the bat because I was banking on one not working (and I was right) and so I could use it for spare parts. The one in the video (Spring Come) is the one I have as well, and it's the one that actually works. I can't vouch for any unmarked ones, but the blue one works. It IS a little temperamental, but with a bit of practice it makes things so much easier.

The reason I'm not recommending an electric machine of any kind, even the one that costs 18$, is because, if you're a beginner, then an automatic sewing machine becomes a machine that exponentially speeds up the rate at which you make mistakes, and if it breaks down, good luck fixing it unless you have a dad/uncle/friend who knows his electronics. This thing can be fixed with a screwdriver, and takes the same needles as an ordinary sewing machine.

You can buy a bundle of needles just about anywhere for any price and they'll be decent as long as they're steel, but I would recommend looking for some actual better quality thread. Everywhere else, you can pinch pennies, but the thread itself is what's holding your clothes together, so this should be the part where you're looking for quality instead of price.

Alright, those of you who didn't scroll past with a derisive scoff at my take, I hope I've been helpful.

[gloomwitchwrites]

You start sending them spicy texts a few minutes after they've left for work. Now they're home.

Bonus if you can have them say "You started it..."

Oh, anon. I am more than happy to fulfill this request. Spicy texts just before leaving work. Them walking in the door with the most feral energy. please. I am here for it. I am salivating. I am barking at the damn moon. I am running around on all fours. I am hanging from the ceiling. I love this prompt. Love love love. Thank you for sending it in!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: dirty talk, sexting, oral sex (female & male receiving), sex toys, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, vaginal fingering, knife play, spanking

Word Count: 2k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

You sent the texts to be funny—to tease John. He’s leaving work, and you want him thinking about you the whole way home.

Instead, you have an animal on your hands. A man starving for you. It’s far more than you anticipated.

I always want you.

I wish you were here with me. Naked.

Will you fill me up when you come home?

“You started it, love. I’m just finishing it.”

John grasps the back of your neck, pulling you close. Your fingers cling to the front of his shirt, the fabric twisting in your fist. John doesn’t even glance down. He’s entirely focused on your lips.

John smells of work. Of sweat. Of manly musk. You want to breathe him in.

He holds on the back of your neck tightens slightly. “I want you on your knees. Mouth open. Understand?”

You give a little nod, and John eases his grip. His hand transitions to the front of your throat, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. When his hand drops away, John takes a step back. You obediently descend before him, softly landing on your knees.

John won’t move. He won’t take the lead. You’re to do everything.

That’s how he likes it, and that is always how you do it.

With gentle hands, you caress the front of his thighs. Beneath his pants, you feel the strength and power there. John is all corded muscle. Bulky. Thick. Already you’re salivating. Your fingers find his belt buckle. It’s easy, and it’s soon gone. Zipper comes next, and then you’re opening up the front of his pants.

The moment John is in your hand, he groans. You don’t want to tease him now. You only want to make him come. You place a kiss on the head, and then give it a little lick. A tiny bead of precum appears. You take that for yourself too.

Slowly, you run your tongue along the underside of his cock along the vein. John isn’t touching you but his fists clench and unclench. He’s restraining himself. You swallow him down, and John immediately grasps the back of your head. The grip is strong, and you’re unable to pull back.

John wants you to throat him. And you will.

Clinging to the front of his thighs, you go all in, hollowing your cheeks and taking him deep. You are messy. Eager. Showing John exactly how much you missed him today. This is your little gift to him, because after, you know he’s going to fill your pussy until you’re dripping.

You did start this.

And you’ll happily do it again.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Leaving work in ten.

Ten minutes. And then twenty to drive home. That gives you thirty minutes to fuck with your boyfriend.

Grinning, you start devising a series of texts. Kyle is good about not texting and driving. He hates people that do it, so you know he won’t answer, which makes it that much better. You’ll send him these texts, and he won’t be able to respond at all.

It’s perfect. Brilliant.

You send the first one off.

Miss you. Been thinking about you all day.

It’s sweet. Something to make Kyle smile, but that’s the whole point. Draw him in, and then make him hungry for you.

Kyle responds immediately. Miss you too, love.

Not in the car yet then. You wait a few more minutes and then send a response to him.

I’ve been horny all day. Can’t wait for you to get here.

You give it some time but Kyle does not answer. Means he’s in the car.

Kept touching myself. Couldn’t stop.

Still, nothing.

You have no idea if Kyle is reading the texts or not but you hope that he is. His phone connects to his car when he turns it on, so the texts have to be coming through. If anything, he’s listening to them, the system reading your texts aloud to him.

I’m using that new toy you bought me right now.

Lie. You haven’t tried it out yet, but you’ve been wanting to.

Thinking about you while I use it.

So wet.

There isn’t any response, but that’s no surprise. You’re on edge though, every limb tingling, heart racing with the anticipation of Kyle’s arrival.

Twenty minutes feels like an hour, but you hear the front door open from your place in the bedroom. By the time you bring your feet to the floor, Kyle is already in the doorway. His chest heaves, posture poised as if he wouldn’t find you home.

“Kyle—”

“Get out of your clothes and get your ass back on the bed,” he nearly growls, yanking off his shirt before the sentence is even out of his mouth.

“You got my texts?” you ask with a sultry purr, moving slowly to remove your clothing.

“Oh, I did, love. Sure fucking did.”

When you’re down to just your underwear, Kyle is already naked, reaching for you. You shriek playfully, and then you’re flipped onto your stomach.

“I want to see just how wet you are,” he murmurs, bringing your hips up, and spreading your legs wide, revealing your pussy to him.

He groans. “I can do better.”

Kyle’s tongue is on you, and then he’s licking, swirling his tongue up and down your pussy. You cry out, hands fisting the sheets beneath you, toes curling. Kyle kisses your clit, and then sucks it into his mouth before tonguing you to orgasm.

He draws back, and you hear the drawer in the bedside table opening. Kyle rummages around, then you hear the gentle vibration of the new toy he just bought. You swallow, and push up to look over your shoulder.

Your gazes meet and Kyle grins.

“You started it.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You’ve been stuck in the house all day.

Simon is supposed to be off work shortly. And you want to stir up a bit of trouble.

Coming home soon?

Simon’s answer returns swiftly.

Leaving in five.

It won’t take long for Simon to get home. The man has a streak for breaking every traffic law imaginable. He just doesn’t care. At times it’s down right sexy, but other times it scares the piss out of you.

Biting your lip, you wiggle deeper into the couch, texting out a reply to Simon.

Hurry home, Simon. I need you.

I want you to use me. Your own personal plaything.

Can’t wait to feel you inside me.

You send the texts one after another. Pressing your phone to your chest, you giggle, knowing what you’ve done. Simon is going to storm through that door and make you squirm. And it’s the best fucking feeling in the world.

A few minutes later, his response comes in.

Be ready for me.

You know what that means. Simon wants you naked and on the bed, presented to him like an offering. But you won’t do that. He needs to work for it. If he wants you naked and wanton, Simon will have to do it himself.

But all that confidence disappears when Simon barrels through the door. He is a phantom. A wraith of desire. Simon has you off the couch and over his shoulder in seconds. In the bedroom, Simon drops you on the bed.

By the time you go to sit up, Simon removes his hunting knife from his boot. The tip of the blade catches under your shirt and then it’s gone, your bare breasts on full display.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, twirling the knife end over end before closing it and dropping it onto the bedside table.

You’re just in your underwear, and Simon’s gaze is heated.

“Off,” he demands, and you comply, sliding off your underwear and tossing them aside.

Simon reaches for the front of his belt. It’s off in moments, and then he’s undoing the front of his pants. His cock springs free of its confinement, and your pussy automatically clenches at the sight. Simon grabs your ankle and pulls you to the edge of the bed, pushing your legs wide.

“Fuck. Look at that.” Simon parts the folds of your pussy with his fingers. The sound of your wetness is loud in the room. He brushes against your clit and you moan, head falling back.

And then you’re moaning for a completely different reason. Simon’s cock notches at your entrance, and he slams home to the hilt. Using his natural weight, you’re pinned, taking each brutal thrust.

You said you wanted him to use you. To be his plaything.

And he is. He’s fucking you for his own pleasure. It’s a punishment as much as it’s a reward. You fall back and take it, your breath leaving you in gasps with each thrust. Simon’s hand wraps around your throat, and then you’re being lifted off the bed, his lips nearly touching yours.

