#cause ive played all the others and none of them hit nearly this hard

[quil12]

I just finished P2EP for the first time and... ahhhhhh

[heathridgemanor]

hello ive posted another fic its second person prison fic set during the episode Hell’s Kitchen heres the link

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28686504

please read the notes at the start and if any content within the fic are going to effect you in any way please don’t read it

if you would like to read it here instead, it will be below the cut :)

Not cozy at all (hard to live) || spencer reid || 1234 words

tw: suicidal thoughts, blood.

Sickening yellow that makes you wish they were just the same concrete grey that surrounds you. The bars. You tried to explain this to Emily; she didn’t understand. She never does anymore. The bars, the table, the wooden plank disguised as a soft wall between them in visiting hours; it’s chipped away at her ability to understand you.

Just like it’s chipped away at your sense of self.

Reading to just for contentment, chess is a game of strategic violence to show anyone clever enough that you are just as ruthless as them. Journaling doesn’t help but your head hurts too much to keep everything inside.

You talk to Rossi about trust, about change, about-

Lockdown. This is your chance. You look back at Rossi.

You dig through concern and sadness and are thankful for the lack of pity until you find it. Love. Love for you as if you are his own. You let it burn into your mind because you are never going to see it again.

Not if you can’t figure out another way.

You’re back behind the pealing bars and they somehow look more attractive now that you know what is going to happen the next time you leave them behind for the laundry. Your cell block isn’t on lockdown, you will still be required to perform your duties and you wish your duties were profiling as it once was.

You can’t even try to profile the countless white shirts you fold beyond stripping away individuality as the prison system intended. It’s even before your anger overtakes you that you know you are too far gone.

Luis spent his final moments choking on his own blood, fear flooding his eyes as he was forced to stare up at the reason he was killed. You shouldn’t envy him.

But you do, because he is free from this hell.

That’s how you know you are too far gone. 

That’s why you give up trying to come up with another way.

“There’s only so far I can go.” Shaw said.

“So can I,” you replied, and you’re talking about how you can’t go and fight them with a shiv that was once a toothbrush, but you can prove everyone who told you that you wasted your chemistry PhD wrong.

You can’t think, your mind is blank when you need it most. Sickening yellow bleeds into your mind, pooling into an ocean deeper than any on Earth, and your thoughts become chained and anchored to the bottom.

Pull. Pull. You can’t. You can’t hold your thoughts up the way Atlas held the heavens.

You aren’t Atlas.

He endured his punishment, you are going to kill yours.

Revenge, protection; the motive doesn’t matter. If your heart wasn’t slowly dying it would hurt with the knowledge that your friends would still believe you were a good person. That you were doing what you had to.

You don’t have to do anything. You can just die instead.

Baking soda. Bleach. Bars. Your three new best friends cheer you on as you look over your shoulder. For the first time, you are glad Gideon and Hotch and Morgan left, because they are the three people who were the polar opposites of your new friends.

You never want them to know you let your fear and anger cloud your judgement.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

You can almost imagine it’s raining.

They killed Luis. 

Brush. Brush. Brush. 

Snow off a road, it’s colder now.

They deserve it.

You put the snow back where you found it and as you deliver it to the men God sent to test you, you wonder if it He will send them after you, or if you are not even worth that much trouble. You are quiet when you return to your cell, and you can barely hear Shaw asking What the hell did you do?

He’ll find out soon enough, when the rusting yellow bars and the concrete grey cell is decorated with red and your broken body becomes a centerpiece. You ought to let that happen.

It doesn’t.

Instead you can’t decide if you are being faced with a wrathful God or a godless existence as you find Malcolm on the floor, choking on his own blood. So much like Luis. The only difference being the method.

You still killed them both by proxy. You are no better than the man who put you here. Maybe he was right to.

The guards shove you behind the chipping steel and you think the yellow has never looked as dull as it does now. After days, weeks, months, it doesn’t matter, of being trapped by those bars, they have never looked so dull.

“Bad batch,” you hear the warden answer your question and you would have laughed at the understatement if two-

Three-

Four-

Shaw wasn’t coughing up blood, decorating his cell with half the paint that should be on your own. Maybe between them they will cough up enough blood for you to do as you should without harm to yourself.

You don’t know what makes you feel worse: that, or the fact you only feel bad that none of the people who were poisoned were your two targets.

Targets.

You had targets. 

You hope Gideon was right when he said This will hit you, because maybe the guilt will give you absolution. Fingers softly grip at your face; they almost don’t feel like your own and for a moment you can’t remember how you got here.

The only reason you don’t start trying to wake yourself up is because you know you aren’t lucky enough for this to be a dream.

You let the bars embrace you. You let the baking soda and bleach congratulate you. You don’t fight, you stay quiet, you keep your head down. You don’t want to; you want to scream and shout and start a fight but you don’t because you let your anger out once already and-

The fallout.

You wonder what you did to Mr Scratch for this to be his way of playing with you, and the only possibility you can think of is that he forced Hotch to choose, and he chose you.

Just as you chose him.

Just as you chose to give in.

It does hit you in the end, even if they didn’t die. Every time you pass the infirmary you feel a stab in the fractured remains of your soul. The fog of fear and anger clears up and you do feel bad about hurting those men, but not as much as you should.

Maybe you always knew this was how it was going to be. After all, you did tell Rossi There’s a helplessness in here that causes people to do things they would never consider and helplessness was really the only way you could describe how you felt.

How you feel.

Maybe you didn’t mean to hurt Shaw and Malcom and the others, but you did.

You did.

That’s what matters in the end, even if your family won’t see it because they are blinded with love the same way as you were with anger and fear.

Night falls, lights out, and your last thought before the sickening yellow consumes you in a way it shouldn’t in the dark is of an old friend who killed a man.

You wonder what Elle Greenaway would think of you nearly killing seven.

[punkscowardschampions]

Joe & Ronnie

Joe: [Enough time later that you might think you’ll not hear from him again, realistically like a day or two but given what you did it’d seem like longer/regret and dip ‘cos ya should but we know that ain’t it]

Joe: you spent Charlie’s modelling money yet

Ronnie: long gone baby like you

Ronnie: if you were after a cut shouldve taken it sooner

Joe: nah, it’s yours

Joe: his but sounds like he enjoyed himself, by her account

Joe: no need to ask what you spent it on

Ronnie: but you wanna hear my account yeah

Ronnie: thats what this is

Joe: do you think that’s what this is

Ronnie: youre not taking up space in my head mckenna

Joe: and not in your diary, as you pointed out up top

Joe: busy busy yeah

Ronnie: i werent asked to audition to be a doss student cunt 💔

Ronnie: & the one he brought back didnt fancy me enough to ask me to join in either

Ronnie: busy getting out their way

Joe: leave it a couple years you’ll be a mature student and they ask less questions

Joe: how rude

Joe: after you told him about your massive cock and everything? 💔

Ronnie: go ed and dig me up when youve graduated then

Ronnie: 3s a crowd when 2 of em are scousers & the others from fuck knows where didnt have you to translate or the horse for scale

Joe: after an invite? Sure thing, sis

Joe: not Kent then, gutted

Ronnie: less questions you said put your ? away gobshite

Ronnie: not england but i aint a skinhead who cares so hes as alive as dorothy ever leaves em

Joe: people love that though

Joe: black EDL members and asian conservatives, such a laugh for ‘em

Ronnie: too late to go back and put the boot in now he ll have been shown the door & it wasnt me getting a name or number

Joe: his loss all ‘round then, I get it

Ronnie: yeah

Joe: alright, so I need linking

Ronnie: you got cash or you selling yourself

Joe: I’ve got cash, just not the contact

Ronnie: hand it over ill pick up for you

Joe: you think i’m that green

Ronnie: what colour do you reckon you are

Joe: you’ve got no prejudice, apparently, so what’s it matter

Joe: [picture of some of the multi-coloured bruises you acquired]

Ronnie: he was a pussy & you want me to connect you to people who aint

Ronnie: youre an easy target

Joe: you wanna pocket my money yourself instead, I get it

Joe: you can have a % of the shit, alright

Joe: not asking you to do it for nothing

Ronnie: thats all theyd do when you show up with your baby face and habit

Ronnie: ill take your money & still have it pocketed cos i dont need student loans to score no shit are you asking me to do it for nothing

Joe: what you gonna give me to keep hold of ‘til you give me mine

Ronnie: add an arm to your collection what do i care

Joe: yeah, what do ya

Ronnie: you want a easy pick up get a schoolboy plug i dont know any

Ronnie: i care about money youre ready to waste

Joe: that’s part of the appeal

Joe: why get it in a safe, nearly legitimate way

Joe: half the fun, eh, alright, alright

Joe: do it then, I don’t know no fucker else I can ask yet, I’ve gambled on worse

Ronnie: i just wanna get it thats the fun

Ronnie: get into a fight with whoever the fuck you like whenever for a pissing contest

Joe: you wanna start one ‘fore I’ve given you the cash and you’ve given me mine?

Joe: that’s blatant bullshit

Ronnie: you wish

Ronnie: save your childish excitement for the phone call home like

Joe: nah, you’re full of shit that it’s not just as much about the company and authentic experience

Joe: there’s plenty dealers that are nowt but businessmen

Joe: nothing but a transaction and they’ll sell to a junkie and city banker as one in the same

Joe: don’t act like you don’t have a deathwish or what was the point of taking me there and showing me

Ronnie: where the fuck am i meeting buisinessmen or getting the cash to pay em

Ronnie: dont be fucking rem

Joe: everyone’s stupid enough to wanna get their dick sucked over cold hard cash every other deal, no matter how presentable or legit they play

Ronnie: ive got the links ive got

Joe: fine

Joe: where you wanna do this then

Ronnie: whats your problem

Ronnie: [but a location anyway]

Joe: what’s mine

Joe: thought we’d covered that in length or are you less convinced now

Ronnie: convinced youve got fuck all to cry about

Joe: obviously

Joe: definitely bother with you if that were true

Ronnie: you wanted a big sister im doing all the hand holding

Joe: I never did and I still don’t

Joe: but you carrying on with the pretence if it makes you feel better

Ronnie: i didnt come to you or ask for fuck all to make me better

Joe: yeah you’re blameless

Joe: all in my fucked up head and not yours

Joe: what’s it like being an 👼🏼

Ronnie: i already told you you aint in my head & you werent in my veins for long enough to get fucking soft about it

Joe: i’ll be there in [however long that’d take you]

Ronnie: boss

Joe: you sound like them, you know

Ronnie: i dunno who the fuck youre talking about

Joe: the rest of the fam, of course

Joe: glad to see that the level of chatting bollocks to make yourself feel better is genetic, s’not depressing at all

Ronnie: that still dont clear fuck all up for me except that youre a bigger cunt than i thought

Joe: you don’t think about me

Joe: and none of that shit happened, your memory loss and confusion extends to that, don’t worry

Ronnie: you like me but you still compare me to em every chance you get

Ronnie: fuck you

Joe: yeah, fuck me

Joe: like you haven’t just

Joe: forget it, actually forget it

Ronnie: youre as full of shit as you reckon I am

Ronnie: forget that its been ages & youre speaking up now cause you want something

Joe: i haven’t been able to flick my brain onto anything else, never mind shut it down, I haven’t slept or eat or done anything to take me away from it, you

Joe: and it meant nothing to you

Joe: fuck you

Ronnie: gear not me

Ronnie: theres the authentic experience you were going on about

Joe: no

Ronnie: yeah

Joe: this is what I mean

Joe: you know as well as I do what it was

Joe: why are you fucking lying and saying I am

Ronnie: im a junkie all i do is lie & nothing else means anything to me

Ronnie: youre worse than green if you dont fucking know that

Joe: you’re lying that it meant nothing

Joe: not lying that it did

Joe: even if it made you fucking sick, that isn’t nothing and I don’t believe you

Ronnie: dont believe me i dont care who the fuck are you

Joe: your brother

Ronnie: youre nothing

Joe: yeah right

Ronnie: the dealer means more

Joe: already pointed out you’re that much of a cliche

Ronnie: what we can’t both be a cliche take it then

Joe: never heard that one

Ronnie: nows your chance to make a final comparison between me & whatever family member you hate or are turned on by the most

Joe: final chance, alright then, sound even more stupid

Ronnie: sound like more of a pussy that youre kicking off over this but not gonna fuck off

Joe: why would I?

Joe: i’m not pretending that it weren’t a thing

Ronnie: nah youre pretending it was

Ronnie: whoever the fuck ever told you youre special is the liar here like

Joe: your mate don’t count, you ain’t done that before either so fuck off with your jaded routine

Ronnie: hes my brother when & where it counts

Joe: there’s no blood and no reason not to go there, that’s where it counts

Ronnie: if i wanted to fuck you too your ma wouldnt stop me she means even less than you

Joe: yeah

Joe: you and your life aren’t totally fucked because of how much you care

Ronnie: you dont know shit about me or my life

Joe: you wish

Ronnie: you dont

Joe: or do you, actually

Joe: you shove it in everyone’s face, what do you reckon everyone thinks

Ronnie: youve seen a few scars & now youve seen into my soul yeah

Ronnie: shut the fuck up for all you know i lived a couple of doors down from you for your whole bullshit childhood

Joe: you look like that and reckon it doesn’t scream mommy issues? Fuck off, you aren’t that dumb

Ronnie: fuck you

Ronnie: everything you do is pure about her

Joe: not everything but I can admit she contributed

Ronnie: shes the 1st bitch to fuck me over but not the only is the difference between us

Ronnie: that unwanted bullshit was a pattern

Joe: you don’t know me either

Ronnie: i know you had a set of parents who kept hold of you however fucking west you were

Ronnie: no cunt was calling you racist shit or trying to touch you up

Joe: you’ve got a monopoly on fucked then, got it

Ronnie: like fuck have i but mine dont start & stop at mommy dearest how you think

Joe: of course it doesn’t

Joe: neither does mine

Ronnie: stop acting like youre an expert on how and why my head is wrecked and i wont have to kick yours in

Joe: you started it

Joe: but that’s good with me

Ronnie: get over yourself mckenna

Ronnie: you like what i start

Joe: i prefer the other night

Ronnie: yeah i like when youre getting punched in the face too

Joe: you can do the honours in a bit

Joe: fuck healing, yeah

Ronnie: what did your girlfriend say

Joe: oh, I got mugged and her dad’s gonna get her some pepper spray and a rape alarm 👍

Ronnie: hot

Ronnie: but she ll have dreamt you fell off the horse only got the single fantasy in her

Joe: that her dad’s so responsible and caring? would be her #2 if she had the range

Ronnie: if hes delivering that shit in person let me know so i can start something with him

Joe: oh god

Joe: that reminds me

Joe: She wants to invite Charlie over for like, a dinner party or something

Ronnie: if her daddy is there hes gonna need that rape alarm back off her to fend off mary

Joe: 😂

Joe: idk if she’s that oblivious and now wants Charlie to fuck her, or she thinks he’s my only mate 🙄

Ronnie: shes over you baby i scared her off

Joe: or she thought you was gonna ask for a line 😏

Joe: if that’s true I’ll owe you, again

Ronnie: ket hook up

Joe: you think she’ll let her love be in pain on your behalf?

Joe: not likely

Ronnie: not gonna ask politely

Joe: hot

Joe: I was gonna hit you up sooner

Joe: I tried to find you after

Ronnie: you didnt try hard

Joe: I only had one eye, by that point

Ronnie: im an attention whore with screaming mommy issues cant make it no easier to spot me in a crowd

Joe: in that crowd?

Joe: or will you be pissy if I call you dime a dozen

Ronnie: still got the accent as my own personal rape alarm

Joe: where’d you go then

Ronnie: youre a tourist theres no point telling you

Joe: if you left with that lad, no need to go over the details, got the picture

Ronnie: why the fuck would i leave with him

Joe: you mean you weren’t in his pants for his benefit

Joe: careful, getting bit close to honesty

Ronnie: i mean to go where i dont need a horse or an en suite

Ronnie: youre a hopeless romantic like

Joe: that’s a new complaint, I’ll tell my exes

Joe: deffo their fault after-all, buzzing

Ronnie: how many are there

Joe: get less slut-shaming off Soph, cheek

Joe: I dunno, I had to keep it moving because of all the secret mommy issues, you know

Joe: I’ll do a tally

Ronnie: its not already carved into your arm no wonder theyre pissy at you

Joe: if that worked for any of ‘em they could come back from the ex thing

Joe: 💔

Ronnie: try her initials whatever the fuck they are in between dinner party courses and win her back

Joe: you should come

Ronnie: id be made up if she pepper sprays me

Joe: it’d be the only way this won’t be the worst evening ever

Ronnie: loads of ways to take out your other eye ill pass you a spoon

Joe: give a go doing my A-Z carving with it too

Joe: 🤞 she invites her twink classmate and you can try for your threesome

Ronnie: she’ll get in there before us cause youll have distracted me with the state of your cackhanded 💘 carving

Joe: can’t say I’d be sorry

Ronnie: you catholics invented anal but i reckon its overrated

Joe: you’d probably feel different if that’s where your g-spot was but can’t say I disagree with that either, not that that’s anything too deep to have in common so we’re fine

Joe: and raised strictly un-catholic so the pope can’t have a go

Ronnie: nah no cunt would find it if it was there either

Joe: 💔 baby

Ronnie: you mean it

Joe: yeah

Joe: which bit, though

Ronnie: my invite to the shitshow

Joe: ‘course

Joe: if it’s shit, you’ll only have yourself to blame for not livening it up enough

Joe: and I will have to kill myself if I have to be there sincerely

Ronnie: he knows about you

Ronnie: might wanna kill yourself if he opens his mouth

Joe: oh

Joe: so I’m gonna have to act all nice and respectful, yeah

Ronnie: if you wanna make me sound full of shit

Joe: what did you say?

