#he gets old and he gets fat and he gets weak just like anybody. and his healing factor slows down over time.

[sciderman]

if Wade wore a corset for like, a long time with no breaks would his body set that as the natural and heal his ribs and stuff to form to the corset so essentially he always has a snatched waist? or is that now how it works?

um. i don’t think that’s how it works, no.

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor au

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 8: Nobody’s Son, Nobody’s Daughter

You hate how weak you are, sometimes.

That a text can ruin your whole day.

>> Hey. I hope you’re doing well. I miss hearing from you.

You’re fuming. Absolutely fuming. In under fifteen seconds you’re on your feet, face hot and heart pounding as you stomp across the old wooden floor.

“I’ll be right back.” You grunt to Johnny and Kyle, ignoring their wide, confused eyes and fast walking past them and out the back door.

The sun is up for longer now, only just beginning to set. It’s hot and hard to breathe, which only makes you more pissed off. Your skin prickles and blood rushes in your ears. You hate the way your hands shake. Your boot connects with the dumpster hard. It hurts, but you’re too pissed to really care. You just need it out of your system - the metal sending a ringing, gong-like sound bouncing around the back alley as you repeatedly slam your foot into it.

How dare he?

Miss hearing from you? YOU?

He ignores you for your whole childhood and teenage years - didn’t even try - and he misses hearing from you!? Couldn’t ever remember your age or grade when you did see him and he hopes your doing well!? Blew you off for his other kids for years and he fucking misses you!

How the hell did he even get your new number? Your mom, probably. The traitor. Fuck.

“Think that bin’s ‘ad enough, bird.” Simons voice startles you. He glances down at the dent you somehow managed to make. Your foot throbs when you put it back on the ground, shifting your weight onto the other one. One of your toes is bleeding, you think. You hand feel it soaking into your sock.

You look away, face hot from embarrassment now. “Didn’t know anyone was out here…”

Simon takes you in for a moment. Usually you don’t mind it - his intense silences - but right now it feels like being dissected. Like he’s pulling your skin back to reveal that squirming, tar-like creature aways simmering just a layer beneath. The pathetic little worm you try so hard to cover with a functional facade.

“Smoke?” He tilts the pack toward you. You wrinkle your nose - it’s a shit brand - but at the moment you wouldn’t care if it was made of actual shit as long as it had nicotine.

You pick one out and plop down on the weird curb that lines the opposite side of the alley. Simon sits beside you, raising his lighter toward you cupping his hand around the little flame to light your cigarette. It’s intimate, in a way, and if you had the emotional elasticity for it you might have blushed.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asks after a few drags.

You shrug. “Dads suck.”

Simon hums. “That they do.”

“It’s just like-“ You make an exasperated sound and run your fingers through your hair. “Like if you’re not around for fuckin’ twenty years, you don’t get to act upset when I don’t want to talk ever. Just because now I’m the one that set the boundary. It’s stupid. It’s mean.”

Simon nods along as you ramble, your voice trailing off eventually. You both sit there quietly, for a moment. This is the type of silence that you don’t mind. Enjoy, even. Just existing together. At first you thought he hated you, or just didn’t like much of anybody, but you’ve come to theorize that he’s the same as you. That he gets stuck in his head, too. It’s nice, having someone to sit with without the need to entertain them. To preform.

Your lip quivers even as you attempt to stop it by sinking your teeth in. A killing blow. It doesn’t work. You bury your face in your hands. “I don’t know why I’m crying…”

“Because you’re hurt.” Simon bluntly replies. It’s soft, though. As soft as a voice like his can be.

“He doesn’t deserve it.” You sob, messily wiping at your eyes. Your eyeshadow is probably smudged to hell now but you can’t bring yourself to care. Hopefully the others don’t ask about it.

An arm wraps around you, tucking you close. The surprise of it almost knocks you out of your crying fit entirely. Simon isn’t touchy. With anyone. He doesn’t look at you, just keeps his eyes forward while he takes a long drag, but that arm remains around your shaking shoulders with you pressed to his side.

It’s quiet, as it usually is when you close up with just Simon. The others took off for the night. Johnny said something about a date before dragging Kyle off arm in arm. They must have set up some kind of double date for the evening. John’s last appointment had to reschedule so he knocked off early as well. It’s nice, really, to be alone in the shop with Simon. He lowers the music, helps you with sweeping and the trash. Tells you the newest joke from wherever the hell he gets them. Popsicles, you think, based on his sweet tooth and the quality of pun.