“Don’t forget, love. You started it.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

I love it when you grab my hair. When you push me up against the wall. When you take total and complete control.

You send the texts with a mischievous grin on your face. Johnny is at work—about to leave if he’s on schedule. And these texts will only stoke his blood—make him hunger for you.

It’s just a tease. A way to get what you want.

You want him to fuck you, but not slowly. And not with any sweetness. Johnny needs to come home and bend you over the nearest piece of furniture.

Every time I fantasize about us having sex, I imagine you tying me up and having your way with me.

You don’t expect Johnny to respond. He doesn’t usually text and drive. But he does, and you giggle at his reply.

Naughty girl.

Every minute twists in your stomach, making you anxious with longing. You have to stand up and pace around the coffee table to try and expel some of the excess energy. You are so focused on trying to clear your mind that when Johnny enters, you momentarily freeze, surprised at his sudden appearance.

His mouth turns upward into a knowing smile, and then you bolt. Johnny is right on your heels and there is no escape from him. Johnny has you in the air and over his shoulder is less than a minute.

You shriek, and Johnny’s large palm comes down in a hard slap against your bare ass.

“Johnny!”

He laughs, and then smacks your ass again, this time with a softer hand.

“You started it,” he says, carrying you into the bedroom.

Johnny tosses you down onto the bed, and then he’s on you, pinning you beneath him. You giggle under him as Johnny nips and kisses your throat and lips. Playfully hitting him does nothing. Johnny only grasps your wrists and pins them above your head. He transfers both wrists to one large palm, holding you in that position.

“Spread those legs for me,” he croons against your lips.

You instantly widen and Johnny shifts back. With one hand, Johnny pushes your underwear to the side. You’re already wet—already in need of him. Johnny tests with one finger and then a second. They disappear inside your pussy, and reappear glossy and slick.

“Fucking look at you, love,” he murmurs, repeating the motion until your hips buck and move with him.

Your breath hitches and Johnny removes his fingers. He brings those slick digits to your lips.

“Open.”

You comply and taste yourself.

When his fingers are clean, Johnny reaches between your bodies and undoes the front of his pants. He slides home, and then he’s fucking you relentlessly, pounding you into the bed. You take it all, restrained and moaning underneath him.

Johnny groans, his body tensing, and then he’s flooding your pussy with his cum. You’re so full, and it’s only the start.

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[000marie198]

At the end of Httyd 1, Toothless was inside the house and sitting there like he'd been there for quite a while and had gotten used to the place so chances are he never left Hiccup's side post the battle with Red Death for the time his best friend had been comatose. Also the fact that Stoick fully entrusted Toothless with Hiccup's safety and wellbeing that he would leave the house without worry.

Point in case, Toothless probably only left the house for brief moments and the villagers haven't seen him much (and they're too apprehensive to quell their curiosity because that's a freakin' Night Fury in there guarding their unconscious heir), ergo they haven't gotten used to him yet. Accepted the dragons sure but as the series told, not in an instant and not 100 percent. They trust the dragon in there but it's still something to wrap their heads around.

Now, a random Berkian's perspective to Hiccup and Toothless' friendship and dynamic post Httyd 1 would be gold.

The bewilderment at how those two seem to communicate like they've been together their whole lives, the mini heart attacks when Hiccup snarks at the dragon they grew up fearing and Toothless snarls or roars back with teeth out and... rolls his eyes?? Oh... they're just bickering, the boy isn't about to die, calm down. The fucking jumpscares when those two show up like they just materialized from the shadows WTF aaand it was just Hiccup hiding from the chief. The befuddlement watching the boy and his dragon having a debate over which notebook to buy because Hiccup wants the one with better paper quality but Toothless wants the other because apparently it smells nice.

The villagers gradually get used to Toothless and how he integrated so perfectly into Hiccup's life but while the fear and confusion is gone, the awe at how connected those two are, how they understand each other better than anyone can possibly hope, never goes away-

"Hey, no- Toothless, give me back my notebook! I still need to- Hey! GET BACK HERE!"

A black form rushes through the square and towards the Great Hall, being chased by his angry best friend who was refusing to get lunch because he wanted to sketch down an idea for some invention.

...............

(Don't tag as a ship)

[ghostlysoaps]

Emergency First Aid

He finds Ghost in the bathroom, needle and thread in crimson-stained hands. 

White porcelain muddled with grime and blood, smeared across the cubicle glass. A bottle of something see-through sitting on the lip of the tub – the label near illegible by the fingerprints wrapped around it. Every detail pointing towards it being a scene from some B-list horror flick. Except it can't be. Because Johnny’s nails dig into the palms of his hands and pain has no presence in dreams.

Ghost's skin is almost as pale as the cradle he sits in. Johnny can see the stark blue of his veins through the fragile skin of his wrists. A far more flattering colour on him than red, it's why he pretends he doesn’t know where his favourite henley ended up.

"Get out of my fucking room, Soap."

Johnny nods and then proceeds further into the room, careful to avoid the droplets of blood staining the tiles in a fucked-up breadcrumb trail.

Ghost levels him with an unamused glare, a non-verbal "go away," ringing louder than if he'd said it outright. 

He ignores that too.

The stitching is neither crude nor neat when he leans in for a closer look. Serviceable. Bound to scar. It might have regardless, medical ain't miracle workers, but it might, might have left a thinner mark.

"Soap?"

Ghost's eyes are brown as jasper, doe-wide, extruding exhaustion and warmth – in spite of how much effort he puts into burying that bleeding heart of his. They track Johnny’s progress warily. Glides over him when he wraps his own fingers around the bottle, fingers a good half-inch shorter than the red stains already there. Johnny knows all this despite not looking. Because they've been here before. Too often for his liking. 

He sets about cleaning the tacky trails of blood from Ghost’s skin. 

"Johnny?"

Why are his hands shaking? They're not supposed to do that he doesn't think.

"It's just a scratch, I've had worse."

His tongue unsticks from where it lies dead and heavy in his mouth. "I fuckin' know. 'M not blind."

Warm, calloused hands envelop his own. They stop him from digging deeper welts into his own skin. Massages gently until Johnny, against his will, unclenches and unfolds like a flowering bloom at the first hint of sunlight.

"This won't be what kills me–"

"Haud yer wheesht! Whit this shoddy excuse fer sutures anything's–"

"–because I've no intention of leaving you yet," Ghost– Simon continues, as if Johnny hadn't interrupted him at all. "I've clawed myself back from the edge of hell more times than I care to count." He knocks their heads together, one hand moving to thread fingers though Johnny’s hair. "It's much easier now that I have something to come back to."

Johnny takes a moment to process and sift through the wreckage those words leave behind.

"Take yer damn mask off an' say tha' to my face," he growls.

And Simon doesn't hesitate for a second. He peels the mask off, his second skin, as if it's easier than breathing. As if Johnny’s words were the decree of a higher power he's helpless to obey. Scarred skin and chapped lips and dark circles blending into greasepaint greets him – a sight no longer unfamiliar, but a privilege to behold nonetheless. 

"I-" is as far as Simon comes before Johnny is surging forward to take his bottom lip between his teeth. He kisses him like something feral and starved. As if he could crawl into Simon's mouth if he tried hard enough. Push through muscle, bone and sinew to make space for himself in the hollow of his ribcage.

He doesn't like the anger with which he devours him – the ever-present companion snarling in his chest – but he needs him to understand. Thinks that if he tries hard enough Simon might taste the words lodged firmly behind his molars. I can't stand to lose you. It scares me to the point of losing my breath. I love you. I love you. I love you. 

For all his rage, for all the fiery passion with which he lashes out, in the end it all stems from fear.

"Could've at least gone to medical, ye absolute weapon," he bites out, one hand stressing over the skin right beneath Simon's wound.

"Couldn't stand the thought of anyone touching me," Simon murmurs, catching Johnny’s wrist the moment he goes to pull away as if burnt. "'S better now. I'd have told you to fuck off proper if I didn't–" he cuts himself off, the tips of his ears going pink.

Johnny fills in the blanks, eyes falling shut for the fraction of a second.

"Dinnae deep down wan' me to be here."

Simon shrugs.

Johnny exhales, leans forward and rests his forehead to Simon's shoulder, kisses him sweetly right after.