Ronnie: told him i shot you he werent best pleased about it but youre not his brother so fuck all he can do

Joe: sweet

Joe: still not gonna fuck him though

Ronnie: hed get your g spot for you 🍒

Joe: not if he’s worried about my innocence

Ronnie: hes worried about my head getting wrecked not yours only bitch who is

Joe: you’ll have to tell him what you told me

Joe: I ain’t in there

Ronnie: you fairies bring everything back to your obsession with your mothers course hes no fucking exception

Ronnie: & cos i stole my file when i was a kid he thinks i give a shit too you were part of the happy 🏡 picture he was getting in a flap about but i tore through that 🌈 optimism with the 💉

Ronnie: you can have lively

Joe: better he knows than goes on about it

Joe: it’s far from 🌈☀️ even if you were up for it

Ronnie: every soft lad but him knows its ⛈ if not outright 🌨

Joe: when I started looking, if you were like them, I weren’t even gonna bother to talk to you

Joe: just give her the info and let her do it herself

Joe: but I knew you weren’t

Ronnie: told you youd have liked me at 9

Joe: 😏 yeah yeah

Ronnie: shed have bailed before scrolling that far back even with the pure messy sketchy shit kept off for the sake of dorothys cv

Joe: idk,she bangs on about her own glory days as ‘precaution’ enough

Joe: probably dead proud

Ronnie: raincheck on dinner i gotta go slit my throat after hearing that like

Joe: yeah, it’s real fun

Joe: far as starters go though, you’re welcome

Ronnie: cos you owe me go ed & drag my corpse there dress it up like horse girl and send her that info so i dont make her proud yeah

Joe: gotcha

Joe: the fibres sending Soph down are an unfortunate side-affect or added bonus, depending how you feel

Ronnie: dressing like a dyke art teacher is shady to my mourners hed have loved having me on the team

Joe: sure she wants to be buried in her jodhpurs, like

Joe: not gay but kink-adjacent, he’ll be alright

Ronnie: inside the horse youll have to hollow it out for her

Joe: poor horse not ready to be made into glue but there we go

Ronnie: but when youre ready to follow me to the grave only need a plastic bag

Joe: follow you anywhere, or whatever sounds good in a song

Ronnie: not had a little brother like that before

Ronnie: never know the mime is behind you or not

Joe: he shy or you cut his tongue out altogether

Ronnie: saving that for you cos i know how you feel about 🍒 & theres fuck all else left

Ronnie: hed never get attention whore out or mommy issues w & m forget it

Joe: I can feel the slutshame

Joe: there hasn’t been hundreds, come on

Joe: you were being weird, I needed to get you talking, it worked

Ronnie: how many then

Joe: I guess 6 total, not counting anyone before like 15 because that isn’t real, maybe 7 but we might be pushing the term girlfriend there

Ronnie: 💘 how many songs

Joe: not destined for the bin? Fuck all

Joe: cliche points off the charts though

Ronnie: i know youve seen the busking vids hes still got posted up that im in i cant say shit

Joe: you’re good

Joe: even when you have to go Top40 for the tips

Joe: class thing about the cello, looks more pitiful ‘cos the case is massive, people try to fill it, like

Ronnie: soz im not killing myself fast enough for you

Ronnie: miss me with your schoolboy cliches 🖕

Joe: don’t worry, the songs were ‘insert name here’ jobs if they were anything

Joe: don’t wanna sound like I’m singing about a 75 year old bloke, do I

Ronnie: if itd been changed you wouldnt have found me shit at stalking as you are songwriting like

Joe: you’ve already got your own song anyway, don’t be greedy

Ronnie: ill keep you some 🐴 if youre not

Ronnie: 1st thing i tried if you do wanna follow after us

Joe: trip down memory lane we can both handle

Joe: ‘course

Ronnie: dont have any exes itll have to do

Joe: prefer the ket

Ronnie: write a song about it

Joe: [blatantly will in a pisstake way]

Ronnie: k gonna be dead easy to carve with the spoon can do it rattling

Joe: your faith in my abilities is appreciated

Ronnie: youre not fucking here youll have to

Joe: just got out the station hold on

Ronnie: fuck telling me to hold on you hurry up

Joe: if you shut up I can run

Ronnie: can you

Joe: fuck off i’m not that unfit 😂

Ronnie: nah dead fit far as homos and horse girls reckon

Joe: lucky me

Ronnie: youve had 7 bitches no cunts gonna feel sorry for you

Joe: all various shades of boring though

Ronnie: no shit

Joe: so you’re saying you ain’t gutted for me? 💔

Ronnie: your virginity sob story is like me in that crowd of cunts you couldnt find your way through

Joe: Christ, don’t remind me, first and last time I ever went near a virgin

Ronnie: theyre all older than you itd be pathetic well as boring

Joe: exactly

Joe: too much hassle having to worry about them, destroys any point of doing it

Ronnie: gotta put their kids in the cupboard as is

Joe: fortune in gaffa tape, like

Ronnie: still not 💔 mckenna going on about how flush you are since i met you

Joe: amazing how far you can stretch the loans when you steal Soph’s food and do fuck all that ain’t necessary

Joe: not like I actually dated any sugar mommies

Joe: should’ve, clearly but carefree 18-25s are easiest actually

Ronnie: gears necessary now youre gonna have to start stealing more than her pasta shapes

Joe: you’re my manager now, are you 😏

Joe: there’s shit I can do, music gigs, it’s fine

Ronnie: fine for your baby habit

Ronnie: it wont last

Joe: alright doom and gloom

Joe: not gonna learn how to cover my teeth yet

Ronnie: fuck off & fuck you

Joe: i’m here so come say it to my face

Ronnie: youre not better than me cos you can nod through a cello practice

Joe: where’d I say I was

Ronnie: when you said how fucking functional you are

Joe: I didn’t, I said I could get cash, that’s all

Ronnie: so can i its not the fucking point

Joe: and I didn’t say you couldn’t so what’s yours

Ronnie: youre not a fucking kid at the pool if youre gonna pussy out cos the waters too cold fucking do it

Joe: I’m in and you know that

Joe: so let me in

Ronnie: bullshit are you

Ronnie: youre proud of yourself for treading water

Joe: you’ve got the plug, I’ve got the cash, what is the problem with that

Joe: it’s an equalizer, if anything

Ronnie: we ll never be equal

Ronnie: you can cover your arm run off to class & pick up another boring girl whenever the fuck you like

Joe: what do you want me to do, seriously

Joe: say it

Ronnie: stop talking

Ronnie: fucks sake

Joe: [Show up hun]

Ronnie: [I love the idea that they have to wait around for ages for this dealer in awkward silence haha]

Joe: [the casual tension]

Ronnie: [god knows what she’s gonna use to ease the tension with a lil bit o self harm because god knows where they even are, I worry about you and all the infections you would get gal]

Joe: [the casual one-upmanship until you’re interrupted]

Ronnie: [we know she’s not paying him in cash and we know why she’s not please don’t get into another fight Joseph]

Joe: [got to let that one go as she was specifically like you’re not better than me, probably fuck off whilst that happens ‘cos not gonna stick about]

Ronnie: [take your heroin and calm down huns]

Joe: [hope you take enough to pass out ‘cos you’re not gonna be in any sort of mood now either of ya lol]

Ronnie: [we’ll do you both that favour]

[queerlyhalloween]

Not to sound like the joker™️ but i hate western society. I know that hair and clothes aren't gendered, so do most of my mates, ive been working hard at unlearning the internalized transphobia that's just a part of being trans in the UK and actually ALLOWING myself to think about going on hormones and dressing in ways other than "ambigious as possible" despite the fact im non-binary

i grew myself a little mullet because ive not been working in the pub and wanted solid snake hair, ive allowed myself to look at my face and the long hair around it and not despair because i know that longer hair doesn't make me a woman, but the moment you go into a shop, or get takeaway or pass by people in the street its all "move out the way of this lady!" and "thank you, ma'am"

i dont want the gender option of 'other' on my ID i want to know 1 good reason why gender should be listed on an ID in the 1st place

ive just come back from the range and i had my hair up like some e-thot fuckboy, i had to go BACK to the range because they got my click and collect order wrong so ive got two members of staff looking over my order, im dressed in black jeans and a black masc-looking ripped shirt, mask covering half my face and as the manager's showing the kid who served me the receipt they go "oh I served that guy earlier" and the manager corrects them "its a lady". I say "im niether" and they both just stare at me like im a toddler. Im already panicking because the air feels the same way it did when some cunt came after me in the pub toliets. "dont worry about it :)" i say, they both turn back to the tills and completely ignore me.

Anyway, micro-aggressions, ive experienced a lot of them for many reasons over the course of my life and today ive decided to snap.

Not at the people in the range like, just in general.

I will never pass. That's just an element of trans euphoria i will never get to experience. Not right off the bat, anyway. Not where i live, and most likely not in my lifetime. Maybe for kids in LA or Brighton, and hey power to you guys man im happy for you, but people assume or guess m/f when they look at me and they will never get it right.

So when i see people on this site try and twitter etc rank "who's the most oppressed"™️ like a godamn smash bros tier list it blows my mind because of all the things you could spend your days doing thats what youre expending energy on?!

You could be the exact same age, race, sex, gender, sexuality, you could have the exact same disabilities, mental health conditions and money in your bank as another person on this site and you'd still never understand what they've been through. Our experiences, our families, our morals and lives are always gonna be different and the moment you try to write definitive rules on whose got it worse you've already lost and you're already wrong. Oppressed classes are not a fucking hivemind and pretending they are is only going to cause you more problems. I get the strong sense that some of you looked at the word intersectionality, went "ah yeah, i know what that means" having never read up on the matter, then proceeded to play the pain olympics.

And its creating a culture where kids feel the need to spills their souls online to justify living their lives!

You've not listed your disabilites in your bio so you're able-bodied. You're Irish but haven't listed your race so you're white. You're cis man so you've never played with gender and suffered as a result. You're asexual so clearly you're a cringeworthy baby who's never experienced a wrong-doing in their life.

The reverse is true too, if you list every aspect of yourself then you're automatically honest. The more opressed you are the less likely you are of causing harm to others. Psht, don't have a carrd in this day and age? What are you, a fraud? cishet white man playing make believe? Post a selfie or face the wrath of ozymandaus. What's privacy? It takes me 3 minutes to read the bio on this discourse side-blog so clearly they're an angel.

my mam abused me for years, she did the same to my brother when i left home at 18 and my dad drank himself to death. My nan, his mother, never believed me because my mam's a disabled woman with a lot of trauma, and at 14 how do you explain to the woman who takes you to the beach that it's WORSE because as she's beckoning you to the side of her bed so she can scream point blank in your face, or hit you, you're never truely sure, you're thinking about running away because of course she physically can't chase you but she can throw. And then where would you go if you did buggar off?

"You have to sleep sometimes" she used to say to me when I'd piss her off. Other days she told me horror stories about kids in care, and disabled people having their kids taken away, made me promise that I'd always love her and always be her baby, and I'd do that for her because she's my mam, she'd be satisfied then ignore me for a while. I grew up thinking that was entirely normal until i'd tell funny family stories at school and nobody would laugh. The closest I got to truely running away was when I changed my name and pronouns and her rejection, turned to vitriol one night and I so, so, nearly held a knife to my throat and simply fell forwards in the uni showers. Obviously I didn't do that.

But she's had a shitter life than me thus far so she's in the right, as the online black/white dichotomy states. I keep her at arm's length but I'm unable to cut her away without losing the rest of my family because I dared defy the role of eldest child and care for her as I've done my whole life, as is expected.

we need to take things on a case by case basis, and learn when stuff is none of our business.

"Hey! :) I see you've reclaimed (X) slur, without submitting the proper paperwork. Real quick tell me every trauma you've ever experienced or I'll write a callout post :) delete this anonymous message (as is your right) and i'll assume you as sus ❤"

you can only call yourself a dyke if on your 13th birthday, the moon's tender rays struck you through your bedroom window and gave you your first wet dream about girls.

Great, cool. I have no interest in calling myself a dyke, i cant call myself a lesbian because it makes me dysphoric, thats why im queer, but i can assure you that when 3 kids from catholic school pinned me under the bridge and threatened to cut me open for being a "dirty dyke tramp" they didn't play 20Qs with me first to check that i was actually a lesbian.

if your first thought is "well thats just misdirected homophobia, so youre not ACTUALLY a victim" log the fuck off and consider what's wrong with you. Because all our oppressors care about is sniffing out the wrong on you and beating it out, they dont care what breed of wrong it is.

so you're going to spend your day, the enlightened adult that you are, frothing at the mouth because some 15yr old dared call themselves butch despite them being OnLY a BiSexUAl? You're gonna say that trans woman deserves to be suicidal because yes she may be trans BUT she's from the UK, so clearly she loves her horrid country and government. You're gonna say that black lad deserves racial abuse because he's trying to focus on his studies rather than go to protests. That 19yr old who's living in poverty deserves it because they work for Amazon. Texans deserve to freeze to death because there are republicans in Texas.

You're going to harass a complete stranger coming to terms with the parts of themselves society has taught them are worthless at best because they're not doing it the way YOU think is right.

This post has not ended where I started it but I really dont care:

Some of you are so fucking desperate to be the bullies you never got to be in secondary school and it shows. But you're cowards. You can't just admit you want to divide and concur so you do it in a new woke way and when your time on this earth is done, you'll have commited the same pain that's been dealt to you and wonder why you died miserable in a world thats more or less the same.

okay to reblog but dont @ me for a debate because i have, like, real problems and will just block you

[honeyhan-123]

Say Thank You V

Series Summary: Nearly five years have passed since Steve Rogers saves your life without so much as a thank you. When he sees you again by chance, he makes sure that he’ll never let you go and maybe teach you some manners in the process.

Series Warning: This will be a dark!Steve fic with stalking, kidnapping and manipulating as well as non-con and dub-con situations. Please don’t read it if you don’t like that sort of thing.

Chapter Warnings: None really, just being held captive.

Word Count: 2.2k

AN: I would just like to dedicate this chapter to @tansypoisoning and @danceswithapathy for being there for me last week when I felt really guilty about not getting an update out on time. Also thank you to @cake-reads for suggesting this website for making a moodboard. This is my first attempt so I hope y’all like it. I love you guys x

I. New York ~ II. Madrid ~ III. The Apartment ~ IV. The Trip

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

V. The Basement

You awoke slowly, the first sign of consciousness being the ability to feel, slowly descending down your body like honey dripping from a spoon. First it was being made aware of the pounding headache that hid behind your heavy eyelids, then the stiffness in your bad, the muscles taught as if they had been in the same place for quite some time. Last had been the feeling of blood rushing down to your toes as you tried to wiggle them, snuggly tucked under the covers. 

As you slowly gained consciousness, your eyelids fluttering open, panic started to surge through your body, memories of the previous night coming back. A hand clamped around your mouth, a prick in your neck, and then nothing. You had no indication of just how long you had been out so what felt like mere minutes ago could’ve been hours, days even, and with the way your back ached you thought it was probably the latter. 

You also had no indication of how you had gotten wherever you were now. Throwing the soft covers off of your body, you slipped your feet out onto the cold hardwood floor. With a terror unparalleled, you realised you were no longer wearing the shorts a t-shirt you last remembered donning for work but a simple pale blue slip nightgown that scarcely covered you to your mid thigh. Who had changed you?

There was barely any light in the room, save for the moonlight that filtered in through the windows lining the opposite wall, barely a foot wide, grazing against the ceiling. They let you know it was night time again, so it was looking like you had been out for about a day. Confusion hit as you looked around the room, you didn’t think sex trafficers normally kept their victims in such nice rooms. If you weren’t scared out of your mind you probably would say the room was more than nice, the plush king sized bed you were still sitting on was evidence enough. 

Fumbling with the switch by your bed, you flicked on the lamp to illuminate the room further. Along the wall opposite the bed, under the windows, there was a large bookshelf along with what looked like a few armchairs and such. In the far corner was a dining area, but it wasn’t the mahogany table that caught your eye. It was the steel door that was next to it, leading to what you were sure must be a way out. Creeping out of the bed, you tentatively made your way towards it, your eyes never leaving the handle. You knew it probably wouldn’t be this easy, but you had to hope, hope that there was a way out. 

Your intense focus on the door caused you to fail to notice the step that spanned the length of the room, elevating the bed area. As your foot was met with air, you tumbled down, trying to catch yourself with your hands on the hardwood floor. Your muscles were still partly asleep despite your mind running a hundred miles an hour and so you were still on the floor, trying to push yourself up off the ground when you heard a click sound through the room. 

 The steel door opened and a man stepped in, the bright light behind him casting his face in shadow. From where you were on the ground, you knew he must be an impressive figure, easily able to dominate over you, just from the way his frame filled the doorway. ‘Oh Sweetheart, here, let me help you up.’ He placed a tray on the dining room before crossing towards you, but as he neared, you hastily crawled back, trying to get away from this man. 

‘Stop that now.’ A strong hand wrapped around one of your ankles and you tried to kick at him with the other as he pulled your body towards him, a desperate scream for help escaping from your lungs. 

Instantly his body was on yours, one hand covering your mouth and the other pinning both your wrists above your head. With his face so close to yours, a sinking feeling arose in your gut as you recognised him, not only as the American stranger from the cantina, but as Captain America himself.  You felt stupid for not recognising him before yet he had always been wearing caps or sunglasses, plus with his fully grown beard and longer hair, he hardly looked like America’s Golden Boy anymore, especially when he was pinning you down on the floor. The position was oddly reminiscent of the only other time you had knowingly been in his presence, that day in New York, pinned underneath the car as he fought against the Chitauri. 