“C’mon. We’re takin’ a field trip.” Simon tilts his head toward the street past the turn to your apartment. He still insists on walking you home, even if the sky is still relatively bright.

You look up, frowning. “Where?”

“You’ll see.”

You follow him down the quiet street. It’s warm and muggy as you go. You keep glancing up at Simon, waiting for some sort of tell. Some hint at where he’s leading you. In the back of your mind, you become innately aware that Simon is probably the only man you’d follow this blindly.

You nearly knock into him when Simon comes to a sudden stop. “Here.”

You look up, squinting at the tacky sign in what you can only describe as “intense manly man” font. Bold, blocky letters in bright orange with faux cracks scattered through the letters.

TANTRUM TANK

A mixture of stunned and curious leaves you quietly following Simon in. You press the spot between your brows to dissipate the confused frown. The lobby is pretty basic with a few decorations that mimic the style of the sign. Cracked facades and black walls. The room is lined with plastic chairs and a couple safety posters reminding patrons not to hit each other with the bats. A large television screen flashes between images of people in hazmat suits smashing various garbage and debris, pausing on a menu of times and prices.

“Simon!” A man appears behind the counter, face bright. “Here for your usual hour?”

Simon steps up to the counter, nodding in your direction. “Actually, I’ve got a plus one.”

The man’s brows raise and he looks you over, giving you ashort, polite greeting. You nod and smile back, pretending like you know why you’re here at all. You just watch as Simon briefly chats with the clerk who obviously knows him well. He’s a regular here, then. He doesn’t give anything away, just makes some brief, perfunctory small talk before taking a key and waving you after him. Why’d he bring you here, of all people?

Your heart skips at the thought of Simon wanting to do something with you, though. He brought you here because he wants to hang out - in his own way. He must do this with the other boys, too. Maybe one of them bailed on him or something. Part of you wonders if he didn’t want to come alone, but that doesn’t sound like him. Plus, you can’t say that its’ at all out of character for him to decide something and just do it with no other communication. You also can’t say you mind much. Not with him.

“You come here with the others a lot?” You ask as you follow him back to the room.

“No.”

You frown. Oh.

The two of you lapse into silence as you put your things away into designated lockers. There’s a sort of interim room before the actual rage room with storage and a few stacks of protective gear in various sizes. Simon’s quick about it. Practiced. He slips on the protective plastic suit quickly while you grunt and struggle with unfolding it. Your hair crinkles with static as you finally get the mass of plastic unfurled and step into it. Of course the one that fits you around is too damn long. At least the gloves fit.

“Simon?” You murmur, finally finding your voice - as weak as it comes out. “Why’d you bring me here?”

He looks you over for a moment with that same steady gaze as before. You’ve never felt seen like you do with Simon. Even with the others… they don’t see to the core of you like he does. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Some pathetic little part of you left over from your misunderstood teenage years.

“I ’ad a pretty shite father.” Simon says as he zips up his suit. “Taught me a lot of anger. I didn’t- I don’t want to be like ‘im. Don’t want people t’be scared…”

You stare, wide eyed, frozen in place. As if any movement would disrupt this new found honesty - would frighten the man away from confiding in you. It’s sudden and far more than you’ve gotten out of him in the months you’ve known each other. It’s too special to risk.

“Sometimes you’ve got t’get it out of your system. Better than breaking your foot on a skip.” He snorts, stepping forward and carefully pushing a pair of safety glasses over your eyes. One hand runs over your hair just for the briefest moment; another lightly pats your cheek before he turns on his heel, grabbing one of the bats hanging on the wall and making for the door.

You stare after him, shell shocked by both the admission and uncharacteristic physical touch. You involuntarily reach up to trace your fingertips over the cheek he touched.

Don’t want people to be scared…

A part of you breaks in the back of your mind. The obvious, unsaid ‘of me’ sits heavily on your tongue. Some distant image of what he might have looked like as a child. Small and blonde with those big dark eyes… You gulp down a tight breath and follow after him, just a little too close to crying at the implication.

Simon gestures toward a crooked, half broken office desk. “Ladies first.”

And oh, if that first swing wasn’t the best release you’ve had in a long, long time.