"Let me help you."

"Please." 

He's glad to be looking at Simon now because Simon, whenever Ghost has fled his visage, is an open book. And the way he's looking at Johnny? It's as if he'd taken every soft, sweet thing Johnny feels for him and is reflecting it right back.

With another steadying breath, Johnny gets to work. Gauze and adhesive tape, as quick as he dares so as to not prolong the pain. And when he's done he brushes his lips over the white bandaging, looking up through his lashes when the simple gesture of affection causes Simon's breath to hitch. Keeps to his knees despite the ache in them.

"You come to me next time," Johnny says, a plea more so than the demand he'd hoped for.

Simon reaches for him, cups his stubbled cheek in hand, thumb rubbing in broad strokes across a near imperceptible scar there – his next words ringing with the gravity of church bells and promises spoken within. 

"Alright, Johnny."

---

Prompts via @whumperless-whump-event and @seth-whumps

[nights-at-crystarium]

While I'm ancient-trio-posting, wanna hear a bit about their dynamic?

Hythlodaeus and Hades are old friends, roommates, even. A genuinely mature, established couple. I haven't really thought too far back in time yet, so maybe childhood friends to lovers because no one else in my story has this trope yet. I leave it open-ended for now. What matters is that they're very chill and stable together.

Azem, not-yet-Azem but a mere apprentice of Venat, has a certain secret, harmless to the world, but potentially ranging from laughable, cringy, personally embarrassing to legally punishable, should it be brought in front of the Convocation, like all lies it's doomed to be revealed in time, he already hangs out with one of the Big People and there are talks about Venat's retirement, our little not-yet-Azem feels like he might get recommended, and must find help with his silly secret before that.

Hythlodaeus, Chief of the Bureau of the Architect, has ever been kind and patient with not-yet-Azem's concept submissions, and generally seems like a reliable and open-minded person, so our guy asks for his advice on the matter. Of course he isn't let down, the nitty gritty of it I'll leave for later. The important part: he and Hyth grow closer, and Hades, already being joined at the hip with Hyth, is in on the secret as well. It's just a vulnerability that I use as a means to win over Hades's heart. Be genuine, beg for his help, rely on him, and he's yours.

Venat retires, the new Azem takes the seat, his secret's safe/resolved (forget about it, it's played its role of the glue for our trio), things are chill for a while, the trio grows into a proper throuple, Hades is recommended for the seat of Emet-Selch by both his lovers, but by Azem most ardently (and selfishly: he feels like a white crow among the Convocation and wants another freak on the team. Hades finds it sweet though).

The status quo moves to the known canon where Azem travels a lot, sometimes summons his buddies to his side, he tends to disappear from Amaurot for weeks and months on end, Hyth and Hades are left to themselves, seemingly things are the same as they've always been, but the joy of reuniting with their wayward lover, and the pining when he's gone, is bigger in Hades than Hyth. Of course they, the two mature people holding hands from the beginning of times, don't discuss this.

Azem may not even realize what he's doing- well, ain't that most azems in a nutshell. He just exists, loves his partners, shines for them with equal warmth like sun. It's not that Hyth doesn't like being sunkissed, no, it's Hades who gets a bit too excited, tries to mask that however he can, perhaps HythHades pretend that nothing's changed, but, yknow, subtle cracks. Hades's heart grows more fond due to the time and distance that separate them so often. Of course he's terrified and he sees what this does to the balance of their poly, it's not welcome, but it won't go away.

Enter Hyth's self-esteem issues, and how neatly that weaves into his following sacrifice to bring forth Zodiark. Even though Azem's nowhere to be seen, it's fine, he'll return, it's just a tantrum, the Convocation will forgive him, Hades will be left in good hands, he and Azem seem to be happier without Hyth anyway. (no, no, no, no-) Of course, the latter's left unsaid, only a smile on display and vague words of affirmation for the shellshocked Hades.

Through the sacrifice Hyth drives up his value. He's forever important to Hades now, forever on his mind, his guiding star. I view Hyth's selfless act as selfish too (just as Raha's but he isn't relevant here), a desperate act of a soul not only loving, but desperate for love. Hyth gets what he wanted. In a fucked up way, he's happier as a part of the moon. He never has to contend with the sun again.

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

"Mind my own business"

Sure. Right as soon as you stop advocating for people with mental health issues to be able to slip through the cracks and cut off body parts before they understand the gravity of having it happen.

The medical oath says to "do no harm" if a 14 y/o, decides "I don't want kids" you'd be a MORON to even consider it. Biology is a funny thing. And when your clock starts ticking, you tend to want to have kids. However how most people or doesn't kick in until they're late 20's early 30's. After 36 for women, there's a lot of risk in both child birth, and the health and development of the child.

By the same metric kids can't make those choices. They CAN'T understand the gravity of those choices. Because those choices sterilize them, can damage their growth, cause chronic illnesses like early onset osteoporosis. But you wouldn't know that would you. Of course not. And sure bodily autonomy is a thing but not when that requires the actions of another person.

You can shove your bullshit. My friend almost killed herself because of rhetoric like yours. Goes of to college, meets new people. Thinks they are her friends. She's a tomboy. They slow rolled her into thinking she was a man. They got her on T within 4 months of her being there and the day before she was going to get her BREASTS REMOVED she called me naw bawling her eyes out. Saying she wanted to die. She didn't recognize herself. Realized she was pushing me away because all her new "friends" said I was a bad influence on her.

Her, "found family" as it were. I was on the phone with her for THREE FUCKING HOURS trying to make sure she didn't kill herself. Texted her mother to go get her. Low and behold. NOT A FUCKING MAN just a boyish girl. And under your "it's not your business" mentality, had she gone though it, she probably would be dead right now. Her choice right? No therapist needed right? No road blocks right? Just let them get a testosterone high then when it wears off and they realize what they've done.

No more love bombing. No more, "you're so brave". Just left with your thoughts and removed body parts. Staring a stranger down in the mirror with a likely litany of other medical problems other than the chemical depression.

So how about you mind your own fucking business. I care about people's health. You clearly don't. And more over kindly remove your head from your own ass. You DON'T get to tell me what's my business. How many people have to die for your bullshit. How many have to live with medical issues for the rest of their lives? How many have to never be able to have kids. How many get to NEVER experience a real intimate relationship. But sure. "Bodily autonomy".

Cut the crap.

[theaceace]

I know that canonically (show-wise, at least) St Hilarion's worked to cover up Charles' death, and nothing was ever really done about the disappearance of Edwin and the other boys, but even so, do you think the school has a reputation for being haunted??

I'm imagining Niko following various ghost-hunter groups online, especially when the agency doesn't have many cases going on, and occasionally the boys will mirror hop over to an interesting-sounding location, and they'll even get a real case as a result

So when she tells them that one of the teams is planning to investigate St Hilarion's (either it's been closed for a while or they have special permission to go during the summer holidays), Edwin and Charles steel themselves and decide to go, in case there are other ghosts there that need help ('can't imagine a worse place to be trapped for the rest of my afterlife' says Charles, who has been to literal hell. Edwin, who spent 70 years in literal hell, agrees)

So they go, with Niko and Crystal as moral/emotional support, except when they get there they realise they've fucked up and are there on the same day/night as the ghost hunters. They could come back some other time, but what if there really are ghosts here that are suffering? No one wants to take that chance, so Crystal uses her powers to convince them that she and Niko are there for work experience, or are friends of a friend, or are here to replace one of the tech guys who called in sick

Both Charles and Edwin are tense and uncomfortable returning to the place they died - Edwin had gone there after he escaped Hell because he didn't know where else to go, but they've built themselves a home now with the agency. This isn't like before, when it was the closest place to familiar he could find. Charles, meanwhile, feels colder and colder the longer they're there - his hair is wet, there are bruises flaring and spreading, and a faint rattle in his chest that would have become pneumonia if he'd lived long enough

But they need to be sure there aren't any other lost ghosts stuck here that need their help crossing over, so they keep going

(maybe, as a consequence of a door to hell being opened in the school, there are unusual happenings, maybe there's still a place where the line between earth and hell is very thin, maybe there's some fragment of a demon left behind, and they can do something about it)