‘Sweetheart, I’m trying very hard to be calm right now but if you continue acting like this, you’re going to be in a lot of trouble. There’s no point screaming down here, the walls are all soundproofed, no one will hear you. All you’re accomplishing right now is angering me.’ Despite his warning, you continued to scream into his hand, thrashing your body around on the floor, trying to pry him off of you. Yet, no matter how hard you squirmed, he remained above you, barley even moving an inch. Your scream started dying off as your oxygen supply was cut by his hand and your movements slowed as you realised it was useless. He was far stronger than you. 

A smile came over his face as he clearly realised your fight had started dying as he shifted the hand that had been clamping your mouth shut to the base of your throat. At first it seemed like a much more relaxed position, afterall you could actually breathe properly now but the gentle squeeze of this fingers against your windpipe served as a reminder that he could still take away your air if he so wished. 

‘I’m going to ask you this one time Sweetheart, and you better not lie to me. If I get off of you do you promise to be a good girl?’ His voice was even as he leaned his face above yours, his face a near perfect mask of calm, yet looking into his dark blue eyes above you, you realised he was anything but. His orbs were a swirling sea of madness and you knew better than to anger this supersoldier further. 

You nodded your head as best you could in his steel-like grip and were rewarded with a tightening of his grip on your throat and he smiled. ‘You better not break your promise Sweetheart.’ was his final warning before he shifted his weight off of you and stood up before extending a hand down to you. Eyeing it warily, you slowly raised your hand to meet his and he wasted no time in pulling you up to his frame as though you weighed nothing. 

His arms wrapped around you, pulling your body to his chest as he stood, eyes staring into yours as though he were waiting for something. When you did nothing but stare at your feet for nearly a minute, he let out a frustrated groan, his eyebrows pulling together in a frown. 

You longed to be out of his arms, to be free from his presence but you remembered your promise and stood still in his arms. One of his hands shifted from your waist up to your chin, tilting your head up to his, forcing you to look at him as he spoke. ‘You know, generally when someone helps you, the polite thing is to say thank you. But it’s okay. We’ll work on your manners.’ You remained silent as he grabbed your hand in his, leading you towards the small dining table and held out a chair for you. 

As you sat, you saw the test he had been carrying earlier placed in front of you. On it were two pieces of toast with butter and a glass of milk. You didn’t fail to notice that he hadn’t given you any cutlery. ‘I know it’s not much but I figured trying anything heavier wouldn’t be a good idea with how long you’ve been asleep for.’ 

You paused at his words, your eyes flickering up to him as you thought. Just how long had you been asleep for? 

‘Where am I?’ Your voice was timid, broken by your screaming fit before. 

‘You’re new home of course. I couldn’t have you living in that tiny apartment anymore what with it not even having air conditioning. You should really close your blinds you know, someone could always be watching.’ 

A chill flowed down your spine as you registered his words. He had clearly been watching you, but for how long? Had it started all the way back in New York? Or when you first say him in the cantina a few weeks ago? All of these thoughts raced around in your head but none of them were spoken out loud, mainly because you were fairly certain whatever the answer was, you wouldn’t like it. 

‘Well? Aren’t you going to eat your food? It would be rude not to, especially since I made it for you.’ His voice was a warning, a reminder of your promise and despite having completely lost your appetite, you knew it would keep you happy. Plus if you really had been asleep for nearly twenty-four hours, your body definitely needed some food. 

He started speaking against as you but down on a piece, following his orders, like a good girl. ‘See that wasn’t so hard?’ He reached across the table to brush his fingers against your arm as his eyes locked with yours. ‘You could be quite happy here, I’ll give you everything you need. All you have to do is show some manners and we can be happy together.’ His voice was so full of conviction that it nearly made you choke. 

Happy together? Just what was this guy playing at? He had literally just kidnapped you and he wanted you to be happy together? He was truly mental if he thought you were going to be his little pet. 

You struggled to continue eating despite the hunger that had awoken in your stomach, forcing down the last piece of toast before draining your glass of milk. Steve smiled at you and picked up the tray again as he stood, his eyes expectant. You fiddled with your thumbs as you forced the words out. 

‘Thank you.’ 

A smile overtook his face as his hand that wasn’t gripping the tray stroked your cheek. ‘You’re welcome Sweetheart. There’s everything you’ll need down here in the closet or the bathroom, you might like to take a shower and get ready for bed.’ With one last glance at you, he headed back out of the steel door he came in through, the distinct click of a lock signifying you were alone again. 

+

He had been right of course. After spending a solid half an hour pulling and pushing the steel door with everything you had and it hadn’t moved an inch, you had sauntered into the bathroom, the idea of a shower sounding far nicer than you cared to admit. You hadn’t noticed the two doors on the wall adjacent to the bed before opening the first you saw a closet, just like he had mentioned, filled with dresses that all seemed to be in your size. How long had he been planning this? When had he bought these clothes? You didn’t think you wanted the answer to these questions and closing the closet door, you padded over to the only other door in the room, that you assumed was the bathroom. 

The bathroom was - as he had said it would be - fully stocked with anything you could need. Everything from the shampoo that you had used while in Madrid to makeup, perfect for your colouring. The fact that he had known what type of shampoo you had used in Madrid should have been far more surprising than you found it, but given his earlier comment about watching you through your windows, you figured he had also watched you in your apartment. 

The hot water had done little to help your taught muscles, tense from your meal with Steve, but it had been nice, giving you an odd sense of power as you purposely spent far too long in the warm stream, trying to rack up his water bill. Sure it was petty and wouldn’t help you in anyway, but it helped provide you with a sense of vindication. 

Not once while drying yourself off did you mind pause, constantly running in circles, asking the same questions over and over again. 

Why were you here? What did he want with you? How could you escape?

Wanting to avoid the closet that brought even more unwanted questions with it - like how did he know your clothing size? - you opted instead for the slip nightgown again, only venturing into the dreaded room to find a clean pair of panties. 

Despite having been asleep for god knows how long, you still felt tired although you doubted any sleep would come to you as you lay in bed, the only light once again pouring in from the outside. Staring at the steel door through the gloom, you promised yourself, you would find a way to escape, maybe not today or tomorrow, but once you had your strength back, you knew you would need it to face the famous Captain America.

+

Tags will be added in a reblog

VI. The First Lesson

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

[realfuurikuuri]

Chapters: 12/? Fandom: Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Mao Mao/Tanya Keys, Mao mao/badgerclops AN:  We are here again my undoubted friends. You know how these things go, the personal updates are that I finished SMT IV and started SMT IV: Apocalypse which is good 'cause Atlas RPGs are always fun. I've noticed we've gone a bit of time without an action set piece, so I threw one in here for good measure. Also for those that left comments on my NSFW fanfic, it turns out I turned on manually approve comments, so... whoops. As always follow @spookylovesboba on Tumblr and enjoy the chapter.

Direct Link: XXXX

Chapter Below the cut

Mao Mao dug through the closet, looking for the white suit that he was certain he put somewhere. It shouldn’t have been that hard to find. It was pure white, dammit! He tossed capes and sashes to the ground, digging through the endless pile of junk. He tossed Badgerclops’ tools out the way, pushed aside some of Adorabat’s toys, and wondered where the bathrobe that belonged to none of them even came from.

“Badgerclops! Are you sure my suit was in here,” he yelled to the other room.

“Yeah, I’m sure I saw it in there.”

“Well, it's not here.”

“I don’t know why you’re stressin’ about it. The plays’ not ‘till tonight I’m sure you’ll find it.”

“I’m not stressing about it. I want to iron it first.”

“I don’t know how long you think it takes to iron things, but it definitely doesn’t take 7 hours.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m pretty sure I do.”

Ding-Dong!

“Mao Mao, someone's at the door.”

“And you’re in the living room. Answer it.”

Mao screamed his frustrations into the bathrobe before throwing it aside. He didn’t understand how Badgerclops could be so lax about this. She’d already been dropped off, and the silence her absence left made Mao Mao feel anxious. Adorabat’s play was in seven hours, and a lot could go wrong in seven hours. The house could burn down, the Sky Pirates could attack or-

“Hey, Mao Mao you’re gonna wanna come here.”

“I’m busy. Who is it?”

“I don’t know. He’s pretty tall, wearing gold… says he’s your dad.”

-his dad could make a surprise visit again. What could he want? He wanted the finger back, obviously, but what else? His next thought was that he wanted to apologize. Mao Mao quickly dismissed that thought, but he slowly brought it back around. Everything he thought he knew about his father had been turned around. Maybe he actually did want to apologize. Mao Mao rose to his feet, huffed, and slammed the closet shut. If papa wanted to apologize then the only question to ask was how would he fuck it up this time?

It was then that a thought struck Mao Mao like a bolt from the blue. Why should I forgive him even if he doesn’t fuck it up? His first instinct was to come up with an argument against it but found nothing of any worth, yet he still pushed the idea aside.

He stepped in the living room, finding his papa standing just outside the door frame, lest he breaks it again. The first thing Mao Mao noticed was his armor. Normally kept pristine and shining had scratches and dents marring its facade. It wasn’t even waxed. Had hadn’t returned home, had he?

Mao Mao fought back the urge to ask what he was doing here. Mao Mao pushed past Badgerclops, stepping onto his porch, and closing the door behind him.

“Son,” Shin Mao said.

Mao Mao ignored the question. He reached into his sash flicking the broken finger towards his father. “This is what you came for, right?”

“Part of it, yes.”

“Of course it was,” Mao Mao spat.

“That’s not-,” papa took a deep breath to get control of his voice,” that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean? ‘Cause everything you say and does tell me that you don’t!”

“I came here to apologize!”

“Oh my god! We literally had this exact conversation a week ago. I bring up all your problems and you deny and deny and deny!”

“Well, I’m trying to own up to it now!”

“And it still doesn’t mean shit!”

The door was thrown open. “And that is enough of you two,” Badgerclops yelled.

Neither of them heard Badgerclops. They kept arguing.

“I get it,” papa screamed,” I get that I’ve made mistakes! What do you want me to do to make it up to you.”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” he yelled back.

Their voices rising higher and higher, so high that it wasn’t even words anymore. Just pointless screaming. Again, a thought wiggled its way into his head. Why should I forgive him? It stood above papa’s voice and even his own. It was just an infuriating mess of noise inside and out. At first, he gave in to his rage and grasped for the hilt of Geraldine before thinking better of it. He ignored the shouting, got onto the aerocycle, and left.

* * *

Despite taking his leave Mao Mao felt no calmer. His knuckles ached,

He could hardly drive straight, so he landed at a small clearing in the forest. Everything irritated him. The bird’s singing, the cool breeze, the fragrance of the pine forest. He sat on a large boulder to gather himself. His father would leave sooner or later. Then he would go back home and- Dammit! Adorabat still had her play and he still hadn’t ironed his clothes or even find them. Mao Mao sighed. Whatever. Badgerclops was right, there was still time to waste.

The maddening chain of thoughts kept going. His mind turned from one problem to another, from one mistake to another. The terrible thoughts shared no connecting theme. Sometimes it was how he embarrassed himself as an adult, other times it was the mistakes he made as a child. It made his throat feel rather dry rather quickly. Maybe it was the devil’s luck that he had nothing to drink. However, he did have Geraldine.

Mao Mao took his sword and swung at the nearest tree. The tree crashed down to the floor with a single slice. Mao Mao examined the stump with displeasure. Despite only taking one slash the cut wasn’t very clean. The wood was jagged and frayed at the edges. Not sure what he expected considering he let proper maintenance fall to the wayside.  When was the last time he took his care of his sword? It was nearly two months; around the time Jǐngtì first showed up if he remembered right. That was when his life really turned into an entire pile of shit, wasn’t it?

Mao Mao took to running his sword along the edge of the boulder he once sat on. To his surprise, the rock worked rather well as a sharpening stone. It had a nice grain that matched his sword well. Maybe he should remember this spot, or better yet take a piece of the rock for himself.

Mao Mao held his sword backhanded and swung it through the tip of the boulder, taking a nice chunk of it. That was when the ground began to shake. Mao Mao struggled to gain footing as the dirt cracked and exploded out as the boulder grew larger and larger and larger, towering over him in a wispy mass of shadow.

That was no boulder! It was a monster.

The monster was utterly massive, even by monster standards. Its loose shape only contained in the bony protrusions that he thought were rocks. Mao Mao barely shook off his shock in time to dodge a swipe from its wings. He stared at the terrible gash in the ground where he once stood. How many hits could he take before dying? If he hadn’t just gotten out of the hospital he might actually be able to tank a hit. Like this, a glancing hit might kill him.

A beast with strength like that could only be dodged. And dodge he did. He ducked under swipes and leaped over attacks, holding a half-sharp Geraldine in his only hand. He stepped out the way of another attack and retaliated with a quick slash. It chipped the stone-like edges of its wings.

There was no point in striking its exterior. He’d have to go for the shadowy flesh.  He rolled over one of the slashes, using the momentum to toss himself towards the monster. He left a nasty gash across the beast, but something was wrong. It felt like he was cutting through a thick cloud of smoke. He landed and immediately jumped away from another attack. He clung to a tree watching the gash get filled in by more shadowy mass. Did he do any real damage? How many more hits would it take?

Mao Mao leaped back into action. He slashed and slashed, taking entire chunks of the monster, but it was always right as rain in seconds. He, on the other hand, couldn’t keep this up forever. He was a cat, not a monkey, and he couldn’t keep running around like one forever. His entire body felt weak and it was hard to find balance. The sheer pressure of knowing that a single hit would bring him just shy of death was taxing.

Mao Mao remembered a piece of advice he hated. He who runs away lives to run another day. He was ready to leave when he heard a thunderous crash that seemed to shake the world. He hesitated to look over his shoulder, regretting that hesitation immediately. He should’ve just said fuck it and run away.

Amongst the kicked up dirt and dust, amongst the black shadows fading in the wind, was the glorious glint of gold. Papa had found him. Badgerclops was there, too. He watched them argue from the trees. He considered still listening to the hated advice but ignored better judgment, like always.

He sprang from the tree with a stumbling stop, falling to his knees to catch his breath.

Papa, to his credit, rushed to help him to his feet, but Mao Mao forcefully pushed him off. “I don’t need your help,” he spat at his father.

“What were you doing,” Papa asked. “You’re in no shape to be fighting monsters.”

“And you’re in no shape to be acting like a parent.”

“I think we should get him to a hospital,” Papa Badgerclops.

“Hey, fuck you. Don’t talk like I’m not here.”

“Calm down, son.”

“No. I won’t calm down! Every time you’re around you always make me feel… small . You ignored my existence and when you don’t you ignore my feelings and blow them off like they don’t matter. I don’t love you. I don’t care what happens to you, and I don’t want to see you, Shin , ever again.”

“You need to take a minute. You’re obviously delirious. You probably have a concussion.”

“Who cares! Who cares what you think! I’m done caring about what you think,” Mao Mao poured his entire heart into those words, screaming his throat hoarse and raw. “I think you’re a self-serving asshole too obsessed with your ego to realize your mistakes! I think you're so selfish that you honestly think you can suddenly realize your mistake and suddenly expect forgiveness!”

“I think-,” Mao Mao licked his numb lips, stumbling forward as his vision grew blurry, “ -I’m having a stroke.”

Everything went dark as the ground came rushing towards him.

* * *

Mao Mao woke up in a regrettably familiar setting. It was cold, reeked of sterile antiseptic, and home to the closest thing the valley had to a doctor.

“Hey, why am I at Camille’s Tower this time,” he said to no one.

Badgerclops rushed to his side. “You had a stroke, dude.”

“Right… wasn’t that a side-effect of Camille’s medication.”

“If you didn’t watch your blood pressure.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds familiar… hey, it might be the stroke messin’ with my memory, but wasn’t I doin’ somethin’ before I got here.”

“You were getting ready to attend Adorabat’s play.”

Mao Mao nodded along. “Was that before- no, that’s not important. He’s not important.”

Mao Mao stumbled over his words trying to push off the fatigue. “What I mean to ask is if you can tell me the time.”

Badgerclops placed a hand on his chest to keep him from getting up. “Oh no. I know that wide-eyed look. It means you either got the zoomies or about to do something stupid. Same difference really.”  

“I’m fine.”

“You literally had a stroke.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not find.”

“Actually, it does mean you aren’t fine,” Camille corrected from the back.

“I don’t remember asking for the peanut-gallerie's opinion.”

“But the peanut gallery has a point. You can stay here and get better, while I can go attend Adorabat’s play.”

Mao Mao searched the room. There was a window on the far side, but he probably wouldn’t be able to reach it, and he certainly didn’t have an idea what to do once he jumped through it. He sighed, realizing how little options he had left. He gestured for Badgerclops to lean in as he whispered into his ear.

“I know I don’t talk about my childhood for obvious reasons, but did you know that I actually was in a school play. I tried out for the leading role, but ended up playing a bush and -don’t laugh- and I actually handed an invitation to my father to make sure he knew it was happening. You can guess what happened on opening night.

“He wasn’t there,” Badgerclops said.

“Don’t say it out loud. Point is: Going to this play is a very important thing to me. I don’t want to be like Papa… Shin, I mean.”

Badgerclops stood up. He drummed his fingers against the patient’s bed while he thought. “We’ll go to the play.”

Mao Mao swung out of bed to have Badgerclops put his hand on his shoulder. “But, you’re coming back here when we’re done, alright?”

Mao Mao nodded along. He would’ve nodded to anything you said at this point. He was just happy to go.

* * *

Were theatres required to markup ticket prices on showing days? Mao Mao and Badgerclops took their seats as the curtain was drawn. Mao Mao kept his eyes on the stage the entire time, but couldn't remember anything about it. He remembered yawning, leaning against Badgerclops, the ruby pure heart was mentioned somewhere. It was a huddled mess, a confusing blur of time that got lost in his endeavor to just stay awake. Suddenly, everyone started clapping and Mao Mao tried clapping too, alas he forgot he only has one. Adorabat found them soon after the play ended.