A/N: Sorry for being inactive the past couple weeks, I could literally write a novel with how much as happened irl🙃

Anyhoo next part y’all are getting lots of Price because that homecoming skin has got me fucked up

[egg-emperor]

Eggman doesn't give a shit about anybody's race, sexual orientation, gender , color or creed because all beings are equally inferior to him. Nobody gives a shit about an insects gender after all.🐜

Everyone is a slave at best or trash at worst in his empire. Slaves get kept around for their ability to serve/praise him. Trash just gets destroyed and thrown out for being useless and/or opposing him or getting in his way(Bonus points if he literally tosses an enemy's remains into the trash after destroying them.🗑️ Yeet!🤣).💀

Truly Eggman doesn't give a shit about anyone besides himself and absolutely everyone is beneath him and he's their superior emperor far above them. All that matters is that everyone serves him in his empire and knows their place, are forced into it by him, or be eliminated. Being like nothing more than insects such as ants of a colony to serve only him feels like a good way to describe it, as he sees them only as masses as slaves to him and not at all for the individuals they are as their lives are meaningless to him beyond that.

But at the same time he can weaponize literally anything about someone against them when he wants to manipulate them like when it comes to their kindness, softness, naivety, gullibleness, etc, and then bring them down for those things for being weaknesses that made them vulnerable for him to take advantage of. Or even outside of that when he just wants to be cruel and hurt someone emotionally as well as physically, he can insult them for their appearance, personality, age, identity, you name it. Nothing is off the table.

He's insulted Sonic and friends for their age like how he said Tails was "just a kid" and has insulted others for being old even though he's an old man himself lol, he's insulted others' personalities like when they have softness and kindness and willingness to help others like Knuckles or Emerl, he's been sexist towards Blaze, he's even insulted others for being fat three times. If literally anything at all can be used as a way to insult them, he'll be sure to use it, as well as look for things to take advantage of and they often go hand in hand.

But I feel outside of that he just doesn't give a shit what anyone is because he'd have to value their lives and give the attention and time of day in the first place to put that much thought and care in it. He's always too busy thinking about himself and how he's better than absolutely everyone and none will ever come close to his level. But as soon as he wants to spit venom at a target he gets really nasty about it though. Even if it means insulting others for things that he himself is too because they don't do it in a beautiful fun sexy way like him! XD

But most importantly, no matter what or who they are, they're all nothing more than slaves or trash to him that he will literally throw away like it too if they can't serve his needs. He'll toss or drop kick them into the trash or incinerator lol. They're toys to play with and break and that's all that matters to him hehe

[theomnicode]

So, about that thing where OPM God striking bargains by exploiting the weak points in one's spirits...

Something that was noted in the emergency meeting...

So, did anybody tell Garou this? The one person who got very much exploited because he said his spirit was weak? Because he had these emotional weak points to take advantage of?

This very, very important information that he should know about?

Anybody tell him?

I guess that's a fat No.

Because he managed to convince everyone it was all him. So nobody would even think about divulging this information to him. Or even ask him about it further.

Welp.

Guess OPM God ain't done fucking around with Garou just yet.

Press F for Garou.

So, what are the specific vulnerabilities that remain to be exploited? First avenue to gain power to become ultimate evil to change the world so kids like Tareo don't need to cry anymore got shut down, how about the rest?

So make Garou feel like he killed one of the people he was close to. Because he will blame himself for getting too attached and fall into despair.

So how do we do this? Simple.

Make sure he knows about what he has done to his master, when he was monsterized and does not recall it.

Using this wicked style of exploding heart against his 81-years old master, who at this point could legitimately die from heart failure if such a devastating attack hit him.

A style he learned probably because he wanted acknowledgement.

How convenient that Metal Knight performed a full body maintenance on Bang when all he was going to do was a radiation treatment. Because it would probably be one of Garou's secret fears that Bang's old body would fail on him, especially after such an intense bout of fighting like he had against Garou and then taking radiation from him. He does want his old master to be alright, like he was relieved when Bang came out alive against elder centipede. When the people you are closest to are getting old and would want to retire and want you as heir, it does send you the message that this person's age may have caught up to them.

Garou legitimately wants to be emotionally closer to Bang.

Which is why isolating them from said connection works out as the best manipulation tactic.

Bomb would not be so lenient on Garou if Bang suddenly had a stroke and was sent to hospital. He would tell Garou all about how it was him who caused this.

Garou would lose the small flicker of trust in heroes too, courtesy to Saitama, Metal Bat and King, on the same go because did MK not do a full body maintenance? How could he have missed something as big as heart damage? Such incompetence!