Anyway, the most important thing is that Charles, either accidentally or in a fit of pique at the whole situation, knocks something over just as one of the paranormal investigators is asking for spirits to make their presence known. In fact, this happens repeatedly - the boys move things, change things around, their presence is detected somehow with the equipment. Crystal and Niko are doing their best to distract the team and ruin as much of the footage as possible, and at least once the boys do something on purpose, maybe because someone is being a creep to the girls (and yes, they both know that Crystal and Niko are more than capable of taking care of themselves, but this way scares the asshole more and is also funnier), and then also to fuck with their readings

Anyway, it's coming to the end of the night, the problem has been identified, and whaddaya knows, of course it's in the attic where they both died. This is fine, why wouldn't it be fine. They get started, draw some (invisible, ghostly) runes and start working their magic when, of course, the paranormal investigators turn up, because this is thought to be the most 'active' area of the school, and the body of a schoolboy was found here in the 80s

Yeah, they try to contact 'any of the boys who disappeared in 1916' and Charles. It would be fine if they weren't so irritatingly loud, Edwin's trying to concentrate, and Charles is now shivering and dripping wet, but they managed to ignore the team right up until they start speculating that Charles was killed by one of the angry spirits from 1916

At which point, Charles - half visible, clearly enraged, looking very much like the half-drowned and frozen kid he was, like a proper ghost - tells them to fuck off already before they get hurt, they don't understand anything, and how dare they give a shit now when it's too late

Which is, of course, the exact moment Edwin finishes the spell, and causes some sort of a magical rebound that fritzes the cameras for a second, throws furniture around, and knocks them all flying. When the cameras start up again, they catch Edwin kneeling by Charles, holding his hand, and softly telling him that it's ok, it's over, they can go now. Charles sniffs and smiles and knocks their foreheads together and says yeah, let's get out of here, and together they fade from view

The investigators think this means gay love can pierce the veil of death and save the day that now that the truth of their story is known the ghosts have moved on, and it's all thanks to them! How beautiful, how wonderful, how affirming! Perhaps one of the boys from 1916 tried to help Charles, and when that didn't work, they both stayed to try and protect other people from these violent spirits, and now their unfinished business is finished! It's so tragic and touching story

Charles and Edwin, who are putting their tools back in the backpack, roll their eyes and smile at each other

On the way out, Charles swipes the memory cards from the cameras, Edwin inscribes a couple of sneaky runes on various pieces of equipment to fuck with it, and Crystal uses her powers to make sure they all remember a couple of details differently, so later they won't be able to agree on a bunch of stuff

The episode they were trying to make can't be released, their social media posts about the experience are full of details that don't match up, and fans are bitterly disappointed

Crystal and Niko watch the footage Charles stole with Jenny and the Night Nurse back at the agency. Jenny turns it into a drinking game. Charles does a dramatic reading of the posts with added commentary while Edwin pretends he's not laughing. They buy t-shirts of the paranormal investigators and wear them ironically. They leave anonymous comments

Just. The dead boy detectives having to work around ghost hunters, in a world where ghosts definitely, tangibly exist

[asuyaka]

i keep like, struggling to click the 'ask' button, BUT—i love the taking care of geto little one shot. so what about helping him with nanako and mimiko? like he just shows up at r!'s house late as hell with two little girls with him, bc he has zero clue as to how to take care of them. m!reader is pref but idc. i love ur writing btw (＾▽＾)

★ - yesyesyesyes!! 'm soo inlove with the helpin' Suguru agenda !! ヾ(≧▽≦*)o

☆ - Girldad! Geto Suguru x Male Reader

♡ - off topic, but 'm love your writin' s'much!! really 'm inspiration t'keep writin stuff like this (≧◡≦) ♡

You were borderline asleep in your room after staying on the phone with Gojo for a few hours until he fell asleep.

It wasn't always like this, he could usually fall asleep on his own but that was when Geto was there with him. Now that's he's become a curse user and has turned his back on the Jujutsu world, everything has basically fallen apart.

Your sleepy eyes glance at the time, the saturated red of '12:42 AM' oozing into your pupils.

You try not to think about Geto so you can get some sleep for the first time in a few weeks. You two were... you're not really sure what your label is.

You two have talked, kissed, cuddled, and gone on dates, but Geto never actually put a label on your relationship and now he probably never will.

A sigh leaves your lips as you cuddle your pillow. Thinking of those big arms that used to wrap around you to keep you safe, or that warm chest that you couldn't help but use as pillows.

Needless to say, you missed him.

You weren't sure how long you stayed there almost on the verge of tears before there was a knock at your front door.

Yeah, you weren't going to open that because— A, you've seen enough horror flicks to know that there's a 99.9% chance that it's a serial killer behind the door, and B, it's 12 AM. You aren't stupid enough to open the door this late.

The knocking persisted. Getting heavier every second you didn't open it, and deciding you didn't want a noise complaint and realizing you were a sorcerer, you begrudgingly got up to open it.

You, surprisingly, were right. It was a serial killer.

Of all the people you thought it could be, you didn't think it would be Geto fucking Suguru outside your door.

"Geto? What are you—" You stopped yourself when you finally saw the two girls behind him.

His expression was something like fear and desperation as they clung onto his clothes, looking at you with weary eyes. "Please, [Name], I need help."

That took you for a spin. After the Star Plasma Vessel, you had to pry it out of him that he needed someone to take care of him, someone to help him, and now he's coming to you with two unknown children willingly asking for it?

Without a word you open your door wider, letting the three of them file in and take a seat on your couch.

You close the door, wiping the tiredness from your face and taking a deep sigh. Yeah, this was going to be a long night.

"What is it, Geto?" You ask, taking a seat on the opposing couch and staring at him. You hope your tone doesn't come up as too mean, you were just really— really tired.

The two girls never left his side. They have masks on, one of the girls with light brown hair, a white hoodie, and a black skirt was pressed on his left while the other with black hair, a black hoodie, and white skirt was pressed against his left, holding a small doll in her hands as well

"They're sick. I've tried everything, medicine, letting them rest, dilating their food but nothing's working." Geto's voice sounds helpless and it honestly scares you because this is the same Geto who went against the Sorcerer Killer.

The same Geto who killed a village, scared over the fact his two... daughters(?) were sick.

The thought brings a smile to your face as you squat in front of him, a soft expression on your face.

"What're your names, hm?"

The girls squeeze him tighter but you don't take offense to it. They're staring at a random man they've never seen before so they're obviously cautious.

"It's okay, he's my— my boyfriend, he's not going to hurt you." You notice the small pause in his voice but you won't speak on it. Not now at least.

The girls look at each other before looking at you. "Nanako." The blonde one says, her small finger pointing at the black-haired girl. "Mimiko. My sister."

You can see the adoring smile on Geto's face and you can't help the smile that tugs on your face. "Mind telling me how you guys feel? Any fevers?"

"My throat hurts and my nose is stuffy. My body feels hot sometimes too." Nanako says, interrupting herself with a cough. Geto shushes her softly, rubbing her back so she can get over her coughing fit with the comfort that her dad was beside her.

You get up, using the back of your hand to feel their foreheads. "Yeah, sounds like hay fever. You mind getting something to drink? Make sure it's hot, but not too hot to burn them."

Geto looks surprised. Maybe he didn't think you'd help him after the whole village incident— he's legally classified as a serial killer, and he's heard from word of mouth that he's a kill-on-sight curse user— but he gets up anyway. Nanako and Mimiko following behind like a pair of ducklings.

Rummaging through your medicine cabinet, you try and find fever and congestion medicine for kids. You have some, surprisingly, it's fresh and isn't expired somehow.

You don't even remember buying it— you don't require it as you didn't follow the 'strongest duo' pipeline of adopting children after the duo split up.

Walking back into the living room, you walk in on Geto blowing the steam off their cups, the recognizable scent of hot chocolate permeating the room.

"You didn't tell us you had a boyfriend, Geto-sama!" Nanako whisper yells, slightly wincing when she drinks her drink too early.

"He's pretty..." Mimiko's voice is so soft, it sends a pang of endearment through your heart. Is this what baby fever feels like?

You wait to hear what Geto says. It isn't eavesdropping if it's in your home, right?

"Yeah, sorry for not telling you it's just... complicated between us." Geto breathes out, kissing their heads as they continue to sip on their coacoa.

Complicated is one word for it, but you keep your thoughts to yourself. Announcing your arrival with an unnecessarily loud shutting of the cabinet.