“Did you see me,” she asked.

“Yeah, I saw you,” he answered.

[avengerscompound]

Protector

Protector:  A Bruce Banner Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ 

Character Pairing:  Bruce Banner x F!Reader

Word Count:  2552

Warnings: Violence, Graphic description of injuries and blood, Smut (M|F, slight D/S, roughish sex, vaginal sex).

Synopsis:   What happens when a girl who can only heal falls for a man that houses something that is built to destroy.

Protector

You lie on the ground your body broken.  Each breath in feels like dragging your body over shards of superheated metal.  It stings and burns and takes all your willpower to do.  There is so much blood.  It pours from you from wounds too numerous to count, pooling and spreading out from your ruined body.  A bone protrudes from your thigh, your femur snapped clean in two.

At this stage, the pain is so intense that your body has been flooded with endorphins just to ease you into what would be an inevitable death.

Now you just wait.

There is a loud thud and the ground rumbles near you.  You open your eyes as much as you can manage to see the large green form of the Hulk looming over you.

“Make sparks.”  He growls, balling his hands into fists.

You try to speak but trying just makes you cough up the blood that’s been pooling in your lungs.

Hulk slams his fists on the ground.  “Make sparks!”  He roars.

You see a cut on his shoulder and reach your hand up.  “You’re… bleeding.”  You murmur as blood trickles from the corner of your mouth.

Hulk holds out his hand to you and you touch your palm to the end of his finger.  His injury is what does it.  It never works for just you.  You need to be helping someone else.  Your powers engage.

You can feel your energy draining as it gets poured into healing both of you.  It starts with Hulk.  It always does.  You see the flesh knit together on his arm and the various bruises on his skin fade.  It then turns inward, repairing the damage to your lungs.  Fusing bones back together.  It drains you quickly.  The excess ions leaking from your eyes.  It shimmers and sparks blue before dissipating into the air.  The damage to your body is extreme and you slip out of consciousness as your energy drains from you.

You’d been an official Avenger for a little over six months.  Originally going to them because of the accident that had caused these powers to manifest and not knowing what they were or how to use them.  They had all been varying levels of tolerant and kind.  Initially, Bruce had been the one that you’d spent the most time with you.  To begin with, it was just because he was the expert.  He ran tests.  Reassured you when you let the fear get the most of you.  He was kind and surprisingly patient for a man who housed a whole other being who was known for his unfettered rage.

When it became clear that what you did was heal, the rest of the team became interested in training you.  The inherent value of someone to treat injuries perfectly without needing to withdraw from combat being obvious to them.  While they trained you to fight defensively, it was always your job to stand back and stay out of trouble.  Only coming in if needed.  Like the healer in a role-playing game.  Only worse, because it was real.

Even with the new training, you kept finding yourself coming back to Bruce.  Again and again.  He was your safe place.  Even when you started seeing the Hulk come out on missions you still felt safe with him knowing Bruce was in there with him.  After a few months, you realized you might be in love with him.  You were sure there was something there.  There was a lot of incidental touching.  Bruce blushed a lot when he spoke to you.  He was however extremely hesitant about starting any kind of romantic relationship with you.  So you did your best to put in him the friend column.  Your love was unrequited.  There was nothing to be done about it.

You focused on training and your new role as an Avenger.  The problem was it was a little boring.  They almost never needed you.  You just stayed in the jet and then they’d come back and patch up their cuts and bruises.  That was it.  You wanted to go out and help too.  So when you saw Hulk on the monitors being completely overwhelmed something in you snapped.  You ran out with a gun in hand and started firing into the swarm of people.  Enough of them turned on you for the Hulk to break free and get back his control of the situation, only there were too many for you to deal with.

The results were not good.  They had swarmed and you had been overwhelmed.  You were shot more than once and someone had hit you hard enough to knock you down.  You’d crawled away but taken a fall off the side of a ditch.  That’s when your leg had broken and you’d given in.  Hoping he’d come for you.  Knowing he would.

You wake up with a gasp.  The room is bright white and there is the high pitched sound of a heart monitor beeping quickly as someone’s heart raced.

“There she is.”  Steve Rogers says.  You blink your eyes and see him looking down at you with his bright blue eyes.  “Just breathe, honey.  You’re safe.”

You focus on your breathing and look around the room.  You’re in the med bay.  It hasn’t had a lot of use since you joined the team.  You’re hooked up to a heart monitor and there is an IV in your arm.

“How are you feeling?”  Steve asks.

You go to speak and nothing happens.  You clear your throat and try again.  “Really thirsty.”  You say in a croak.  “Hungry too.”

“I’ll go get you something.”  He says.  He disappears for a little while and you try and figure out how long you’ve been out for.  You were seven hours out from the compound so at least that long.  When Steve comes back he has juice and a sandwich.

You drink the juice all in one go and start scarfing down the sandwich. “You weren’t kidding were you?”  Steve says with a laugh.

You shake your head.  “How long was I out?”  You ask with your mouth still full.

“A little over a full day.”  Steve answers.  “That was really stupid.  You know that don’t you?”

You nod.  “I know.  I just… he was overwhelmed.”  You try and explain lamely.

“He’s the Hulk,”  Steve says.

“I know but…”

“You don’t even have any real-world fighting experience.”

“But he…”

Steve sighs.  “Call for backup next time.  I know you think you’re invincible, but we nearly lost you.  Hulk was so worked up the lullaby wasn’t working, so we didn’t have Bruce to help.”

Guilt bubbles up at the talk of Hulk.  Not even because you nearly died, just that he was so upset about it.  “I’m sorry.”

Steve shakes his head.  “Try and be less impulsive.”

Part of you wants to call him a hypocrite, not that you ever would.  You just nod.  “Can I see Bruce?”

“He’ll be in soon.  I’ll get him to bring in some more food considering you inhaled that.”  Steve says.  “And you’re on bed rest for two days.”

“But I’ll be fine.  That’s what I do.”  You complain.

Steve shrugs.  “Consider it your punishment for breaking orders.”

You’re left alone for what feels like an eternity considering how hungry you still are and how guilty you feel.  In reality, it takes Bruce 36 minutes to arrive with a plate laden down with high energy food.  There is a large plate of pasta, more bread, fruit, and even a slice of cake along with a bottle of Gatorade.  He puts the tray down on the tray table without a word and starts fussing around you not making eye contact with you.

“Bruce?”  You say as you start eating.  He ignores you and you put down your fork and look at him.  “Bruce, I’m sorry, okay?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment.  He turns away from you and puts his palms flat on the counter as he stares down at it.  “He’s really upset.  It’s… I’m having trouble…”

“I didn’t… I was just trying to… they were going to kill you.”  You implore.

Bruce turns on you suddenly his eyes bright green.  “You really scared me.”  He roars, it’s half him and half the other guy speaking.  Their voices split right down the middle.  You jump.  His muscles start to shift and grow under his skin and his skin becomes tinged with green.

You aren’t scared of the Hulk though.  You reach up and put your hand on his jaw.  You don’t know why but your powers engage.  Blue sparks float from your eyes. A sense of calmness washes over you, easing your guilt.  As it does you see Bruce shifting back to himself.  The green fades and his eyes return to his normal brown.

Your eyes return to normal and Bruce blinks at you.  “Sorry.”  You say slightly panicked.  “That was an accident.”

Bruce shakes his head.  “It’s okay.  Just that need to fix of yours.”  He says gently.  “I’ve never known him to be so upset.  He always just expresses everything negative as rage.  I didn’t even know what had happened.  He was terrified.  And I come back and you’re pale and not breathing.  You were covered in blood.  Your heart stopped beating.”

“I’m sorry, Bruce.  I am.  It was stupid, but I saw you and panicked.”  You plead.

“It’s not your job to look after me, sweetheart,”  Bruce says, sounding pained.  “It’s his.”

You shake your head.  “No, it’s my job too.  That’s what I do.  I take care of people.”

Bruce chuckles and shakes his head.  “That is one savior complex you’ve got there.”  He says climbing up on the bed beside you.  You shift over to make room for him and he pulls the tray table into you both.  “Eat something, please.”  He says, putting his arm around you.

You snuggle into him a bit, not used to him giving you this level of affection but wanting it badly.  “Well, how am I wrong.  It’s why I’m here?”  You say, starting to pick at the food.  “The rest of you are here to save the world.  I’m here just to save you guys.”

Bruce shakes his head and sighed.  “You are more than just your powers and none of us want you dying to save us.  Especially not me.  Please promise me you’ll never do that again.”

You nod.  “I promise.  I’m sorry.  It’s just… I …”

Bruce lets out a breath.  “I know, I love you too.”

You look up at him not quite sure you heard him.  “You do?”

“Yes. Of course, I do.   I can keep pretending that I don’t actually need people.  But I quite obviously do.”  He stops and runs his hand over your jaw.  “The other guy is really angry with me.”

“I love you too.”  You say quietly.

He gives you a half smile.  “Do you think I can kiss you?”

Instead of answering you lean up and capture his lips with yours.  It starts slow and hesitant, a gentle caress of his lips against yours.  You dart your tongue out and brush it over his top lip.  His comes to meet yours and you circle them together.  You run your hand up his neck and into his hair.  That’s when things change.  He wraps both arms around you and pulls you tighter against him.  Holding you in place like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.  He starts kissing you hungrily and frantically like he’d been holding back for so long and all the desire and need for you is coming out all at once.  You match him in intensity.

He rolls you so he’s pressed on top of you and you spread your legs welcoming his weight.  Your hands roam over him until you yank the IV and the stand it hangs on nearly tips right over.  You both break apart breathless and giggling.

“Maybe we should stop,”  Bruce says, straightening the stand back up.

You look up at him and graze your fingertips along his jaw and down his neck.  “Do you want to stop?”  You ask.

He shakes his head.  “No.  Not really.”

“Me either.”  You say.

He looks down at you and takes the hand the IV is attached to and moves it up above your head placing it on the head of the bed and closing your hand around the bar.  “That stays there.”  He says.

You smirk up at him and he leans in and begins kissing you again.  He rolls his hips into yours as he kisses you and caresses his hands over every part of you he can reach.  You feel the gradual hardening of his cock through his pants, and you cunt floods as your arousal grows.  You slip a hand between you and run your palm over the outline of his cock.  He lets out a guttural moan and for a second you question who’s actually here with you.

He buries his face in your neck and his hand goes into your panties.  His finger circles over your clit sending a little jolt up your spine.  “Bruce?”  You mewl.

He raises his head and looks down at you, his eyes their normal dark brown.  “Mmm?”

“Please fuck me, Bruce?”  You plead.

He smiles at you and you start to kiss again.  He grabs your panties and works them down with your help before fumbling to get his pants unfastened.  When he does, he pushes them down just enough to free his cock and he’s inside you.  You moan as he thrusts his cock into you to the hilt, and you wrap your legs around his waist.  He starts to roll his hips into you as he continues to kiss you.

You become breathless and fuzzy.  Your heart rate monitor beeps faster and faster as you come apart under him.  You raise your other hand to the bed head and just hold on, gripping the metal frame of the hospital bed and arching up under him.  The bed bangs against the wall with every thrust.  He breaks the kiss and you gasp for air, looking up into his eyes.  His pace picks up and his fingers go to your clit.  You pulse your walls around him.  Spreading the hot prickle of your impending orgasm through you.

“Oh god, Bruce, I’m gonna…”  You moan as you begin to writhe under him.

“Come for me.”  He says, his voice a deep growl.

It’s as if his words are a trigger.  You moan and arch up under him.  Your muscles clench and you come.  Your eyes flash blue when you do.  The pulse of your orgasm seems to bring him along too.  His hips snap into you and he releases.  He lets out loud groan that borderlines on being a roar.  His eyes flash green.

He leans his head on yours and both your eyes fade to normal.  He slips from within you and lies down beside you curled against you.  You snuggle up under his chin.  “I’m kinda not sorry anymore.”  You tease.

He squeezes your side.   “I would have gotten here eventually.”

You lay back against him and close your eyes for a moment as you graze your fingertips up his arm.  “I’m glad it was now though.”

[songsofacagedbird]

Hello, I’m Katie, this is my sunshine daughter Balo, and you’re watching Disney Channel! Jokes aside though, I’m so excited to bring Balo back and while not much has changed (truly this is nothing more than a continuation where I only omit plots my partner doesn’t want to revive), have a new intro / bio anyway because... I felt like it ok.  I’ll be good and not ramble too ungodly long though so without further ado - another one of my excessively long intro posts:

TWs: Child Abuse / Abuse, Alcoholism (not Balo’s, but her dad’s), Eating Disorders (anorexia nervosa)

Is that BALIAN “BALO” DRISKELL? Wow, they do look a lot like CANDICE SWANEPOEL. I hear SHE is/are a SEVENTEEN year old JUNIOR who originally attended LUXOR Academy. Word is they are a(n) REGULAR student. You should watch out because they can be NAIVE and SENSITIVE, but on the bright side they can also be OPTIMISTIC and BUBBLY. Ultimately, you’ll get to see it all for yourself.  [KATIE, 23, EST, SHE/HERS]

Last Edit: 8/26/2020

★ basics;

Full Name: Balian “Balo” Grace Driskell Age: 17 Birthday: February 7th, 2003 at 08:06 am Sexual Orientation:  Balo really doesn’t label it (although I like to say bisexual, biromanitc to make my own life easier), she always just falls for who she falls for regardless of gender. If you ask her exactly, she’d probably say MOGAI though. Relationship Status: Kinda dating Caitriona but it’s unofficial Occupation: Student Nationality: American

★ classes;

Communications

French

Geometry

U.S. History

Fashion design

Visual Art

Pilates

★ extracurriculars;

Arts Club (Member)

Balo also used to be a Cheerleader (Flyer) and part of the Gymnastics team but due to her leaving / concerns about her health, she was required to step down, much to her devastation.

★ background;

Place of Birth: Rochester, New York Hometown: Saratoga Springs, New York Health Issues: Eating Disorder (Anexoria) Traumas: Abuse (Constant/Ongoing - from her father)

★ physical;

Faceclaim: Candice Swanepoel Eye Color: Blue Hair Color: Blonde Height: 5′11” -- not at fc height because I don’t wanna change her height with the new fc Weight: 120 lbs - give or take Tattoos, Birthmarks, Scars, etc: Nothing I find a need to link at the moment.

★  zodiac;

Tropical

Sun: Aquarius Moon: Aries Mercury: Capricorn Venus: Capricorn Mars: Sagittarius Jupiter: Leo Saturn: Gemini Uranus:   Aquarius Neptune: Aquarius Pluto: Sagittarius Lilith: Aries N Node: Gemini

Placidus Orb

I ASC: Pisces II: Aries III: Taurus IV: Gemini V: Cancer VI: Leo VII: Virgo VIII:  Libra IX: Scorpio X MC: Sagittarius XI: Capricorn XII: Aquarius

★ relatives;

Father’s Full Name: Lance Driskell Father’s Status: Alive Father’s Occupation: Restaurant Owner Mother’s Full Name: Cassandra “Cassidy” Driskell Mother’s Status: Alive Mother’s Occupation: Waitress at a local diner (not Lance’s place) Siblings: 1 older sister and 2 older brothers

Driskell Children Oldest to Youngest:

Ivan Marsden (22, attending school in England)

Grace Driskell (19, in California for school)

Zander Driskell (LINK TO HIS INTRO)

Balo Driskell

Here is a link to the Driskell family page if you’d like to know more about her family.

★ misc;

Hobbies and Talents: Balo’s a sketch artist and painter who tends to focus on realism, in particular realistic humans and animals. It’s her true passion and I have an inspo section for her sketchbook here! She’s also quite flexible and skilled at gymnastics, part of why it’s bothering her she can’t participate currently because she loves it and she’s good at it - making her removal from the team eat at her even more.

Pinterest Section  // Musings Tag // Playlist

- Balo’s kind of a literal ray of sunshine who believes (almost) everyone is truly good at heart. While she tries to see the best in everyone, no matter what, she truly can’t see it in her father, a fact she feels extremely guilty over it. - She loves art, sketching and painting especially, and she always dreamed of being some sort of artist. While her mother encouraged it every chance she got, her father is truly a different story. - Balo is very easy to manipulate and I encourage it constantly. - She truly just wants to love and befriend everyone, while it’s not really too hard to make her cry, usually you’ll see Balo running around with a smile trying to brighten everyone’s day. This is an issue because she’ll put everyone around her before herself every time, your happiness is a priority before hers. Again, making her easy to manipulate. (So I welcome manipulating Balo and love it when it occurs, please feel free to do so at any point) - Her best friend / favorite person in the entire world at this point is Logan Keller, mention him only if you really wanna see this girl light up like a 4th of July fireworks show. (They’re still in touch, for those of you who remember him from when Jia was playing him here!) - Balo recently got out of extensive inpatient for her eating disorder so while she’s doing a lot better, she’s really doesn’t want it to be the main topic of conversation either. She's okay and back at Luxor and she feels that’s the most important thing at the end of the day.

★ bio; TWs: Child Abuse / Abuse, Alcoholism, Eating Disorders (anoxeria, weight loss, and complications from both)

“'Cause I know that nothing good comes easy, if it did, I wouldn't be me.”

If there was one quote that fit Balo Driskell’s life to a t, that would be it. Nothing was truly easy in the Driskell’s home, she was the youngest of three children - an amount that her mother never wanted to have, and would do whatever it took to stay at after this point. Anytime her father walked in after work, the stench of alcohol clung to. She could smell it on her breath every time he yelled, each time he threw things, anytime he hit her. One could have easily convinced the young girl that all families were like this, that everyone covered up bruises and pretended they were much happier than they actually were if it wasn’t for her mother.