Garou has yet to let go of the notions of becoming a monster that no justice would be able to take down either. No half-assed peace would do.

All the shitty things HA is doing? Metal Knight doing a half-assed job of checking on Bang's health? All easy to make conclusions out of that they are just nasty, selfish, complacent folk and adding fuel to the fire that they need to be taken down and he would slice the Hero association in two with his own hands.

Downright ripe for further manipulation, almost laughably simple.

[arttrampbelle]

Cw: vent

Vent time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mk11 doesn't have plotholes

IT HAVE PLOT CHASMS. PLOT ABYSSES.

Plots so huge,so confusing,so stupid. It makes the old sub zero mythologies,and special forces side games look like decent plots.

The only thing good about it is the og actor is back as shang but even then it's still painful.

9,story is garbage. But the gameplay is amazing.

10,gameplay is out of this world. Story is mid,horrible for some characters but solid main big boss. Online i heard is better than 11. But i hate online competitive gameplay. It kinda sucks the fun away. And not worth it. Plus the amount of guest characters because they killed half the roster. It's ridiculous. And unnecessary. So yeah.

11. *breathes in*. 11. Again they knew the story was crap,half baked. So they made a whole ass expansion to a lukewarm story nobody cared for. To retcon a retcon THEY MADE. And guess what? It's that "we are gonna take everything you love about this series and take a huge fat shit on it. For profit" if you like shang tsung,you may love 11. But even then it feels off. But again thats the best they can do. And you damn well we ain't gonna have this again. If there ever will be a 12. Because at this point im not so sure. And honestly i don't care if they dont make a 12.

It would be a shame. But honestly I'd rather take a non canon ACTUALLY GOOD MK GAME. no bullshit. No fillers. No guest characters. No micro transactions. Just a good ol fashioned mk game. Pick a character,pick an arena,and fight. No complicated over explained story. Simple and to the point. Let the audience and players make a story. Or at least,bring back the spirit of mk. Bring back the ACTUAL CHOOSE YOUR DESTINY part in mk,with more than 2 choices. More than "good" vs "evil" actually have real constructive morally grey areas. Like it's not that hard.

Like get better writers. Fr.

Wattpad has better writers than you NRS.

WATTPAD!

You had 30yrs to get it right. 30!

Almost as old as i am.

Fr. No excuses. You are a decent,multibillion company. Or at very least a professional one. Your servers should be always up to date. You should have things actually in a row. The basics at least.

Like there is no excuses on being sloppy.

This isn't just about mk. This is also from a business perspective.

If you know your story isnt solid. Get better writers. Or tell your writers to stop relying on dumb tropes. And have actual creativity.

You can make things modern without pandering.

You can have nods to nostalgia without pandering too.

Subtle is better.

Cheeky one liners you cant rely on.

If the motives aren't solid. Then things fall apart.

Like they knew that if they dont bring back shang tsung as a big bad boss. It would suck.

Because how can they top corrupt form shinnok. Let's be honest....that was badass.

Nothing was ever really changed. And its a waste of time.

We get nothing but absolute perfection from tagawa's performance. But other then him. Mk11 is weak af.

So again. You like cary hiroyuki tagawa? Good. You're in luck. You like shang tsung? He's the man of the hour.

If you like anything else,anybody else,NRS said fuck you.

Which sucks. Because as a shang tsimp. It pisses me off that that's all they relied on.

And they can't pull that shit again. Because people will know. They already probably do.

They rely on cheap gimmicks,to prey on non mk fans,new fans who haven't touched mk in their whole ass existence and are just getting into it,and y'all fall for it. Because people seem to have short attention spans and need their gatcha fix no matter how poor quality.

Like im sorry. Even if you are new. Have better standards in storytelling. This is a professional company. They shouldn't be worse then us fans telling fart jokes in a fanfic about silly fighting game characters in colorful jammies.

Im just saying.

Im done venting now.

[strictlyfavorites]

Lithofayne Pridgon Jimi Hendrix’s original foxy lady1

She was the woman he could never quite date exclusively, because she was too free spirited to be tied to one man; Hendrix’s frustration at loving her alongside singers Sam Cooke and Little Willie John inspired “Foxy Lady.”