"So how are you two doing? Feelin' any better?" You ask, placing the medicine on the table in front of them.

Nanako nods excitedly and Mimiko keeps it down. While waiting for them to finish, you decide to put on a movie. The Nightmare Before Christmas, a classic you, Gojo, Geto, and Shoko watched on Halloween when you were first-years.

You catch Geto's nervous glances at you but decide not to speak on it, again. It was adult business, and his kids were around.

The girls take their medicine, it's bitter, but you're sure it'll work. They persuade their dad to letting them sleep over after realizing you have a pillow fort in your room.

You don't really know why you never take it down. Maybe it's because you're too lazy, or you like being reminded of the first place you and Geto had your first kiss, but that's a whole can of emotions you're afraid of opening.

They fall asleep holding each other's pinky. Several of your stuffed animals surround them as their bodies move at the same time rhythmically. Maybe it was twin telepathy, who knows.

Now that it was only you and Geto alone, it was... awkward to say the least.

"I'm sorry for dropping in on you like that," Geto says too afraid to look you in the eye.

"Why didn't you take them to the hospital if you didn't know what was happening?" It's a genuine question, you're sure the doctors would've noticed it was a hay fever quicker than you did.

"I'm not letting those monkeys anywhere near my daughter."

Ah, you forgot he hates non-sorcerers.

You let out a breathy laugh, flopping on the cushion next to him. "I'm your boyfriend now, hm?"

Geto blushes at that. "We never technically broke up, so..."

You smile. Even after his mild— they're not mild, they're very serious— crimes, he's still the same Geto Suguru.

The same Geto Suguru you fell in love with.

"I missed you, you know?" Your voice is barely above a whisper, it's vulnerable.

"I missed you too." His hand is on your cheek and he presses a small kiss on your lips.

You've missed this, you've missed him. His hands, that boyish smile on his face the rare times you manage to get him flustered, his smooth saccharine like voice, everything about him.

As he holds his body against yours, hands intertwined and cursed energy mixing together, you realize you never want to let him go, you don't want this to end.

You want him to stay with you until the end of time.

[wantonlywindswept]

adopted baby Guard Din idea that I am never going to write

because it would involve logistics and quiet moments and idle life which I am very down for reading but cannot for the LIFE of me actually sit down and write

So the war ends, Palps is outed as a Sith and an asshole and dies somehow, and the Senate eventually decides that the clones do count as people and thus are allowed to leave the GAR if they want. Give the bureaucrats another few years and they might even give out backpay and citizenship, so long as you stay in the service--wait what do you mean the entire Guard is resigning. What do you mean they've already left orbit?? WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE ARE NOW MILLIONS OF FILES ON THE HOLONET ABOUT THE SENATE'S SHADY DEALINGS???

Guard, collectively: lol cya suckers

Fox is of course one of the last ones out, and since this was all planned on the down low, everyone's been split into groups so they can take commercial flights, since they're not about to be accused of stealing ships. (They also leave their weapons and their armor behind, in a giant macabre pile in the middle of Corrie HQ. Even their helmets, their faces, they discard: it's time for a rebirth.)

He and Thorn and a few other Corries have a stopover on some tiny station, waiting a week for a delayed transport to arrive, and in the meantime they're approached by some locals who just fled the planet below. Separatist remnants attacked their homes, forcing them to leave everything and everyone behind; can the big strong clones do anything about it?

The Big Strong Clones: Oh shit we finally get to kick some Seppie ass? Sign us the FUCK up.

The eager group does not include Fox, who could not care less about the Separatists and would very much like to finally catch up on his sleep. Unfortunately that means that the group that goes down to the planet is Unsupervised.

(Thorn does not count as supervision. Thorn, bereft of Senate oversight, has finally allowed his Inner Chaos Gremlin to fully emerge. Thorn needs more supervision than the shinies.)

Thorn, three days later, waking Fox from half-hearted sleep by dropping an entire natborn child on him: Hey boss, look what we found! None of the refugees claimed him, so we called dibs. Can we keep him? Fox, staring at the child: ...

Din, staring back: ...

Fox: ...no..?

Din: *sad but understanding big brown eyes*

Fox: Nevermind this is my child now.

Din has gone from two parents to one parent and hundreds of overprotective brothers.

Eventually his group makes it to their destination, Din in tow. I am uncertain of what the destination is but it is a planet that is as far away from Coruscant that the Corries could find. I am tempted for Tatooine not because I like Tatooine (I share Anakin's loathing of sand and deserts) but because Luke's description of Tatooine in ANH was 'if there's a bright center to the universe, this is the planet the furthest from'. 

Corries, hearing that: Fuck it sounds perfect. 

Anyway they make it to Tatooine, there is probably purchasing of some shitty land/buildings that nobody wants out in the wastes bc crime, scum, villainy, etc, but it's not like they have problems taking care of anything that tries to mess with them. 

Where did they get the funds?

Shh don't ask about it.

Stone takes up moisture farming. Thire takes up farming-farming. Thorn shoots gleefully at anything that shows up unannounced within a ten-mile radius. Literally everybody dotes on Din. There are a surprising amount of peaceful days.

Eventually some dumb shiny goes: Hey don't kids need friends? Shouldn't we set up some playdates for him or something?

The shiny is not called dumb for asking the question, but they are called dumb for thinking that the question would only ever be taken rhetorically. Fox disappears for two weeks and then comes back with a black eye and a yowling hissing Boba tucked under one arm, looking stupidly pleased with himself.

(Boba is also pleased to be back with people he knows will keep him safe. Boba will not admit to this under threat of death or dismemberment. Boba is a SERIOUS SCARY ADULT BOUNTY HUNTER.)

Boba also decides he will be Mortal Enemies with Din, which after about ten minutes of meeting him morphs into If Anyone Hurts Din I Will Kill Everyone In This Room And Then Myself because all clones be the same, really.

Din has gained another brother/bestie. (Or potential future boyfriend, whichever floats your boat.)

Somehow they still end up overthrowing the Hutts.

Officially the GAR knew and knows nothing about the Guard leaving Coruscant as soon as the metaphorical paint was dry on their sentient status.

Unofficially Fox's batch harangues him every single day for photos of his new kid(s). They eventually show up unannounced, demanding time with their nephew. (They are shot at by Thorn.)

Din gains five new uncles.

The batch proudly show pics and holos to their battalions. Din gains millions of new uncles.

Fox finally gets a full night's sleep.

[toaarcan]

I need the anti-voting crowd to understand that not voting isn't going to cause the Democrats to take a long, hard, look in the mirror and suddenly decide that they need to swing left to appeal to more leftists.

When these centre-left parties lose, they get more centrist. They try to broaden their appeal and make themselves as appealing to as many people as possible.

The example I'll point to is my local centre-left party, Labour, who are currently poised on the brink of one of the largest victories they've ever had. By the time you read this, it may have already happened, election day is today.

Labour have been drifting rightwards on several fronts for a while now. One of the biggest examples of this was the 1997 elections. After repeatedly failing to defeat Margaret Thatcher and then subsequently losing once to John Major, Tony Blair became the new leader of the party, and reinvented it as New Labour, adopting a much more neoliberal economic approach and promptly got a historic victory.

Now there are a lot of reasons why Blair won as hard as he did, and I don't have time to break them all down, but at the end of the day, their adoption of neoliberal economic policies worked out enormously for them. Not only did Blair romp to victory, he maintained most of his popularity afterwards, reigning for an entire decade before finally stepping down in 2007.

Labour is also a handy demonstrator of why they don't lean leftwards after a defeat, because they actually did try that and it failed spectacularly.

After Ed "Wrong Milliband, wrong Ed" Milliband's dismal performance in the 2015 election, Labour actually decided to try and lean leftwards again, and selected Jeremy Corbyn as their leader.

Unfortunately, Corbyn was useless. Many a Brit will accuse him of not even actually wanting to be Prime Minister, instead just wanting to sit opposite an actual PM and oppose them. They're probably right.

The 2017 snap election, called by Theresa May, should've been an open goal. May was embattled largely by her own party, many of whom were strongly opposed to her attempt at a moderate Brexit deal. She was an unelected PM, chosen by internal party mechanisms after David "Bae of Pigs" Cameron fucked off post-Brexit disaster. The massive, and ever-growing pro-EU voting block were entirely unrepresented. The Liberal Democrats, normally a bit of a thorn in Labour's side in terms of hoovering up more left-wing votes, were still trying to recover from the massive hit in popularity they took after the disasterous Tory-Lib Dem coalition. Blood in the water for any left-wing party worth its salt.