Perhaps Casandra Driskell never wanted her children, but she loved them with her entire heart. She’d sneak her children money, things they weren’t allowed to have - guitars, paints, canvases, sheet-music, legos, and whatever else her father deemed banning fit at a moment's notice. She wasn’t always around, working a job at the local diner, but when she was she did everything in her power to protect her children. It was never enough, though.

Lance Driskell still hurt his children close to daily, whether it was smashing Grace’s guitar over her head the moment he found it, pulling Balo down the stairs by her hair, or lashing Zander with his belt - there were quite a few times where a Driskell had to go the hospital and the family had to lie through their teeth to keep people from looking too closely at them at their mother’s urging. If it was investigated the three children would be separated, they would lose their mother, or at least that’s what they were told - and none of them wanted that. It became common for one child to intervene for another if they could, Zander especially taking the brunt of the punishments for his sisters.

It was part of loving someone in the Driskell home, trying to keep everyone else safe no matter the cost it had on you.

Her childhood wasn’t all bad, however, there were quite a few silver-linings in the dark cloud called the Driskell home. She had a close friendship with her siblings and her mother, and she has plenty of fond memories with them. Christmas was always peaceful, as her father always took that shift at his restaurant and refused to celebrate the holiday with them - a time where he couldn’t taint the joy inside of the Driskell home. She could paint when her father wouldn’t catch her in the act, something she loved doing (and she still does every chance she gets), and she had Logan. Logan Keller was her next-door neighbor and her best friend. If you saw one of them, the other probably wasn’t too far behind. In many ways, he was her person - someone she felt like she could go to with nearly anything (she could never discuss home with him at this point, of course, but everything else she could and she did). 

And then the Driskells moved away and it was like the world was ripped out from under her feet - leaving her spiraling and looking for some sort of control. Her new friend didn’t help matters much either, constantly encouraging her to “shed the weight” they swore she gained. She soon found this sense of “control” in the form of her eating disorder, careful attempts to keep herself as thin as she could, of restricting her food every chance she could.  It wasn’t healthy, far from it, but it fulfilled the desire to have some semblance of control over her life.

Sending the children to Luxor had been an easy decision for Cassandra the second the children were able to attend, a way to ship them off to safety while not being too far away from home. While it pained her a first to be away from her mother, eventually she began to understand. She was safe while at school, and at the end of the day, that was what mattered the most to her mother, right? It wasn’t hard to get into the flow of life at the school, staying at school and only coming home for the breaks that the school refused to keep students during. It broke her heart when Lance shipped Ivan to England and told him not to come home (a thought that still pains her to this day), after the boy served his use, and it only grew harder when Grace graduated and moved to California. But she was happy at Luxor, in spite of everything.

And in a way, her love for the school only grew after the merge. Now there were twice as many people to befriend and support, and in the process, she realized something she had been missing had been under her nose for a while. Logan was attending school at Luxor too, and all of a sudden, she had her person in her life again. At the time she felt on top of the world, regardless of the circle beginning to stir up issues.

And then, suddenly, she was knocked right back down to the ground.

First Logan was kidnapped and forced to deliver the message, and then he was forced to go home for personal reasons. The support she had so quickly grown used to having was seemingly being ripped out from her yet again. While he was still in touch, continuing to be her rock, her eating disorder only continued to spiral out of control. And no matter how much she tried to pretend she was fine, it was getting to the point there was no way to really do so. Balo was sick, and now everyone could tell. It was concern from her teachers that helped fuel the chain of events that resulted in getting her help, no matter how much she tried to assure everyone she didn’t need inpatient therapy and that doing outpatient would be fine. After several months of inpatient followed by a bout of “readjustment to the real world” time at home, she’s back at Luxor and as sunshine-y as ever.

TLDR / quick important notes bio recap for rereads: - Balo’s home life is far from perfect. Her father, Lance - is an abusive alcoholic, and while her mother tried her best to protect her children - she also covered things up without hesitation. It wasn’t uncommon to see a Driskell in the ER with a lie and people willing to back up the story. - The lack of control in her life is what led to her eating disorder, in hopes of regaining a (false) sense of control. - She’s been attending Luxor since freshman year, although she recently had to leave for a few months to attend extensive inpatient treatment. And now she’s back to her normal sunshine-esc antics, trying to love everyone, feeding all the strays at Luxor, and trying to spread smiles everywhere she goes.

★ wanted connections;

Friendships

Someone to manipulate her, please I beg you

Um, pretty much anything? She likes everyone cause if you do something to hurt her she does mental gymnastics to come to the conclusion you are a good person and it was an unintended side effect so...yeah. Doesn’t mean your muses have to like her though (I have a lot of fun when they don’t actually, so… don’t worry about hurting the sunshine daughter. Okay?)

Anyone who knows her from the gymnastics and/or cheer teams, as she was on the teams through Freshmen & Sophomore years, and until October of her junior year.

[petersshirts]

It’s Only You | tom holland

pairing: tom holland x reader

summary: OH MY GOD THEY WERE ROOMATES or your roommate brings a girl home every night and you surely but slowly realise that he’s the one you’ve been looking for

warnings: none just fluff and a bit of yelling

words: 1,6 k

A/N: writers block hit me hard this week but i managed to push through!! three half-done fics later, i finally managed to finish something, and I’m actually quite proud! Please let me know what you think, I appreciate your feedback! x

„You’ve got to be kidding me.“ you groaned when you heard two voices in the hall, announcing that your roommate Tom was back home with a girl, again. It was nothing new to you - Tom was quite the player at college and every weekend, there was a new girl in his bed. But it was Thursday today and for the last two days, there had been a new girl by his side every night. You had never really cared about the fact that your best friend had a fuck-boy image, because you knew the real Tom. He was a sweet guy who made you laugh all day, who loved commenting every movie you watched together.

But for the last few weeks, you hated that there was a beautiful skinny girl in his bed every night and distracting you from all the learning you had to do. And with him having a girl by his side nearly every second of the day, there was no bonding time between the two of you. You missed your best friend, but you also didn’t want to confront him about his sex life. It was his apartment too and he could do anything he wanted, right?

You told yourself that it was just the lack of friend time and not his laugh and the way his arms wrapped around you when you were sitting on the couch together. Not the way he always asked about your day even though there was some chick in your bathroom, ready to leave and never see him again. You hated to admit it, but it hurt every time you saw him kiss them, wishing that you were one of them instead. But there was no way that he would ever like you or be in a relationship - Tom had a clear policy of no girlfriend in college, only one-night stands.

So here you were, playing the part of the roommate and best friend.

„You’re so jealous, girl.“ Your co-worker Callie nudged your shoulder, causing you to look up to her with a pout while making a coffee for another customer. „I’m not! It’s just annoying that he brings a girl home every night. I need to study.“ Callie let out a laugh and shook her head, not believing you one bit. „Okay, you’re making up excuses to hide the fact that you’re in looove.“ You widened your eyes at her yell and shushed her, not wanting that everyone could hear your confession. „I’m not, okay?? Yes, I like him but he’s my best friend and my roommate, Callie.“ You whined, feeling completely helpless. Yes, you wanted to tell Tom how you felt but on the other side, your friendship would be lost if he didn’t feel the same way. And you were pretty sure that he was not slightly interested in you, you were like a sister to him.

„But you also like him more than a friend. And I know from experience that it hurts much more to just watch from the sidelines. I promise you that you will feel much better if you tell him.“

And with these words, you opened the door to your shared apartment, a sigh leaving your lips.

„Y/N, is that you?“ Toms’ voice came from the kitchen and you chuckled and followed his voice, just to see him with a bar of chocolate in his hand. „Who else would it be? I’m the only one with a key.“ You nudged him with your hip and walked towards the fridge to get some food for yourself.

„How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a few days!“ Tom shocked you by walking up to you from behind and wrapping his arms around your waist. His face was on your shoulder, close to your face and you tried to ignore the close proximity. He’s only your friend, Y/N, calm down. It was normal for the two of you to be so close but with you feeling different towards Tom, it was hard not to turn around and kiss him, or just push him far, far away from you. But you didn’t want to explain to him what was wrong with you, so you just continued your search for some food.

„Hm, I know. College’s been quite busy and you’ve been quite busy with all those girls.“ The words slipped out of your mouth before you noticed, catching Tom off guard. You never seemed to mind about the girls - this was the first time you actually said something. And you didn’t seem that happy. Slowly, he pulled back and leaned onto the counter, watching you carefully.

„I thought you didn’t have a problem with them?“ You finally found some leftovers from yesterday and turned back to your best friend, trying to find the right words to say. „I just noticed that there are a lot more. And you’re quite loud in the bedroom.“ Tom raised an eyebrow, confused about your reaction. He knew that he brought a lot of girls home but he always tried to be quiet, always trying to respect your presence. And maybe also forget about it.

Tom had caught himself a couple of times staring at you, admiring your beauty and character, sometimes wishing that he could hold you at night, and not these girls he didn’t even know. Whenever he kissed them, you were in his mind, imagining that he was kissing you instead. The urge had gotten worse over the last few weeks and to distract himself of never having you in his arms, he went to parties every night to get himself another girl. But whenever he laid down in bed to sleep with a naked body next to him, he felt so empty. He wanted to run into your room, hold you close and never let go.

„So what? I’m just enjoying myself.“ He didn’t know where those words came from, but the way you looked at him showed him that you were in defensive mode. Oh no. This never ended well. „You know that this is actually my apartment too? And I would really appreciate if there wasn’t a girl in your bed for once.“ Tom snorted and crossed his arms over his chest, not understanding your problem. „Come on, Y/N, we’ve been living together for nearly two years and it never bothered you!! Why now?“ He was yelling now and the anger roared through your body, and the next few words were out of your mouth before you could process them.

„Because I love you, you idiot!“ Toms’ eyes widened and he stared at you, trying to understand what you just said. This couldn’t be true. You slowly backed away, knowing that you ruined this. Ruined this friendship, everything you had with Tom. „Well, I’m gonna go to…“ But you were interrupted when Tom grabbed your waist, turned you around and suddenly, his lips were on yours. It took you a few seconds to kiss back - but when you did, a little groan left Toms’ lips. Your arms found its’ way to his neck where you played with his soft curls, trying to pull him even closer. The kiss was heated and passionate, the both of you trying to put all these unspoken feelings into the kiss.

When air started to run low, you slowly pulled away and leaned your forehead on Toms’ to gaze in his brown eyes. Up close, he was even prettier and you noticed the small freckles on his nose. „Do you really mean what you just said?“ Toms’ words were quiet but you just smiled and nodded. „Yeah. I liked you for a couple of months now but with you having those girls around I…“ Tom shut you up again with pressing a light kiss on your lips.

„Just stop talking for once, Y/N, I’m trying to confess my love over here.“ When he said those words, you just stared at him, trying to understand what he just said. Tom stared at the ground, trying to find the right words.

„I brought so many girls back home to forget about you because I always thought that you had no feelings for me. With them I could forget about you for a while but… I wanna be with you, Y/N. I wanna be your best friend but I also want to be your boyfriend, I want you to be mine and I’ll be yours. If you want me to.“ Tears started streaming down your face when he said that, still struggling to look back into your eyes. He was never good with showing feelings, but there was no turning back. Not anymore.

You just nodded and hugged him, tears wetting Toms’ shirt as he chuckled, knowing that these were happy tears. „I love you, Y/N. Only you.“ And with that, he picked you up and slowly walked into his room, where he would show you just how much you meant to him.

Feedback is greatly appreciated!!

If you would like to be added to my Taglist, please send me an ask!

Permanent Taglist and mutuals:

@smexylemony // @ive-got-more-wit // @lou-la-lou // @loxbbg // @seanna313 // @underoos-shield // @hollandfieldblurbs // @supernatural-strangerthings-1980 // @ixchel-9275 // @thejourneyneverendsx // @sideeffectsofyou // @teenwolfbitches2 // @mywinterwolf // @alex--awesome--22 // @wronglanemendes // @keithseabrook27 // @tomshufflepuff // @awkwardfangirl2014 // @peterpumpkinparker // @underoos-shield // @mr-delmar // @twilightparker // @h-osterfield // @moonkissedtom // @curlytoms // @holland-peters // @fratboievans // @rainbow-marvel // @spiderrrling // @hufflebucky // @hollandroos // @naturallytom

[knowndwarffucker]

TOP 5 DWARVES IN ORDER OF THEIR FUCKABILITY (NONE OF WHICH ARE THORIN)

 5. NORI

listen, i hate for this to be the first line of the post, but nori FUCKS. he fucks HARD. he’s always up to something illegal, so he knows where to get good drugs and how to fucking party. he’s also described as immensely loyal to his brothers, and quick witted, so you won’t be having a bad time fucking him, but he DOES have major commitment issues. hope you dont get attached, cus he’ll be gone by next friday, then hit u up a year and a half later like he was just gone a week with a midnight booty text and go break your heart all over again. he eats ass like he’s fucking built for it though, so it would be worth it. he also plays the flute, and i cant figure out how that fits in, but its worth noting. 

4. DAIN 

first of all, in the books he kills azog before any of the hobbit starts, after HIS father got his head chopped off too, so he’s already committed one incredible feat. THEN, he’s smart enough to be like “fuck pride, we’re leaving” as the new king, and went home to rule a kingdom so great it rivaled sauron. he was nice to the eagles (gave them hats), made alliances with bard and good old thrandy, named his son after thorin after he became king, refused to be bribed by sauron, and died defending bard’s grandad or whatever at age 250 or smth old. this guy is the epitome of big dick energy. this guys dick is so big he gets all his codpieces custom made. unfortunately, he’s a politician and also wasnt portrayed in the movies so he gets a 0 on sexy rating and must be delegated to 4th position

3. GIMLI

I could go on about gimli. gimli son of FUCKING gloin. gimli, who asks galadriel for a hair off her head and gets THREE!!! gimli, who forms unbreakable bonds that cross races, gimli, who ran for DAYS maybe WEEKS straight after two young hobbits simply because they didnt deserve to be left alone. gimli, who’s first reaction to the ring of such great power it nearly destroyed the world, was to pick up his axe and try to smite it. if you dont think he’s hot as fuck you’re wrong, if you don’t think he could kick gods ass you’re wrong, and if you dont think either then you can just unfollow me right now. i could go on and on about my boy, but we all know how great his is. problems? 1. he’s related to the line of durin, however distantly, which is self explanatory, and 2. he’ll spend the whole time you’re together talking about his cool friend legolas and the cool adventures they’ve been going on and “the elf” this and “the elf” that until youre BEGGING him to either shut up or go makeout with his fucking boyfriend. so. :/ 

2. DWALIN

he’s stoic. he’s got a sense of humor. he’s rough, but he’s also loyal. he’s one of the only original company dwarves to make it to the LOTR so he’s clearly not as dumb as he looks. he’s mega sexy with tattoos, and fucks for sure. i mean look at him, he could hammer my anvil any DAY of the week. he plays the viol, so he’s clearly at romantic at heart, and lends bilbo his cloak on the first day of the fucking ADVENTURE EVEN THOUGH NONE OF THEM EVEN TRUSTED HIM!!!! HES THE LEAST TRUSTING OUT OF ALL OF THEM BUT HE DID THAT OUT OF THE KINDESS OF HIS HEART!!! HES THE ONE TO CALL THORIN AN ASS AT EREBOR AND SAVE BILBO DURING THE BATTLE!!! A KING!!! only setback is that he’s thorin’s cousin, and spends a lot of time with him, and if pigheadedness isnt genetic then it must be contagious. 

1. BOFUR 

how could it not be bofur? how could you think this would end in any other way? he’s the most emotionally available, he’s great at a party, he sings canonically very well, he’s always optimistic, and he’s a fucking lumberjack? i mean c’mon? also, his family isnt related to the line of durin at all, and you get bombur as an in-law. he’s literally the perfect man. he joins up with the gang not because he wants his own home back, because he wants “our” home back, he wants to get it back for everyone!!! he’s a blue mountain dwarf, but that doesnt sway his conviction to their cause!!! “Though not especially brave, he will do his best to help those in need, especially those he counts as friends.” !!! when bilbo goes to leave he tries to stop him until he realizes just how homesick bilbo is and then he’s like “good luck, no hard feelings, im not mad” like the ANGEL he is??!! also hes a freak in the fucking sheets and im so viscerally convinced of this that im starting to believe ive had some incredibly crucial dwarffucking visions that were wiped from my hard drive by unspeakable forces

[rewritingthestars]

Ive been watching a lot of horror movies about mermaids and got inspired to write mermaid neil aus so have the first part of the chapter

Warnings- graphic descriptions of violence and murder

Humanity doesn’t belong in the ocean. That’s what Neil’s parents taught him.

In the depths of the abyss only the ruthless survive. The darkness is endless and the predators are vast. You kill and you eat and you hide and keep moving forward until something more dangerous gets the better of you. Humanity has no place in a sea of monsters, no place in primal savagery.

Neil grows up and watches his parents lure and drown and skin humans alive. His mother teaches him how to sing and change his features to theirs, and his father teaches him how to rip out the thorax to get to the heart.

You are an animal first, and a person second. His father once told him, Never forget that you are separate from them.

Neil knows what a mask feels like, knows his face and hands and voice are only a masquerade, only a ploy, only a cover of what lies underneath. He is nothing more than blood thirst and instincts and clever adaptations to trick creatures above to their death. Mermaids aren’t people, they’re animals, cold and emotionless and cruel. They care only for prey, for food, for shelter, for survival. They are not humans, just the monsters that were made in their image.

And yet.

His mother taught him their language through the songs. Their words are strange and the sounds are too loud when spoken but they have a meaning to them that he can’t seem to get across in the chirps and hums of his native tongue. When he was younger his mother would sometimes let him swim just beyond the shoreline, and he’d watch as they danced and laughed and sang around bright flames the color of the sun. When he first lures a sailor to his fate, the expression on his face churns Neil’s stomach and his last breath breaks something deep inside.

Just before 12 moons of 12 moons pass his father tears the chords from his mother’s throat and eats her heart still beating. Neil wonders if all monsters feel the gut retching agony of losing a mother or if there’s something wrong with him.

Older but not much wiser, Neil sings and lures and murders for his clan, for his father, for his own survival, and pretends the hollow feeling inside of him is from an empty stomach and not of the misery that comes with being a killer.

-----

If Andrew had a choice whatsoever in his life, being a fisherman would not be his first. Or his second. Or his third. Possibly his fifth, right after falling off the side of a building.

But Andrew is fairly use to not getting the things he chooses, if he is given choices at all.

“Minyard!” Wymack yells, for the eighth time today, and Andrew makes a point to look like he’s been doing absolutely nothing, which isn’t too hard considering he is.

“Which one?” Andrew says, pointlessly. It’s never the other one, but it always succeeds in making Wymack’s face all the more redder.

“Don’t fuck with me you damn midget, get your ass over to the other deckhands and help them get the fish out of the net!” He shouts out, rain pulling his hair sideways and fish scales covering his life jacket.

Andrew hasn’t slept for more than four hours in the last twenty four hours and has been overhauling net after net for the last ten hours and the last thing he wants to do is look at another damn fish, which is rather hard considering the piles and piles of twitching fish that litter the deck’s boards. The rain has only gotten worse since the morning, pounding down with the viciousness of bears, wind blowing it in a way that nearly throws Andrew overboard, waves smashing into the boat to the point that it’s at a constant forty five degree tilt each time it rocks back.

If it wasn’t raining to the point of danger and if Andrew wasn’t in a place of potentially getting hit in the face with a jellyfish he’d look to the sky with all the disdain and annoyance he could muster. As it is he looks to the floorboards for pity and finds only a flopping fish on top of its brethren.

“Fuck.” Andrew says, but it’s lost in the rain and Kevin’s loud panicked shouts of district lines.

-----

Neil isn’t suppose to be this close to the surface. His father would punish him for this, his mother would kill him for this, but the skies are clear for the first time in months and the stars and galaxies so far away are finally clear up above. Neil likes to look at them, stare at them, tremble in the wake of knowing that the ocean isn’t the only place filled with darkness.

Neil has no excuse for being this close to a boat, this close to sailors. If Neil was more like his father he’d get the rest of his clan and sink the ship to the bottoms of the sea. If neil was more like his mother he’d go back to the cove his father has staked out and never speak of what he saw again. But Neil is neither his father nor his mother and instead treads in the shadows of the waters and peers up in hopes of a glimpse at the life above.

Sailors don’t come this far out anymore. It’s been moons since the last ship came through, a storm following its wake and tipping the boat over, dooming the survivors to a fate worse than drowning or hypothermia. Neil had silently wished that none would come after but Neil should know better by now that wishes are meaningless.

“What are you waiting for Junior?” He jolts, the sounds of her voice ricketing up his spine and constricting his throat. Lola swims next to him and grins, all of her sharp razor teeth out, her eyes covered by her second lid. “Well? Did you really think you could take an entire ship for yourself? Or were you thinking of some else all together, hm?” She laughs then, irritatedly high pitched squeals that pierced his ears and make him wince.

“I was just assessing the situation. It’s not usual to get ships this far out.” Neil says, hoping to play off the deep rooted fear she causes him.

Lola opens her black lids to roll her eyes, something she learned from her last victim. “Gods you’re just like your mother, if you won’t start it I will.” With that she breaks the surface and screams.

“Help! Help me please! Help!” She cries, splashing around like she’s struggling. “Down here, please hurry!”

It takes a few minutes of her act before someone above notices and shouts, a series of lights and people scrambling up above, and Neil feels his heart plummet as one of them unfastens a liferaft and makes to lower it into the water. Three humans are on it as they get closer. It’s not a lot but it’ll be enough. Lola must have alerted the rest of the clan because Neil can see the others start to surround the main ship.

Lola goes under with a shout before the humans can reach her and she gives Neil a wide grin, her skin darkening gray and her mouth widening. “You’re up Junior.” She says, grabbing his arm harshly to move him upward.

Neil lets himself break the surface, startling the men looking over their life raft for Lola.

“Wha-” One of them starts to say but Neil doesn’t waste time before shushing him, moving to the edge of the raft with the smile his mother taught him to wear.

“You’re far from home aren’t you? How lonely you must be.” Neil says softly, reciting the words he’s said thousands of times before. “Would you like to spend the night with me?”

The humans are already under the spell of his voice, their eyes glazed over, leaning towards him subconsciously. Neil traces the arm of the man closest to him, feeling the odd hair of it and the way it makes the human shiver. Neil looks up from under his eyelashes. “Do you want to kiss me?” The man nods mouth gaped and moving closer to his. Neil pulls back as he goes forward until the man’s face is underwater and Neil unhinges his jaw and bites his neck open. There’s a muted gurgling sound as the man struggles against him and shouts above from his comrades but Neil can already hear Romero and his father pull the others down. Neil feels for the bone that connects the neck and snaps it, pushin the slightly twitching body downwards towards Lola who snatches it and immediately digs her teeth into the body’s chest.

Neil sinks down and his father, with a mouthful of gore gives him a look that speaks danger if he does not comply. Above the water, lights and panicked yells indicate the rest of the humans looking for their crewmates and Neil steels his face and goes above the surface once more, letting out a shaky breath before opening his mouth and sings.

-----

It does not take long, after that, for the rest of the crew to go down screaming.

-----

[floralkittygambler]

Return of The Thing

Sort of. By thing, I mean me. But I love this movie and the meme. Ok, context for this post: - Where I’ve been - Why I left - Whats hip happening -  Where I’ve Been:

Long story short, I’ve had real life matters to deal with. Firstly, my entire household contracted COVID. Well, *almost*. We’ve been through constant testing, quarantine zones, and had the ambulance up numerous times. My parents and 2nd oldest sister were hit the hardest. My 3rd oldest sister was positive and asymptomatic. Now something none of us could predict that I would be completely COVID free despite my compromises. Despite that I was in close contact with them all, including the 2nd oldest who contracted it first and accidentally being coughed on a few times lol. I went through the exact same testing and yet nothing. No symptoms. No presence of COVID. And I took no precaution to isolate from my family as I presumed in our small house we’d all get it, so I was more preoccupied with caring for the sick. Ultimately, I’ve either gotten off scott free this time or there’s a chance I may actually either be highly resistant or even immune. Even then, I WILL be having the vaccine as and when my family are eligible. And we all still follow regulations set.  I’ve also had other real life obligations, much of it either mundane fixing up my living circumstances to more personal matters. Overall, I have been extremely preoccupied.

A mini update, the stray cat Big has been in our porch a lot more in recent times due to the snow as well as being even more affectionate. And Queefster passed away after a good life and a full tummy. Why I Left:

Aside from COVID, business, and my own health declining, I’ll be blunt. I left because of how disgustingly toxic most fandoms are nowadays, but Hazbin is one of the WORST for it. That includes harassment, death threats, mocking MI and triggering an ED. In fact, I’ve even seen others get rape and death threats. So yes, even if YOU are a decent fan, collectively most of you arent doing any favours. Even some critical blogs seem to be overtly catty in ways no one else seems to pick up on under this ‘look how blunt I am’ look and it’s just... You dont have to be a prick to have your say, to be honest and to disagree with the trending. That’s a few on and off of tumblr, and no one I follow anyways. 

In regards to my ‘sensitivities’ - two things: 1) Of course trauma is going to hurt, 2) Im fully aware of kids doing and receiving much of this, which hurts MORE. I have my own lil squids and Im worried of them eventually having to deal with this shit. And no, no one SHOULD have to put up with such rude and poor behaviour. Agree to disagree doesnt live in some people’s realities, but by God harassment and bullying seems ok if YOURE doing it or enticing it. That ISNT ok. Even if it seems like nothing to you it could kill another. I certainly will not take your shit. 

On huskerdust I STAND by my words. It’s fucking creepy and there is sexual harassment and obsession. And there are large triggers. I will not go into detail here because Ive done that dance before and I’ll be refining it again. YOU may like it, however it triggers my very real traumas as well as those in my bloodline. Be respectful and keep that shit away from me. And for goodness sake, parents PLEASE dont raise your children to behave as such online. And no, being anon isnt actually fully anonymous. Also to send hate and threats anon is not only traceable but also cowardice. Grow a pair and find a hobby. I avoid my traumas for the most part. I will not allow you to weaponise or diminish my own or others experiences for your fictional based gratification. Likewise, if it becomes canon, I’ll just make an AU where it is not. Simple. You can hate it but Im not your personal circus so go be toxic elsewhere. IF you like HD and follow me, honestly... Youre probably better to unfollow as I am deeply and passionately against it and stolitz, and valvox, and am very vocal on that. Dont mistake my traumas and discomfort as a personal attack - and dont personally attack me over it either. And before anyone claims homophobia, no. This is nothing to do with sexuality. You arent the victim. If you love these pairings with your soul to the point of a ‘stan’, then youre best off unfollowing because I really am too old for extremists and rabid fans more crazed than the infected in REC. Also I never used to hate angel but now... Fans behaviour is abhorrent and hes so over saturated that I honestly really dislike him now. Doesnt mean you have to hate him too, but just bloody respect that angel isnt loved by all, he can be triggering to some as well as toxically enabling [incl. past addicts], a vile homophobic gay stereotype and just overall a lack of knowledge and respect of sex workers as a whole. When you know a lot of the ins and outs and victims, it’s hard to overlook. I respect your triggering ships by avoiding that mess. Respect others.  The problem with Viv - and I will elaborate in the future - is that your audience is often a reflection of your work and it’s message/presentation. And most of the fandom Ive met are awful. Honestly, though lonesome I find more comfort keeping distant from fandoms because yall often extremely toxic and petty. Perhaps others have had better experiences than I however Im drawing a line in the sand. For MY sake. I’m annoyed with virtually anyone I sense great potential in that becomes wasted. Im angry at Viv because she can do so much better but is blocking HERSELF. This is from a creative and business mindset. When someone has potential that gets wasted - especially creatively - it burns me. Im just passionate on artistic fields. It doesnt mean I hate them. I hate the waste of full potential.

I’ll state things here people disagree with but encouraging harassment, hate or just being an overall cunt just aint on- It’s like people charade as being this fair being but its all bullshit. Self improve and sod off, I do NOT have time to parent you online. 

And obviously there are RL duties I must fulfil. Some in which I will need the publics assistance for if you can spare it. Overall, Im just... Fandoms behaviour generally disgusts me. Disappoints me. We SHOULD be better than this. It’s like listening to bloomin incels rant on fuckin chad or some bullshit pill theory instead of looking to improve themselves too. Honestly... I do mostly acknowledge my own flaws and faults and try to improve each day. It just feels fewer folk see that in themselves and do the same. And that’s coming from an old cunt whos far from fuckin perfect. Also, my fuckin laptop broke so I waited a week for a bloke nearby to fix it. What a fuckin lifesaver, he’s the real mvp!

Also Also, one of you did privately apologise and I appreciate that. I certainly hope we agree to disagree and continue to grow as people on our separate ways. Trust me, I dont forget small acts like this. Even the trauma that caused and the aftermath, please dont think I dont appreciate the apology. However you’re also entitled to know that the forgiveness and healing side may take longer for me due to various factors that occurred - much that few are aware of, including yourself especially. I wish you well and safety.

Hip Happenin Now:

Still busy but slowly visiting. I’ll reply and reblog soon, be patient please. Ive still many things to sort which take priority as well as other things. Im trying to get money n shit for a future and whatnot. Health issues are strong in the blood rn and Im spending extended time with both Big and the other pets to keep up harmony, especially now that Big is accepting slowly that our porch is a welcome shelter for him and he’s free to leave and stay whenever. Trust me, overloaded isnt even the word. Im prepping shit early this year and from now on. Also, my God Ive been dealing with more physical issues as well and had to play doctor. May even need medical interference but holy shit I could never see this coming. Still... It’s... An experience- If you could call it that. Staying more active and healthy. Cat’s nearly clawed my eye out in my sleep (to which I can only presume Billy got too close or hyper) but it’s fortunate placement so Im alright. Most of my body is in pain to the point of absolute normality at this rate. And I plan to make space for a better altar. Future of the Blog: 

Errr, it’s my fuckin space so it’s whatever I want really. Ill still have my Viv rants (ie, pros and cons of her work, HH/HB, other shit like that) however I just really dislike most the fandom at this point as well as the poor management and lack of professionalism and attitudes of staff. It’s just draggin me down and making me ill. I also want to showcase more of MY work (from redesigns to projects to some dumb 2am shit), cosplays, fashion, hobbies, spiritual practises - MY. SHIT. I feel like Ive strayed slightly. But I WILL be honest. And damn well will it upset people. And if it does and I’m genuinely ding something wrong/harmful - guide me patiently. Educate me. If it’s like this HD shit where Im not only allowed my opinions but justified on my traumas or mocking my disabilities or features, then just yeet yourself elsewhere. Also some of my gaming shit too. Getting to know folk who interact with my stuff and just... Create my space. For me. Something hopefully others can enjoy. Something that can function as a bit of an art portfolio as well. Critiques and whatnot.  But I will continually not stand for anyone’s shit or poor handling of serious matters. You will not cause me to doubt and invalidate my experiences like you have to others.  For now, Im tottering but slowly returning. For those who I previously and daily interacted with, I will get back to you. And Im sure you’re patient and understanding of my situation - it’s appreciated. But in terms of any fandom, more so if it’s known to be as hostile, I’d rather keep a healthy boundary between us. That’s for newer folk. Perhaps we may bond further and you’re welcome to try, however I do feel far safer not getting involved into other people’s shit any longer. I will put anon back on but any toxic shit will be reported as well as compiled so at least I have a reference on the actual toxic nature of fandoms. Likewise, Im slowly getting there but god theres a lot of fuckin work. So much that not even my closest friend has heard too much from me until recently. I’ll be returning to the grind for now as I have duties, as well as many demanding felines for my attention. Alongside some physical medical concerns which require additional care, I’ll be popping off now.  Im thankful for those who have checked in on me. I will reply shortly. Take care

[littlebitoffanfic]