Yeah so Corbyn fucked it up and lost. While May only ended up weakening her position, losing 13 seats and dropping below a majority, the Tories still got their largest vote share since the 80s and held onto power for grim death.

Corbyn stuck around, still didn't get any better, and promptly lost the 2019 election in a landslide. To this guy.

People didn't vote for Corbyn. In the media, he was pilloried as a communist and an antisemite (and he did such a terrible job of fighting that second one that to this day I still have no idea whether it was true or just a smear campaign), and his determination to take the high road only made him look weak and avoidant to the public. His policies got little attention and his campaigning was likely deliberately weak, shooting for the role of opposition rather than government.

It also didn't help that the people for whom Labour wasn't Left Wing Enough still didn't turn out. They still voted Green or didn't vote at all.

To the party itself, though, the message was clear. They'd gone leftward, and it had backfired spectacularly.

Corbyn promptly fucked off at long last and was replaced by Starmer, who is, as expected, another milquetoast neoliberal in most regards. And now, with the polls open for the 2024 election, and Starmer projected to win by such a massive margin that the term "Supermajority" has been thrown around like it's an inevitability, Labour has been engaging in what's been called a "purge" of its leftmost members, with most of Corbyn's base, including Corbyn himself, being barred from running as Labour candidates and instead having to run as independents.

Now, that might horrify you as a leftist, but to them, it's a course-correction. Corbyn and co. represent an era of failure for the party, where a leftward lean cost them two elections.

To swing back around to American politics, if the Democrats lose because of voter apathy, they aren't going to take it as a sign that they need to appeal to the left. They're going to take it as a sign that their appeal wasn't broad enough and they need more outreach to right-wingers.

They already lost in part due to voter apathy in 2016, they didn't move left to compensate. They found the Most Neoliberal Average Establishment Guy they could, rallied behind him, and it partially paid off for them. They at least won.

You want a more leftist Democrat party? Not voting isn't going to get you that. In fact, it will most likely have the exact opposite effect.

[quacktities]

I feel like the appeal of C! Quackbur (to me at least) is just how versatile it is as a ship and the range it has.

You want a subtle rivals to lovers, mutual pinning and longing but one of them is repressing his own feelings because he hates himself too much to let someone get attached to him ship dynamic with a political backdrop? You want longing gazes, knowing looks and the unspoken truth that, maybe, just maybe this relationship and understanding between them goes deeper than either of them let on or want to admit? BOOM. Lmanburg election arc Quackbur!

You want all of that but with more tension, high stakes, mental illness, a very "forbidden romance" vibe with an enemies that have been in love with eachother for a long time but can now finally be on the same side and possibly act on their feelings dynamic (but theyre doomed by the narrative so it was never going to work out. Or maybe it will, who knows. Maybe this time they find solace in eachother. Maybe this time Quackity stops him before its too late. Maybe this time it doesnt end in flames. Who knows. Its up to you really, if you keep telling the story over and over again, maybe this time they get their happy ending here and it doesnt have to be a tragedy. Your choice really). Pogtopia era C! Quackbur!

You want fucked up grief and angst and reminiscing on the past and being haunted by what could have been? You want seeing the spectre of your dead friend (if he was truly your old enemy, why does he feel like a past lover to you) and wondering if maybe he remembers everything you both went through the same way you do and if maybe his heart aches when he sees you the same way yours aches when you see him but you know he isn't the same and you'll never see the old verison of him ever again... but hes here... as a ghost.. and that has to be worth something right. (Is it a miracle you can still see him or are you forever being tormented by what you can never have?). BOOM, Butcher arc C! Quackity and Ghostbur (or Aftermath C! Quackbur as I call them)

You want all of that, but hey. What if we brought back the guy. What if it didn't have to end in death? What if they could reunite and speak again after everything? Would they even get along? You want the culmination of years of pinning, grief, hurt, and mutual obsession? Do they truly love each other, or have they fallen in love with the idealised verisons of each other they have in their own heads? Maybe this time, they'll actually get their shit together and talk. There really isn't anything stopping them now, other than themselves and each other. Maybe C! Quackity finally finds someone who respects him, is dedicated to him, and can engage with him on the same intellectual level in C! Wilbur. Maybe C! Wilbur finally finds someone who makes him feel human and can challenge him and his more self-destructive behaviours while still loving him in C! Quackity. Maybe this time, they get to understand each other, and they get to heal. Maybe this time, it's not too late, and sure, they dont have the healthiest relationship, but they're working on it, and they're okay for once. Just this once. Maybe. Or maybe you don't want that. Maybe it is too late for them. Maybe they'll never have what they once had, and they're both left with bitter hatred and longing for the past that grows weaker by the day as the rose tinted filter starts to fade. Maybe they make each other worse. Maybe the closest they ever get to being close to each other is by hurting each other. Maybe the only times they hold hands are when they're catching each other's bloody fists. Maybe they're both too far gone now. Maybe they've hurt each other too much to ever be vulnerable with each other. Maybe it's just too late for them. Maybe it was never meant to be. You want a joker card ship dynamic that can either end in healing and a happy ending or in an even more fucked up tragedy? Or both! Why not. BOOM. Post revival C! Quackbur

[furiousgoldfish]

I wrote a very pained, depressive and dark post, even maybe too dark for this blog, but I ultimately decided to publish it, just because this pain has always been invisible in me, and I want to be able to say something. If you're going to read it, there's a lot of mention of death and contemplation of suicide in it, and a lot of painful emotion. Maybe someone will resonate with it and find words to describe their own pain. I also want to note that even though every word of it is true, I am most of the time completely dissociated from this, I'm not actively thinking it, and it came out now because my parents are actively trying to find me and disrupting the life I've tried to make for myself.

What my parents did to me is worse than death, they erased me. When I escaped I didn't know who I was, I had no hope to survive, I didn't think I was worth anything, I felt ashamed to even exist. I was suicidal, i thought I'd be dead within a month even if I don't do it myself. I didn't think I had it in me to survive, to be alive, to be anything. I was a less than a ghost, I didn't even have memories to remember of who I once was because there was no warm memories, only violence, blame, guilt, shame, pain, terror. I was supposed to be a person, and they put me in a state where I knew nothing about being a person, only property and a target, it was my entire life. I was told I deserved this, I was a monster, there was never anything else that is correct to do to me, but hurt me. I thought it was my job to be endlessly harmed. They knew I was suicidal and didn't stop. The only reason I didn't kill myself was the dissociative disorder that functioned like a suicide prevention measure, I physically could not have done it because I have been split into pieces and one of the pieces prevented me from doing it. I would have died otherwise.

What would a quick violent death be compared to this? A fucking blessing. I was slowly tortured until I was willing to kill myself in order to end it. They didn't want to dirty their hands with my murder, they planned on torturing me until I did it to myself. I had an intense drive to survive despite everything, and even that was getting erased. My basic instincts were being erased by the amount of pain I was in. My personality was gone, I didn't even have a personality, it was all overwhelmed by pain and desperation to both survive and end it all, I walked trough life looking death in the face the entire time, it felt so close, so close to me, like it would claim me any second, but I had to stay stoic, calm, me staring down death had to be invisible, I couldn't let it show. It shouldn't have mattered to anyone what I was experiencing. I was torn between life and death, stuck in constant anticipation of it and it couldn't have mattered.

Take a person, any person, imagine them having a life, family, friends, interests, hobbies, desires, dreams, loved ones, support, community. Now imagine that same person isolated, everything stripped away from them, and them being hurt until they can no longer remember anything they wanted to live for. Even their basic instinct to survive is stripped frm them as pain is too large for them to be able to sustain themselves, there's no longer anything in this person's life worth living for, nothing they remember about who they were, no warm thought they can think about themselves, and they're repeatedly told they deserve this, they've wanted this. Until there's nothing of them left.

That was me, but from the start. I didn't get to experience having a life, family, loved ones, interests, dreams, community, or any of that first, I didn't get to know how it was to have any of that! From the very start it was pain and being told that this is all there is, and that I'm stupid for ever thinking there would be anything more to life, that it is in fact, only terror and death and I'm a weakling for not taking it better, everyone else is dealing with this just fine. Shame and guilt were the only traits I could have, I didn't know anything further about me. Nobody knew me because nobody saw me being abused. Nobody could know I was worthless, it had to be my private hell. I would have to live only to the point where it was decided that it was enough and I had to die, or until the point where I couldn't take it anymore and take my own life, even though I so strongly didn't want to, even that basic desire was tempered with and overwritten by pain.

Who would want a life like that? Life of not only being aware that nobody cares about you, but everyone around you is willing to inflict pain on you until you wish to die, but can't. Where crying and screaming is forbidden even when you can't breathe from the amount of pain you're in; you're not even allowed to cry out. You fight with yourself every day on how badly you want to die and why you can't, and it doesn't help, you get lost in magical thinking in order to escape from the hell you're in, but you're brutally reminded of it every time you interact with anyone, when they find you hiding under the bed and dreaming. You don't even know that you're supposed to have loved ones, be safe, be unharmed, that life is supposed to be different, that you're not alive only to be a target, that you're worth anything. You don't even know that you're supposed to have more freedom in life than to choose the manner and time of your death, this is all that's dealt to you. And now, live, see how far you can get before you die. Would anyone choose that? Would anyone decide to be born into a life like that? Wouldn't you choose not to exist at all rather than be put trough that? To be erased and then having to keep on living while thinking you in fact, deserve death, and should do it yourself, and you know if you do die, it won't matter, just like your life didn't? Because people around you regularly nearly kill you and then laugh about it like it was a funny joke? They humiliate you for how ugly you look close to death? You're scared that your last moment will be humiliation for how unseemly your corpse looks and you're hoping you'd be able to die alone, to not be berated as you're dying.

Death is nothing to me compared to this. Waiting to die is worse than death. Endless anticipation of pain is worse than death. Having everything about you erased by pain is worse. Not knowing anything about yourself except that you are incredibly shameful existence and that you need to feel guilty all of the time, is worse. Watching people around you receive care and warmth while you're stuck watching death in the face silently, pretending it's not happening, and trying to not have anyone's attention on yourself because someone noticing means more pain, more shame and guilt. It's worse. Kill me any fucking day. But this will always be worse. Every time I face the reality of my life I wish I had died in the womb, at childbirth, I wish I had died when I was 1, 2, 3, 5, 10, 12, any time before I experienced all this. It would have been so much less pain. It would have been so much easier on me.

And I've already given up on ever having a place in anyone's heart, because at this point, I don't have it in me to make people love me. I have nothing about me that is other people find worth caring for, I made peace with it. There will be no loved ones, and thats fine. But at least then I should get to live my life alone the way I want it. I should find joy in being who I found I am, and doing what I want to do. I should get to do things that give me a little bit of pleasure and enjoyment, and I should be safe, and death should no longer come knocking at my door, staring me down like I owe it something. If I can't even have that, then to hell with everything. What is the fucking point of anything if all my life is a continued slow torture until I can no longer bear it. I have nobody to bear it for, nobody would be harmed by my death. But I also don't deserve to die, because I want to live, and this should be mine. Who the fuck dares to try and take this away from me again. I want to fucking explode. If I have to make my own justice then how do I do it. I literally just want to live. And I see other people having at least that much secured for them. Why can't I at least have that much. I am seriously asking for the bare fucking minimum.

[siffrinsfrozendreams]

This is my second time trying to make this post. it will probably be as much of a mess as the first draft but oh well.

Rant? Appreciation post? Character analysis? yeah idk what this is but spoilers for Act 5 and Twohats/secret ending ahead

Act 5 Siffrin lives in my head rent free. His break was SO good, and this post is me going off about them. Specifically, this post was brought on by how Siffrin tried to destroy the world, rather than themself.

It is very interesting to me how Siffrin bends and breaks reality and the world in this final loop.

How Loop, in their giving up, took it out on themself, but Siffrin takes it out on the world.

His last loop, their last attempt at breaking out of this eternal hell, because he can't do it again. They're hopeless. They're grasping at any sliver of hope they can, but at this point he can't deny how stupid it is. How pointless this is. How all this effort will likely amount to nothing, and that he's trapped here forever. That nothing will break them out of this.

"I know its stupid, I know its a long shot, but it has to be this!"

This quote from Siff's argument with Loop towards the beginning of Act 5 always stuck with me. Siffrin, this whole time, has always told himself that things are fine. As long as they have a path to follow, they'll be fine. Slowly, we see them struggle with keeping this up, but he always comes back to it.

Not this time.

This time, its all too much. He knows his plan is stupid. They know this won't work. Why would it? But also... what else can he do? What other choices does he have? Being honest with themselves and admitting that this won't work is the same as admitting that he's trapped here forever. That reality is seeping in, but he's still struggling for whatever shreds of hope they can manage. Whatever flicker of light they can see, they'll take it, even if they know the light will go out as soon as he does. Even if he knows it will amount to nothing. He has to.

Then he realizes that Loop knew there was no escape.

Siffrin can't take it. He can't take it, because it means Loop knew this whole time that Siffrin was stuck here forever, that they knew there was no way out of this, and that they were just stinging Siffrin along this entire time.

Siffrin's guide, his helper, the only person/being who knew about the loops, the only reason Siffrin wasn't completely alone this entire time... lied to him. Strung them along. Gave them false hope that they could see a new tomorrow. And it fucking breaks him.

Already grasping for whatever shreds of hope they can, now forced to face the reality that he'll be stuck here forever. Loop lied to him. They can't trust them. So he leaves, and never contacts them again.

Then they return to the Clocktower, only to hear his family talking about him. To hear Odile say that they can't trust him, and none of the others disagree with her.

Siffrin. Is. Alone.

(Which, funnily enough, is the exact opposite of what they wished for.)

The only person who knew about the loops, Siffrin's guide, is a liar and untrustworthy. Siffrin's family doesn't trust them anymore, and are planning to leave him behind.

Siffrin is tired. They're also out of options. So, what else are they supposed to do, aside from the only thing they can at this point? The only thing they've ever known...

They enter the House.

He has to take down the King himself.

His last shred of hope. The last flicker of light before they're plunged into an abyss of despair. Their final attempt at ending this loop, no matter the cost.

Alone.

What else is he supposed to do, who else are they supposed to lash out at, aside from the world itself?

There is nothing left for them here. No one to go back to. Their family hates him, and Loop is untrustworthy. They can't even remember his own blinding country, can't read or speak the language, and can't remember anything about it. Everything he could be holding onto is gone now.

So, he takes his anger and despair out on the world itself. On the House, his eternal prison. On the sky, with stars they don't recognize. On a world, that will forget him and abandon him just like everything else has.

Because, either he breaks out of the loop this time, or there won't be a world to come back to to loop again. Because they can't do it again. Not anymore. They've had enough. What's the point of going on any further? Whats the point of trying to open a door that doesn't even exist?

Its either this, or nothing.

Loop had no one from the very beginning. They were alone for it all. When they gave up, they took it out on themselves. Who else was to blame for their suffering, after all?

Siffrin, however, had Loop. They weren't alone for any of it. As hopeless as they felt, Loop was there to help him. That is, until now, and Siffrin can't handle it. Can't handle the only person whose been supporting him through this knowing that he was trapped here forever from the start.

Of course he'd take out his anger on a Universe that betrayed him. What else would they do?

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Scout's Honor

Day #1 - Prompt: Firsts | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: E | CW: Sex Acts, Language | POV: Goodie (Freak) | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Newly Gotten Together Steddie, Semi-Public Sexual Acts, Touch Me While Your Bros Play Grand Theft Auto Super Nintendo, The Boys of Corroded Coffin Are Tired of Eddie's Horny Bullshit

This has a sister fic, Full Throttle, from Steve's POV. Either can be read standalone.

"It's my turn!" Gareth shouts, grabbing at the controller, and Goodie holds it up, as far as the cord will stretch, trying to keep it out of his grubby little hands. Laughing as he pushes and fights to get a hold of it.

It is his turn, but Goodie isn't about to cave to the little shit's demands that easily.

"Guys," Jeff warns, then adds, "just take mine," offering up his controller up to Gareth.

"But I want to be player one!" Gareth snaps, and Goodie just laughs. No fucking way. 

"Winner gets to be player one, and that's me," Goodie tells him, and Gareth whines about it, but he does take the second controller from Jeff's hands. 