Never Lost

Fandom: IT Character: Henry, Vic, Belch Relationship: Henry/reader Request: Can you do another henry bowers one where the readers there when his dads shooting at the ground (in the movie) and the reader runs over to him after to see if hes okay and he pushes her away and accidently hurts her and she runs away from him? Like, that’s the reasons Henry kills his dad is because he thinks he has nothing else to live for. You were lying on the grass just outside Henrys house while the boys played with his dads gun. You had already told them they shouldn’t be doing it but none of them listened. You knew how bad Henrys dad could be and, to be honest, you didn’t want to see Henry hurt again. You had started to drift into a light sleep under the warm rays of the sun, your mind only being kept away by the sound of the gun every now and then. You heard a cat meow somewhere and the boys talking but didn’t think anything of it until you allowed your head to lazily roll to the side and see a rather scared looking Belch holding a car on the podium they had been shooting cans off of and Henry pointing the gun at it. “No!” You called out, turning to scramble to your feet when another voice filled the air and you saw Henry freeze in spot. His back was only slightly to you and you saw his eyes widen as his father came out of the house. You stayed where you were, having a deep fear and hatred for Henrys father and always trying to keep as far away from him as possible. Henrys father had a very nasty habit of trying to destroy your relationship with Henry. You had been dating for a little over a year now but had known each other since you were a child and been friends from the first moment you toddled up to him. Your friendship had blossomed into a relationship when he kissed you out of the blue one March night you had been inseparable ever since. But his dad didn’t like this. He would sneak ideas into Henrys head when you weren’t around. He would tell him you had no feelings for him, that no one could ever care for him. “I was just cleaning it.” You heard Henry mumble, holding out the gun to his father. He had shrunken into himself, his head low and his shoulders hunched. You wanted to run over and wrap your arms around him but fear had glued you to the spot. You looked over at Vic and Belch, who looked just as on edge as you felt. Henrys father mumbled something you didn’t quite catch and your attention was drawn back to him as he turned to walk away. You let out a sign of relief until he twisted back and held the gun up. Gun fire filled the air and you let out a cry of fear which only stopped when you saw he was firing at Henrys feet, missing them by mere inches. Henry became jumpy, filching but trying not to move as he held his hands up, protecting his face. “See how the paper man crumbles.” His father called to you, looking directly at you as he motioned the gun at Henry. You glowered back at him, trying to stop the tears coming to your eyes. But all he did was laugh and walk back into the house. Once he was a little closer to the house, you heard Henry let out a whimper, still standing with his hands in front of his face. You knew his friends would do nothing. They couldn’t comfort him for fear of facing homophobic reactions. You raced forward, throwing your arms around him. You wanted to comfort him, to tell him it was all going to be okay. To tell him you loved him. He meant the world to you and you to him. You weren’t going to let that asshole get in the way of you two. You wanted him to wrap his arms around you and hold you until he felt strong enough to pull away. He did that often. He pulled his strength from you. And you knew Vic and belch wouldn’t say anything. You were pretty sure they could walk in on the two of you in any way and it wouldn’t reach anyone else’s ears. But that didn’t happen. In fact, you weren’t really sure what happened. He pushed you away slightly, before full force pushing you back. You wondered if he had maybe punched you by the force in which you were thrown back from him. You managed to look at him as he did so, and his eyes went on you, they were on his father. But due to the new holes in the ground, your heel caught in one and you fell backwards. As you hit the ground, you put your hands out to try and stop yourself, but you felt something sharp penetrate your skin before your head hit the ground, scrapping across a rock. Your ears started to buzz as you blinked wildly, tears running down your cheek. Pushing yourself up, you looked at your hand to see a massive shard of glass had cut across your palm, blood pouring from the new wound. Your other hand reached up to touch your head and you instantly felt the blood. Someone appeared in front of you and you hoped it would be Henry. But it wasn’t. “Geez [y/n]. you need to get to a hospital!” Vic said in shock, his eyes on the glass in your hand. You knew you had to get the glass out, so you grabbed it and pulled it out the wound, letting out a cry of pain as you did. “I told you that you’d hurt that girl!” You heard Henry and you glanced over to see he was standing at the door, pointing at you. He had seen the whole thing. You looked up at Henry, who had stopped shaking. He stood, frozen to the spot, his eyes wide as he looked at you. His mouth was slightly open in shock. A part of you wanted to scream at him, to tell him to help you up, to take you to the hospital. But then it hit you. He had pushed you away. He had hurt you. Maybe not intentionally but he wasn’t making any effort to show it was an accident, to tell you he was sorry. Tears ran down your cheek and joined with the blood on your cheek. Looking away from Henry, you stumbled to your feet with the help of Vic. Belch seemed to be in as much shock as Henry. “Ive got to go.” You mumbled to Vic before turning away from the group and walking down the drive way. You could feel your whole body shaking as your tried not to cry. You could feel eyes on your back, but you didn’t know if it was Henry, Vic or Belch. Or all three. ---------time skip------------------------- You had gone to the pharmacy first, only because you knew Gretas dad would probably be able to take care of you without you having to go to the hospital. He gave you a shot in case the glass had anything nasty on it and cleaned your wound, which he said should heal nicely without stiches since it was a clean cut and not nearly as deep as it looked but you had to keep it bandaged up. He did his best with your head, saying it was just a graze but if you felt lightheaded or if you felt like you were going to pass out, to get help immediately in case you had a concussion. He gave you some drugs for the pain but nothing strong before letting you go. You were very thankful that you were close friends with his daughter, because it cost you nothing. Just before you left, he called you back, asking you how you had gotten your cuts. When you didn’t answer and tears welled in your eyes, he asked if it was Henry. This took you by surprise and you shook your head, saying Henry had just been trying to protect you. Realising what you had said, you left in a hurry. You were walking home, your mind racing. You weren’t angry with Henry, although you were very hurt. He didn’t mean for you to fall. You wondered if it was because you tried to help him too early. His father had still been around and had seen what happened. Maybe if he had accepted your affections, it would have led to another altercation, possibly involving you. Then your mind fell on the words Butch had yelled. “I told you that youd hurt that girl.” He had spoken about you before. He had told Henry that he was a danger to you. You shook your head. He wasn’t a danger to you. He would never intentionally hurt you. Ever. He had proven that countless times. He had went out of his way to make sure you were safe. Arguments, though rare, never ended with punches or even the slightest pain. He just wanted you to be happy, so would often cave in to you. You tried to think of a time you were actually frightened of him or scared he would hurt you. But nothing came to mind. Before you realised, you found yourself on Henrys drive, walking up. You needed to see him. You needed to talk to him. “[y/n]?!” Vic called you, drawing your attention to the car, which him and Belch were leaning against. You didn’t know why you were surprised that they were still here. You just hadn’t counted on anyone being here except Henry. “You alright?” Belch asked warily as you approached. “Yeah. Nothing serious.” You raised your hand to your head, but smiled. But then you saw something in their eyes. Fear? “What?” “Its henry. Something wrong. Like really wrong.” Vic nodded to the house. You were off like a gun, bolting to the front door. Was he in danger? Was his father beating him again? It had to be bad if they were this worried. You opened the door carefully, your eyes falling on Henrys back. As you crept quietly inside, you noticed something odd. He was standing directly behind his dads seat, his father sitting in said seat. But his fathers legs were shaking and you saw his hands reaching up to grasp at something. At Henrys face. His knife had been lost ages ago, something about falling down the side of a hill, but you didn’t know why. You knew Henry had taken a beating for it though. “Shes gone.” Henry mumbled, breathing hard as you ventured closer. The sight you saw made you gasp in horror. Butch was bleeding from the weapon in his neck. Henry was holding his knife into the side of his father neck and Butches movements slowly began to stop before he slumped down. Dead. “Shes gone.” Henry let out a sob, his eyes squeezed shut as he shook his head, his hands shaking. “’Cause of you.” He growled at the now corpse. “Henry?” You made your presents known, for fear of making a noise and him lunging at you with the knife. Henry froze, his eyes wide but unseeing as he stared straight ahead, as if listening to see if it was just in his mind. “Love?” You called gently to him, using a nickname that you knew he adored. It was something sweet that he craved, loving it so much that he didn’t even mind you calling him it in school. “[y/n]?” He whispered, looking at you. He had blood splattered on his face as his gaze switched to the TV, which was only playing static. He let go and backed away from the body, shaking his head. “No, no, not her.” He mumbled to himself as you took a hesitant step forward. “[y/n]?” He said again, looking at you. He looked lost, broken and scared. you felt a strong pull of protection as you looked at him. You knew it was only a matter of time before his father went too far, not that anyone in Derry cared. They wouldn’t care that Butch Bowers was dead. Many would agree he would beat his son black and blue then go drinking. Henry would have no chance if the town thought he had been killed in cold blood. Henry needed someone to protect him for once. Not to validate his actions, but to protect him. “i-i-i-“ He trailed off, looking to the body and back to you. “H-H-He. “He attacked me.” You say, your voice strong and sable, unlike Henrys who was shaking like his hands. “He attacked me with a broken bottle. And you thought he was going to stab me, so you ran up behind him with your knife. You only meant to stab him in the shoulder to give me time to get away but he moved and your knife went into his throat. Vic and Belch saw the whole thing.” You didn’t drop his gaze as you spoke, telling him your plan. A very, very small part of you was screaming that you were letting a murderer get off the hook, but then your eyes fell on the cigarettes burns on his arms, the bruises on his skin and the permanent scaring. A fresh start. That’s what he needed. And that’s what you would give him. “I never meant to hurt you.” HE whispers. “I know.” You smiled, but your eyes flicked to the knife and you couldn’t help but shudder at the blood. Henry saw this. He looked down at the knife in his hands, and the blood. The knife dropped from his hand, clattering on the floor by his feet. You moved forward, pausing every couple of steps to make sure everything was still okay. Once you were close enough, you wrapped your arms around his neck. He instantly responded, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulled you tight against his body. “I thought I lost you.” He whispered as he buried his head in your neck. You could feel the blood smearing on your skin, but you supressed a shudder. “No, baby. Im still here.” You ran your finger up the back of his neck and back down, feeling his hair. “I love you.” Henry whispered, his voice breaking as you froze. Neither of you had ever said the cursed words to each other before. Not even when you had held him as cried from beatings. Not when he fucked you into his mattress or when he made love to you in your bed. Never. You had always just assumed he couldn’t say it. He hadn’t known love before you so you just assumed he wouldn’t be able to say it. You pulled back, looking at him dead in the eyes. “Really?” You asked, your heart beating hard in your chest. Henry nodded, his eyes showing some signs of embarrassment for showing his feelings but you didn’t care. “I love you, too.” You threw yourself at him, feeling him stumble a little but he held you, letting out a small chuckle. “I love you, I love you so much.” You mumbled into his neck, feeling fiercely protective over him. Tears ran down your cheek and onto his neck, but you didnt care as you mumbled your love for him again and again. The words soothed him and you felt his shaking stop. His hands no longer clutched at your sides but now started to run up and down your spin as he held you. “We should go and speak to the guys.” You pulled back, wiping your tears away. You pulled your sleeves down to cover your hand and you used your sleeve to wipe the blood off his face. Henry moved forward quickly to smash his lips to yours in a needy but passionate kiss. You could tell it was his way of saying ‘thank you’, of saying ‘sorry’ and that he loved you. Neither of you knew what would happen when you stepped outside that door. You had no doubt that the guys would back you up, and you could say you had been scared and ran to the pharmacy, who would verify you were there and it was because Henry had protected you. No one would care, it was just how Derry was. In a couple of months, everything would blow over and everything would be forgotten. Just like the children. Whatever uncertainties that Henry was feeling vanished when he kissed you, knowing you would be by his side through it all.

[chaseestein-archive-blog]

the six stages of falling in love

relationship: jim kirk x reader word count: 2.3k warnings: none tagging: @lancestellations @lesbianrosalie @alexsunmners @pizzaplanethq @enterprisewriting a/n: this is based off of this poem

❤️commission me❤️

read on ao3

i.

The first time he sees you, you’re talking with a few cadets, and he watches diligently. Jim smiles at the way you wave your hand wildly, touching your friends on their shoulders and laugh heartily. (He wishes he could hear it.) With a drink in your hand and a smile playing at your lips which quickly vanishes when you raise the glass to your lips and look down at your drink in disappointment. He doesn’t listen to Bones, he can’t as he watches you move towards the bar from his spot at a high table. Your head is high and weaving through the crowd of drunken cadets that celebrate the beginning of the short two-week break for the holidays and the end of the midterms for most.

You glance to him, locking eyes for just a moment, seeing the flash of blue and blond of the man staring at you and he seems familiar, but all cadets in passing look the same to you in the matching red uniforms. So, you move on, not willing to waste your time staring at a man when you could be doing more with your time, like getting blackout drunk and regretting it in the morning.

“Jim, you look like a fish outta water.”

He turns to face Leonard, lips pressed into an unamused smile. “You can be a real ass, you know that?”

“Says the man who’s been ignoring me because of some pretty thing across the bar caught your eye.”

Jim clicks his tongue, “What makes you think,” he cranes his neck, looking for you in the crowd, “I was staring at someone.”

When he finds that you’ve disappeared amongst the drunk cadets, he feels himself deflate, wanting to get another glance at you, if only for just another moment. But you’re gone, lost in the sea of red and rowdy dancers.

Leonard shrugs and brings the shot glass to his lips and throws his head back. The sound of the glass hitting the wood table brings Jim back with a startle, “I know your tells, Jim, you’re an open book.”

“I think,” he says, picking up the glass and finishes of his whiskey, feeling the slight burn that it leaves in its wake down the back of his throat, something that he desperately needs to ground him back down. “It’s time I go.”

“It’s only ten.”

“And I’m tired, Bones.”

It’s not quite a lie, because he is tired, he truly is. It’s been a very long year, it’s the first time he’s felt in his place, somewhere he is being challenged and his potential being realized by others instead of being brushed off.

When he goes to lie down that night, fingers interlocked and behind his head, all he can see is you, the moment when you held eye contact with him for just that split second, his mind running wild with the memory.

ii.

He doesn’t know why you’re so hesitant in your affections toward him, it’s not like there’s rules. Well, there are, but that doesn’t mean that he cares- he’s never really cared for rules, that’s just part of who he is. This is the U.S.S Enterprise, the best ship in all of Starfleet, and you don’t earn that title by following the rules.

You still scan the room, looking for anything, any sign of another person, even as he says that it’s okay, that the coast is clear. Nobody’s watching and nobody really cares. There’s more scandalous affairs aboard the Enterprise than you and him. But you follow the rules- most of them anyway, the important ones- and it’s hard for you to break one of the upmost rules- one that has been outdated and nearly tossed out the window of most starships. You’re still so careful even when there is no need for it.

Jim doesn’t mind.

He takes them as they come, welcoming each hesitant kiss and touch with a smile and open arms.

Try as hard as he may to convince you that everything is okay, you still need to look, waiting to be caught by someone. Some days, he’s sure that it’s not the crew that you’re looking for when he goes to hold your hand.

“I think I love you,” you whisper, taking his hand in yours, doing your usual glance around the room. The tension in your shoulders slowly melt away when you’re sure that it’s only you and him in the small recreation room, “You don’t have to say it back but, I think that I really love you.”

He watches you, drinks you in like you’re his entire world- you might as well be- and the smile that has left him in a state of euphoria so many times, makes its way to your lips, and dear God, he thinks that smile could light up the entire galaxy.

Jim has spent his fair share of hours, lying in bed and trying to really get a grip on what he feels for you. It’s something that he’s never experienced. Sure, he’s had girlfriends when he was younger, but he’s never felt this towards any of those girls. This is new. A new kind of love. He’s felt platonic and familial love but never romantic love. So maybe this could be the real thing.

He hopes it is. He wants it to be.

iii.

He shifts you in his arms and when he looks down at you and that’s when he realizes how small you look against him. He has hardly ever seen you so shaken, so broken and defeated while you grasp at his shirt, the fabric soaked with tears. Jim tries to comfort you, holding you as tightly as he can, murmuring sweet nothings and reassurances that everything is okay, that everything is fine.

Jim has admired you for so long for carrying this weight on your shoulders, always pushing him to open up to you and talk about everything, but you never doing the same when he tried to. If he was even lucky enough to get you talk to him, it was never as deep as he’d go with you. There was always something holding you back and he wonders if someone did this to you, to make you feel like you couldn’t talk about what you felt or if it was just you.

But that doesn’t matter right now, all he can focus on is you in his arms, not what someone might have done to you.

You still won’t tell him what has you so upset, or maybe you just can’t. He couldn’t get a word out of you and there’s no doubt that you would even be able to so in this state. He waits patiently, trying his hardest to get you to calm down. His fingers dig into the top of your arms, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Starlight, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He hopes that you will take those words to heart, but it’s a longshot, he knows that. You’re crying, and with how upset you are, it won’t be solved with a few words. Jim does his best, even if it might not be enough.

“But you won’t always. You died, you asshole! I saw you with- with a sheet over your head.”

He taps his fingers against your shoulder and looks down at you. He can’t quite look you in the eyes, maybe it’s the guilt. He’s the one that caused this, the red eyes and tear stained cheeks, labored breathing and shaking chest.

“Hey, baby,” he coos, pushing back the feeling of guilt, and brings his hands up to your face, cupping your cheeks and smiles at you, trying to reassure you, “I’m not gonna leave. I’ll always be here. I promise you that.”

You sit up and press your forehead to his, sniffling and trying to calm your breathing. Your hands cover his, hands shaking a bit over his own, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, James.”

iv.

There’s a two-week period for the crew to finally rest after a little over a year in space. Two weeks to rest while the ship is docked in Yorktown for minor repairs and restocking of supplies. It isn’t long in the big picture but for now, it will do. It will do just plenty.

Two weeks at peace, no interruptions, no meeting, no life or death situations, just rest. He usually goes stir-crazy when docked for more than a few days, the thrill of being out in space and discovering new planets calling to him, but being confined with you in the tiny, assigned living space keeps him still and comfortable.

Never in his wildest dreams could he imagine this; a relationship, steady and full of understanding and support. You knew of his ambition and his yearning to lead this life. “Adventure flows through you, James Tiberius Kirk, it’s written in your DNA,” you’d said to him, your head on his chest and fingers dancing along his skin, each touch igniting flames beneath his skin, the heat following the pads of your fingers, “I’ll be with you, no matter what.”

You trace the veins on his arms, from the inside of his elbow down to the tips of his fingers and back up. And when he watched you, something settled in the pit of his stomach that made him smile. Contentedness is something of a luxury in his job and it’s an odd feeling to experience.

He traces over the path that you had painted just the other night on his arm, wishing nothing more than for you to have stayed this last night with him instead of in your own room. You claimed you wouldn’t get any sleep if you stayed with him, giggling like mad when he wrapped his arms around your waist, peppering soft kisses along the column of your neck and up to your temple.

And you were right, pulling away with a smile and grabbing hold of his hands, he would have kept you up all night.

His memories of you is more than enough for him. He’ll see you in the morning; he can wait just a little longer.

v.

There’s a lull in between shifts, where it seems like there’s no one on the Enterprise at all. People are either in their cabins, exhausted from their shifts, or they’re already at their stations. That lull, it doesn’t last long, but you revel in that small amount of time, that quick five minutes alone with him that isn’t in an examination room or his quarters.

You’ve become bolder, having been made more comfortable with the Enterprise and its crew, giving up that little piece of control. He likes to think that he’s a good influence, Leonard thinks otherwise. Especially when he caught the two of you in a very compromising position in an empty exam room. He said he wouldn’t ever be able to unsee it and hit the contraband whiskey hidden in one of his desk drawers.

He feels like he’s on another plane of existence with your hands on his hips and lips attached to his neck. Your hands grasp at his shirt, pushing it up and up and hands tucked beneath the fabric, trailing up and down his sides, scratching down lightly with your nails and making him shiver. You love that, he can tell. He can tell by the way you smile against his neck, how your breathing picks up a little and that you kiss harder, sucking and biting and he’s sure he’s never going to heaven with what goes through his mind and how desperately he fucking wants you.

He’d never expect this from you.

And fuck, when you pull away with a smirk, hands still caught beneath his shirt, right over his chest and push him back. He stumbles in surprise and his knees hit the back of the examination table.

You push him down on the bed with a finger to his sternum. The paper on the bed crackles beneath him when he lies down and he stares at you, eyes wide and expectant when you manage to pull yourself onto his lap.

He’s always been a bit dangerous, hell, he loved that but you, you’re something else right now. You’ll only pull yourself back in when this is done.

His lips burn when you drag your own over his and glide up across his cheek to the shell of his ear. His hands skim over your back and down to your thighs, trying to push the blue dress over your ass.

Over the whispers that you say in his ears, promising what exactly you will do to him and how you’ll do it, neither of you hear the whoosh of the door opening.

“God fucking dammit, Jim!”

vi.

He doesn’t think there is any better feeling than this, nothing could probably ever compare. Not the moment he was made captain, but that could be a very close second.

This has to be a sin because it sure as hell feels like one. Your lips move slowly over his neck, nipping at the skin there, all thoughts and cares thrown out the window as soon as you had pushed him down on the bed, hovering over him, bodies just barely touching.

Cheeks red and uneven breathing, a warmth that consumes him, it’s all welcomed if the cause of it is how you kiss his neck.