Their first decent check came last week, and after divvying up and paying out all their debts, they had just enough left over to buy the brand new Super Nintendo. There was one left in the store, and if they pooled their money together, they could actually afford it.

So. The check is gone, long gone, they spent every damn dime, but it was fucking worth it, as they crowd around the TV in the cheap apartment they're all crammed into, playing Super Mario World. They've been taking turns, the four of them. Well, three now that Steve Harrington has shown up. Goodie thought it'd mean they had to give him a turn too, but instead Eddie gave up on playing with them, and is on the other couch, Steve all over Eddie, taking up all his attention.

Just because Eddie was the first of them to get into a relationship, doesn't mean the band should have to be subjected to this all the time. But they are, because Eddie and Steve are horny motherfuckers, the both of them.

It wasn't so bad before they all lived together, but now, torture. Pure and utter torture.

They've been trying to do the long-distance thing, and Goodie was sure it would fizzle. After the shine wore off fucking King Steve. Like, he gets it. High school Eddie could never, would never, and now he's reliving his adolescence, chasing after Steve Harrington like a little lap dog. Panting, and humping his goddamn leg.

It's so high school, it makes Goodie sick. 

Unfortunately, this has gone on long enough that now Goodie's sure they're about to be saddled with Harrington full-time. 

Goodie looks over, and no fucking way. Not on his couch. Their shared couch. Community property.

Steve's trying to look normal, but he's red-faced, eyes squeezed shut, his gym shorts pulled down in the back, Eddie's fingers disappearing down into them, into Steve, Goodie's pretty fucking sure. He doesn't know where else they could be. Especially not with the face Steve's making.

Goodie nudges Gareth, just to make sure he's not seeing things. Misconstruing. Maybe he just has a dirty mind, and is still traumatized from the blowjob incident last week.

And the tongue in the asshole fiasco from the week before that.

"Jesus Fucking Christ, not again," Gareth says under his breath, so no, no he's not imagining it. Eddie's got three fingers shoved up Steve's asshole right where they can all see. 

"Eddie!" Goodie yells, and Steve is the one that jumps, Eddie just fucking laughs, but he doesn't pull his hand out of Steve shorts, until Steve crawls off his lap, ears tinged red, heading straight for the bathroom.

"Seriously? With us in the room?" Goodie asks, as soon as Steve's gone, behind the closed door.

"I wasn't doing anything," Eddie bemoans, but he has a shit eating grin, as he puts up three fingers, in a mock salute, "Scout's honor."

And his fingers are fucking shiny, with what must be lube. 

Because they've been up Steve's ass. 

Goodie shakes his head, trying not to give Eddie the attention he's clearly craving. He's a pervert, and Goodie's not playing into his exhibionist streak. 

Steve finally resurfaces from the bathroom, and Eddie stands.

"Time for bed," Eddie says, and then they're gone, the door to Eddie and Gareth's bedroom shutting with a heavy snick.

Gareth looks over at Goodie, and gives him a withering stare, "Thanks. Now my room's gonna smell like spunk. Again."

Goodie just cackles. Sucker.

Steve's moaning, Eddie's grunting, headboard hitting the wall, and honestly, Goodie thinks maybe he should have just kept his goddamn mouth shut. This is worse.

"How're they still like this, it's been years," Goodie says, not really asking a question. 

"Years?" Jeff asks, "The dancing around each other, maybe, but the fucking? That's brand new."

"You're shitting me?" Goodie asks, in disbelief. There's no fucking way. "Gareth?"

Gareth will know.

"A couple months?" Gareth offers, and Goodie cannot believe that's true. Eddie's been lusting for, talking about, obsessing over Steve Harrington ever since that weird spring break that sent Eddie to the hospital for weeks, with Steve a constant at his side. Steve had taken up permanent residency, like he was Wayne Newton in Vegas. 

Eddie wrapped up in soft sweaters that definitely weren't his own. 

They were together. Right? Definitely. These two just weren't observant.

Eddie punctuates his thought with a long, disgusting groan, that can only mean he's just come. 

"We gotta make some changes," Goodie says, "we can't live like this."

"We're barely here, Goods, let him have this," Jeff says, the peacemaker, the voice of reason. The herder of cats. 

"No," Goodie argues, just to argue. 

"Yes," Jeff counters, "if you don't, I bet Steve's cozy little house on Wabash is gonna look pretty damn good."

"Eddie wouldn't dare," Goodie snaps, and then he hears Eddie and Steve both giggling, and well, Eddie might.

Goddammit. 

"Fine, we'll be assaulted by the sights and sounds, but I won't be happy."

"None of us are," Gareth says in solidarity, agreeing with Goodie, for once. Hell has officially frozen over.

Eddie comes out, holding a towel over his junk, bare ass in the wind, grinning like an asshole as he heads towards the bathroom.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Notes: This is inspired by Taylor's Swift song So High School. Steve knows how to ball, Eddie knows Aristotle. I don't make the rules.

Read Steve's POV on this situation right here in, Full Throttle.

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

I can see cowboy having some tension within the team when he feels like his theories are going unheard and his opinion unvalued when they're all throwing ideas around. I feel like he'd gradually start stress eatin' more and more sunflower seeds until he runs out and just leaps up in the middle of spencer's long-winded argument after cowboy's suggestion has gone unheard by the team for the third time in five minutes he practically runs for the door because his allergies are about to hit fever pitch or he's gunna go smash some government issued coffee mugs.

This is right when you join the BAU, before everything.

Warnings: bad government knowledge on Atlas' part, I did try to google it but idk guys, trying my best here. Oh, also, stress eating.

Taglist: @xweirdo101x @xdark-acadamiax @ara-a-bird @heidss @chubbyboyinflannel @pendragon-writes @migwayne @bigolgay @technikerin23 @supercriminalbean @honestlycasualarcade @caffeine-mess @1s3v3n1 @oddmiles @kevyeen @stealing-kneecaps @criminalskies @woodandwaxwings @anonstories08

"Perhaps the unsub's a teenager," Spencer theorises and you want to slam your head against the desk. Because that's what you've been trying to put forth for the last ten minutes - ignored each time.

Instead, you say nothing, just continuing to shovel the sunflower seeds into your mouth before you say something you'll regret. "We should have seen that sooner..." Hotch mutters.

'I did.' You think bitterly, letting a handful of sunflower seeds fall into your mouth.

"But why is he targetting these men?" Garcia asked. Whoever the unsub was, he was going round shooting men - never life-threatening, but clearly out for revenge of some sort.

"Maybe someone like them scorned him in his past," You say, Prentiss talking over you before you can get your third word out. You were gonna need some more sunflower seeds real soon if this kept going. How many sunflower seeds were healthy to consume in a day?

You close your eyes for a moment before trying yet again to reiterate your point. This time, though, Reid cuts you off with a long list of statistics about female offenders.

"I think someone in his past hurt him and these guys remind him of them." Morgan says and you realise you're out of sunflower seeds. You shoot up, knowing that you didn't have many options right now (what with your anger): 1, scream at them (not literally but close enough), 2, throw the closest mug at the wall (but these were government-issued mugs so that probably wasn't the best idea), or 3, get some more sunflower seeds to munch on whilst you try not to regret your entire life decisions.

You don't know if they've even realised you've left the room and you can't be fucked to check. Instead, you head on over to your bag, pulling out a fresh pack of sunflower seeds and open it before making your way back to the room.

"Everything okay?" Hotch asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes sir," You answer, "Ran out of sunflower seeds. Figured no one would notice if I left anyway,"

"I know you were part of hostage negotiation previously, but we work as a team here."

You look at him for a moment, debating saying something. On calling his bullshit because clearly you only worked part of a team here if they had accepted you as a part of their 'group' - which you clearly weren't in yet. You settle for a simple, one worded answer.

"Interestin'." You say before resuming the eating of your sunflower seeds.

"Excuse me?" Hotch asked, clenching his jaw in frustration.

"Surprised you heard me, Sir," You said, "That's all,"

"Is there a problem here?"

"You tell me," You answer, "You're the boss."

"We'll talk about this later. We have more important things to be concerned about right now."

You tilted your head ever so slightly in a small nod of acknowledgement before turning back to the bag of sunflower seeds in your hands as you listened to the team - seeing no point in joining in at this point.