Every move is calculated. He knows it in the way you smirk against him, each touch of your hands on him moving confidently and gentle scrapes of your nails across his skin.

He brushes your hair back when you pull back to catch your breath. Jim’s never seen such a beautiful sight in his life. He wouldn’t trade this moment for the world and he tries his hardest to burn this into his memory. Your swollen lips and how your hair brushes against your shoulders, how the low lighting of the room reflects of your skin, making you glow, that a halo almost appears around your figure and he’s sure that you must be some kind of angel.

“I love you, Starlight.”

“I know you do.”

[retrowarriors]

Remembering Working Designs

A tribute to non-literal translations and over-the-top packaging

By: Chris Saturn

I’ll always remember my 23rd birthday. It was the first year that I lived alone. No roommates, no girlfriends, no family. Just me and a small rabbit with apparent anxiety disorders named Ephraim. I couldn’t talk my way into getting the day off of work, but I did have the following three days off and a plan on how to spend them. Square-Enix had given me the gift of re-releasing one of my all-time favorite games right on my birthday. I’d stopped by the Electronics Boutique on my way home from work and picked up my copy of Final Fantasy IV Advance and went home to enjoy a long mid-week weekend. Before starting the game, though, I powered up the ol’ internet-machine to catch up on my message boards and the day’s news. That’s when I saw the headline: “Working Designs Officially Dead.”

The news hit hard. A week that was meant to be filled with happy nostalgia was instead clouded over with the knowledge that a big chapter just closed in the history of video gaming, and that several people in one of the most open and transparent video game companies were now unemployed. Even now, nearly twelve years later, I look bad with sadness when I remember that day. Fortunately, thanks in a large part to the transparency provided by Working Designs and its president, Victor Ireland, we don’t have to ask how it happened.

First, let’s rewind a bit; many people may not remember Working Designs. Gamers outside of North America may have never even heard of them. So let’s pause and reflect on what it was that made Working Designs such an important component of the history of video game localization.

Though I played some of Working Designs’ early releases on the TurboGrafx, they first caught my attention with the first release of what is arguably their signature franchise: the Sega CD game Lunar: The Silver Star. As a fan of JRPGs like Dragon Warrior and Final Fantasy, I was always looking for something new. The US market wasn’t oversaturated with the genre like Japan was, so western fans had to hunt for their next fix. The Sega CD market wasn’t exactly a crowded space, so Lunar definitely stood out. Anime cutscenes, voice acting, and 80’s style hair metal? Sign me up. Pushing past those first impressions, the part of the game that truly stood out was something I’d not really focused on in past JRPGs: the script.

Out were the thees, thys, and thous of Dragon Warrior. In were references to MTV and The Simpsons. This wasn’t some stuffy tale of knights and dragons, this was something relatable. Something like I’d seen on TV and in movies. As the years went on, I greedily snatched up anything I could find with that pink gradient logo. Though the games varied wildly by genre, they all had at least the one thing in common. No matter the tone, the setting, or the gameplay, they all had Working Designs’ trademark tongue-piercing-fully-through-the-cheek translations.

In the early days of gaming, few considered localization to be important at all. If the players could figure the game out, that was good enough. Although looking at Castlevania II, I don’t think they were even up to that standard. Many younger gamers didn’t even realize games were originally from other countries, and just accepted the broken, machine-language as a staple of video games. Then came this company out of Redding, California who not only put a ton of effort into translating their games, but into making the script fun to read.

As the sun was setting on the Sega era and Sony was rising to prominence, Working Designs followed the money over to the PlayStation. Big name games like Final Fantasy VII turned the JRPG from a niche genre to a behemoth international industry. Despite their high quality translations, Victor Ireland and his team needed a way to stand out. In a move that seemed bizarre at the time, Working Designs became one of the first companies to offer special Collector’s Edition packages. Several of their Sega games came with foil-embossed covers, but they truly went above and beyond on their PlayStation games. The 32-bit reimagining of the first Lunar game came in an oversized box that included the game (with limited, randomly selected art on the discs), a soundtrack, a behind-the-scenes documentary, a leatherette hardbound artbook/instruction manual, and a full cloth map! The second PlayStation Lunar game even included a full replica gold pendant, as seen in the game! It was probably imitation gold, but with Working Designs… it’s hard to say for sure.

As the PS1 era drew to a close, Working Designs seemed to predict the downturn in popularity of the JRPG and started to diversify their portfolio, mostly with shmups and games about mechs. While these never sold at quite the level of their JRPG offerings, the commitment to quality was as present as ever. Games like RayStorm, Gungriffon Blaze, and Silpheed: The Lost Planet all featured signature Working Designs quality localizations and even had foil-embossed covers.

Despite my heavy praise, the company certainly wasn’t without its critics. Many in the budding online JRPG community were concerned about the loose quality of Working Designs localizations. What original flavor text was omitted so that they could squeeze in a Who Wants to Be a Millionaire reference? Would it have added more to the flavor of the world if Ruby hadn’t referenced Beavis and Butthead? As many fans as there were of Working Designs topical references and not-so-sly humor, there were plenty who pointed out how quickly the games would appear dated, an argument that certainly appears to hold true today.

Another attack frequently lobbed at the company was their, shall we say, lack of commitment to punctuality. It wasn’t uncommon for Working Designs games to be delayed by months or even years from their originally planned ship date. These delays were often unrelated to the games themselves, and often were caused by an inability to find a partner to produce their increasingly extravagant bonus items at the quality that would satisfy Victor Ireland. Delays in making the cloth maps for Lunar: Silver Star Story Complete grew so excessive that Working Designs shipped playable demo discs of the first several hours of the game to retailers to hold-over fans who’d pre-ordered. Alongside those demos came a now infamous punching puppet doll of an in-game character, an item that surely couldn’t have led to further delays or costs.

This over-commitment to quality and value, alongside their malleable relationship with release dates, ultimately led to Working Designs’ demise. The western JRPG market became flooded in the late 90s and early 2000s, and Working Designs’ attempts to stand out ended up costing far more than they could earn. Their releases were too few and too far between to compete in an increasingly aggressive market. Their final product was to be a translation of Konami’s PS2 Goemon title under the localized name Mystical Ninja Goemon. Despite getting approval from Konami, Sony’s US division placed increasingly impossible standards on the game, critiquing the graphics and interface. Having already poured so many of their few remaining resources into the game, they desperately tried to meet Sony’s standards to no avail. Over a year after their final release, the days of Working Designs ended with a fizzle.

It’s easy to see the influence Working Designs has had on the video game industry. Special collector’s edition items have become commonplace, and colorful localizations are found everywhere from The Legend of Zelda referencing doge memes to Final Fantasy XIV referencing the music of Wham. The people of Working Designs spread across the industry, as well as to other industries. Victor Ireland has formed a new company, Gaijinworks, that is equally devoted to bringing over Japanese games with high quality translations, and equally devoted to ignoring whole pages of calendars. Ashley Angel, the voice of Lunar’s Alex, went on to a briefly successful career as a winner of ABC’s Making the Band and became the frontman of the MTV-backed boy band, O-Town.

Looking back at that day in 2005, I still feel somber. The loss of a smaller, but still influential name in video gaming has left wounds that haven’t yet healed. Companies like XSEED and NIS America (as well as Ireland’s own Gaijinworks) have taken up the mantle of localizing and publishing lesser known Japanese titles, but none have quite had the charm and spirit that Working Designs showcased in its prime. The industry may have grown and matured, but I’ll always hold a warm spot in my heart for that time when a small group of people in California could introduce me to the lesser known games that might otherwise have gotten lost in translation.

[totallyrhettro]

The Lone Jedi, Chapter 13

Word Count: 2063 Rating: This chapter: PG. Overall story: explicit Warnings: none Summary: Jedi Knight Rhett McLaughlin managed to escape the purge of the Emperor to become one of the last of his celibate order. After years of a solitary life, he finds himself with a former slave for a friend. Despite his efforts to maintain anonymity and the jedi code, he starts to realize that doing either is easier said than done. Notes: Star Wars AU; Events take place between episodes III and IV

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

*See the end of each chapter for additional notes on star wars terms*

Link POV

It was a long journey back down the mountain, but Link was determined. By the time he reached the forest outpost of Sasalea, he had stopped crying. Somehow he had held back the tears when he was facing Rhett but they had flowed almost ceaselessly when he was finally outside the academy grounds. His heart had been thoroughly destroyed by Rhett’s words. After weeks of believing that he had finally found a home where he was both accepted and loved, Link was devastated to find that he was lost once again. It seemed as though he didn’t belong anywhere.

He didn’t know where to go; he had been so few places throughout his life and didn’t know anyone outside the palace. No friends, no family, no plan. Link had only his clothes, gifted to him by the one person he had ever loved. Maybe Rhett was right; maybe his feelings were the edges of a dream, but it was the closest he’d ever come to the real thing and he had never wanted it to end. He was torn between losing the dream and knowing it had been false all along.

No. He knew how he felt, the emotion in his heart had been real. The love had been real, the joy, the contentment. The loss. Perhaps the most damning evidence that he had was how much it hurt to have it all taken away. How could Rhett do this? His damned code? There had to be more. If he really cared about Link at all, no rules would have kept them apart. At least, they shouldn’t have. Despite his sequestered life, Link knew that’s not how it was meant to be. He’d heard the tales, enjoyed the ballads. True love conquered all. What was more important than that?

Still trying to settle the turmoil of conflicting thoughts, Link stumbled into the village, wiping the drying tears from his face. Just like the last time he was here, the locals paid him no mind. They didn’t care about his pain or heartache. They were here to trade goods, to buy or make money selling. They had other things to worry about than one man standing apart, sniffling like a child. There was no kindness in the eyes of the strangers that stole quick glances from afar. No sympathy of the fellow visitors who turned their heads to stare at the man in the silken clothes. Leaning against the backside of a rather large shop, Link took stock of his situation, trying to decide who he could talk to about getting transportation back to the Hutt’s palace.

“You buy’n, or sell’n?” came a voice, gruff like sand. Link looked over at a short, round fellow who had come up beside him, smiling a rather wicked smile. Instantly Link stood taller, checking either side of him for which way he could run if things got ugly.

“B-buying,” he stuttered, trying to sound braver than he felt. The stranger had that certain look in his eye; Link had seen it before. More than a few times there had been folks that came to see him dance that wanted more than just a show. They wanted something that wasn’t on the menu and they didn’t care how they got it. Back then, the Hutt’s guards made quick work of anyone that tried to so much as touch one of the dancers without permission. Of course, the less favored dancers could be bought just as easily with enough coin. Link had just been lucky enough to be too expensive for most guests. Now that  he was no one and there was no one to protect him. That knowledge sent shivers down his spine.

“Oh, me too,” replied the stranger. He took a menacing step forward and Link matched his step with one of his own, backwards right into a second man much taller than the first. “My friend and I are both buy’n and he says you're sell’n.”

“I’m not,” Link insisted, trying to move away. “I’m not selling anything.” The second man grabbed his wrist with an iron grip.

“Good,” he snorted. “ ‘Cause I’m not pay’n.” Yanking hard, he tried to drag Link towards him, but the former dancer was quick. Leaning back and pulling hard, he managed to free himself from the man’s hold and spun around him with elegant grace. The first man, faster than his stout stature would indicate, reached for Link’s arms from behind. With surprising speed he grabbed him and held him tight while his companion was searching for something to tie him up.

‘Use his weight against him.’ Rhett’s words echoed in Link’s mind. Images of the giant man, his arms wrapped around Link twirled in his mind and he felt his heart plummeted in his chest. There was the briefest moment where time seemed to slow down and Link was back there, in the training hall, and Rhett was standing before him all prim and stately. ‘Sometimes you have to fall with them.’

Taking a deep breath, Link played back the move that Rhett had shown him, remembering it precisely as he had done before. With a fluid motion, he moved his leg back and behind that of the shorter man. Then, like a ragdoll, he fell to the ground, taking his attacker with him. The stranger let out a surprised grunt as they toppled down and his arms flew out, wildly searching for purchase. As soon as he was free, Link rolled away before jumping to his feet and starting to run. Unfortunately, for all his hard work and agility, he failed to see the third member of this party.

Not three feet from where the attack began, Link felt his feet being knocked out from under him. He was falling before he could even see who had struck him, and his face hit the ground hard. Coughing up loose dirt, he looked up to see a very angry gamorrean. His pig-like face grinned evilly as drool oozed from his jowls. Placing a foot over Link’s chest, he held the man fast while his two compatriots recomposed themselves.

“Nice work,” praised the shorter ruffian. He patted the large, green-skinned fellow on the back as he moved up to check on their newest quarry. “Feisty bastard,” he noted. “We should demand double for this one.”

~

It felt like years ago since Link had last stood here. Among the other slaves, of various species, he felt small, insignificant. Unwanted. He shivered from the cold; the slavers had taken his fine clothing, replaced by tattered rags. He was on a transport on his way to the exchange, surrounded by the dejected, the filthy, the dangerous, yet all he cared about were his clothes. Not the fact that he was now cold and dressed once again as a slave, but Rhett had given him those clothes. They had been the last thing he had of his former friend, now he had nothing but memories, and he clung to them now as his last hold on sanity. It was all he had left.

The transport shuddered as it came to a halt; everyone inside leaned forward from the momentum, jostling Link from his thoughts. He glanced up but it was pointless; there were too many people between him and what passed as windows in the cargo hold for him to see outside, and what little he could see inside didn’t interest him. He could only wait and find out where he was, and what his fate was going to be. After a few minutes, he could hear the rear hatch being opened, and the slaves started filing out. It didn’t take long before Link felt fresh air again. Well, fresher. One look outside and he knew exactly where he was.

It was an open arena, nearly a hundred yards long and twice that wide. Rows of stands surrounded the sandy floor. Today they were all but empty; the huge crowds of adoring fans only came when there was a battle to see. The only people here today where slave owners, out to buy and sell their wares. Link knew he would find no sympathy there. In the center of the stadium was an elevated platform. It was there that the off-loaded slaves, including Link, were being taken. He’d seen it before, though not often. Those rare occasions when his masters took him with when they went to buy new slaves, this is where it happened. This is where lives became nothing more than commodities.

Those slaves from Link’s transport were separated into small groups of five, for two reasons. For one, it kept them from trying anything like taking out a guard to making a run for it. It was easy to feel helpless when the armed guards surrounded you. Secondly, this made it easier for the slaves to be presented. One after the other the groups were brought up onto the platform, put on display, presented so anyone buying could see them clearly. Link waited patiently for his group’s turn to go. He was in no hurry.

Eventually one of the guards overseeing the proceedings motioned for Link’s group to take the few steps onto the stage. Link, along with an evocii, two twi’leks and a noghri. All were dressed in very little; one of the twi’leks was practically naked. The crowd seemed pleased. They paid very little attention to the male human who didn’t even look great for physical labor. Not compared to the many other super-strong slaves available to buy. It wasn’t long before the three female slaves were bought up, leaving Link and the noghri on the stage.

“You ask too much,” someone was protesting. Link lifted his head, peeking out from under his brow just enough to see a few among the crowd agreed with whomever had spoken. “He’s not even worth half that.” Link scanned the people at the base of the platform. The voice was coming from a zabrak- a human-like species with a ring of short horns around a bald head. He was fiercely yelling at the man selling Link and the noghri. Link recognized the seller as the short thug who had attacked him earlier.

“He’s worth twice what I’m asking,” the man was saying, puffing out his chest. “I’m giving you a bargain because I’m generous.”

“He looks barely able to hold a drill,” complained someone else in the crowd. “What makes him worth the cost?” Instead of replying, the slaver reached over and grabbed Link’s arm. The brunet’s first instinct was to pull away, but surrounded by this many guards and unruly patrons, he didn’t dare risk it.

“This is not a slave for the mines,” the slaver insisted. “A slave such as this would be the perfect addition to a wait staff, or a dancer for the lounge.” The zabrak didn’t seem convinced, looking up the downtrodden slave once again.

“Can he even dance?” A fair question, as the rest of the crowd seemed to agree. With a very annoyed grunt, the slaver shoved Link towards the front of the stage.

“Dance, slave,” he instructed, a glare in his eye. “Dance or I swear I’ll make sure you never walk again.” There was no doubt he meant that. Nervous, but not of failure or the threat of a beating, Link turned to face the crowd, the shackle on his right ankle clanking loudly. He was tired, he was filthy, and his right leg was about fifteen pounds heavier than normal, but as he began to move there was no doubt he was born to be a dancer.

His movements were elegant and smooth, every step mastered over a lifetime of practice. The surrounding crowd grew silent, mesmerized by his body, entranced by his movements. He had lived over a month up in the mountains, recovering from his injures, but that had done nothing to dull his expertise. It was in the dance that he had spent nearly all of his life and it was in those moves that he should have felt at home. Yet, as he proved to the slavers that he was worth more than the asking price, he felt no pride, no joy. Quiet tears streamed down his face as he realized that he couldn’t even find solace in the dance. Truly he had finally lost everything.

Next chapter

Additional Notes-

Lot of races mentioned in this chapter :p

Gamorrean: a rather primitive star wars race made famous as guards for Jabba the Hutt. They have porcine traits, like an upturned nose with large nostrils, jowls, and tusks. Their hulking bodies were covered in green, thick and hairless skin.

Evocii: pallid, sickly humanoids with heightened susceptibility to mind manipulation by Force-users.

Twi’leks: a human race with colorful skin, which varies in pigment from individual to individual, and a pair of shapely prehensile tentacles that grow from the base of their skulls.

Noghri: rather short (1.4-1.7 meters) steel-gray-skinned, humanoids with toothy snouts. Despite their lack of height, they possess great strength and agility.

Zabrak: a near-human carnivorous species native to the planet Iridonia. The species had distinctive horns atop their heads.

More Fics