It was the 1960s, and Pridgon was dating both Little Willie John and Cooke while running with other musicians, hustlers, drug dealers and, later, “fun fun cops” who shook down people to bring her the leftover pharmaceuticals. At a party in 1962 thrown by Jack “Fat Man” Taylor, a big Harlem drug player, she met Jimi Hendrix, a struggling guitarist.  She and Hendrix had a one-night stand of sorts at Fat Man’s party and then ran into each other again outside of the Apollo one year later; Pridgon was there to see Cooke, and Hendrix was trying to get a job. But in that moment, the two began their torrid and frustrating love affair—while she was still seeing Willie John and Cooke, of course.

But Jimi, she says, so young and in love, was also “insanely jealous”. She has an extraordinary collection of love letters from him, written in florid, lyrical prose – the same style later evident in his lyrics – that prove without a shadow of a doubt the intensity of his infatuation; an intensity that scared her. “As I write more and more, I feel myself grow so very weak under the power of you,” he wrote in one.

For all her talk of being a “loose lady”, Lithofayne is clearly a romantic at heart; one who sought from the men she knew a love that was pure and uncomplicated by jealousy, disaffection and possessiveness; a love that swept her off her feet, but also a love that left her to be free. “I wanted to continue seeing Jackie and Sam and Willie,” she says. “I didn’t think about it in terms of, ‘I’m your old lady.’ I wasn’t anybody’s old lady.” She loved them all equally and unreservedly. “That was the problem,” she says. Jimi couldn’t handle that.

“He adored her, to the point of distraction,” Winona Williams says of Hendrix. “You always want what you can’t have. And he had her but he didn’t have her exclusively, and that drove him up the wall.”

One time Lithofayne recalls, he even said to her, albeit jokingly: “I’d like to freeze you in a cake of ice, thaw you out when I want to, if that was possible, huh?” “Stop talkin’, crazy,” she replied. “He talked crazy.”

Hendrix left the US in September 1966 for England, where he would find a recording contract, recognition and fame. But he made a point of tracking Lithofayne down whenever he came back to New York, and she remained very much on his mind. His deep, abiding love for her never faltered, seemingly finding form in a song he recorded in London for his debut album, “Foxy Lady”.

She tells a story that illuminates where the title may have come from. “He used to call every pet we had ‘Foxy’,” she says. One time, they found a kitten on the street and took it in; Jimi immediately named it Foxy. Later on, they bought a poodle; he named that Foxy, too. He was also in the habit of using the word in other ways: “He used to like to refer to good-looking girls as foxy. Or if I put on certain things, he’d say, ‘Wow, you look foxy in that.’”

So wrapped up was she in her own story with Jimi, she never thought for a minute the songs with which he found fame could be about her. She thinks it would make her sound “cocky” if she claimed they were now. “He was always saying: ‘This is about you. I wrote this about you,’” she says. “I just thought it was cute.”

“Jimi would have settled down with Fayne,” says Williams. “I don’t see any other woman that he’d have settled down with – but Fayne was not about to settle down. If Fayne had said: ‘Look, I want you to leave all of these women alone and we’re going to do this,’ he would have done it.”

“Well, he might have,” Lithofayne laughs, “but that would have been dumb.”

Williams is adamant that Lithofayne, the only constant in his life from the time he first hit New York in 1963 through the seven years until he died, was the one person among his circle of intimates who superseded all others. “All of these girls that think they had a part of this man’s heart need to know that his whole heart belonged to Lithofayne Pridgon,” she says. “But he couldn’t get it.” 

Her time with Hendrix, in particular, weighs heavily on her, sometimes too heavily. Over the years, friends and acquaintances have suggested things might have turned out different if only she had acceded to his demands. “In other words, if I had stopped being me and become somebody else,” she says. “Oh my God, that’s too much responsibility.” But she believes in her heart that “‘ole coulda-shoulda-woulda shit” is just a losing game.

[thelovelybitten]

Vera’s first watch of south park — season two (part 1)

Y’all know what it is, let’s get on w it (stupid fucking character limit)

EPISODE 1:

Lol skipping this one bc i don’t like Terrance and Philip hope i didn’t miss anything important

EPISODE 2:

KENNY APPEARING OUT OF THIN AIR FNVNDKJD

Oh shit he’s dead…

Note: stan has a fear of hospitals

Omg cartman LMAO come sail AWAY A SERVE

UHM. LIANE WTF ARE U TRYING TO KILL CARTMAN SO HE CAN’T KNOW HIS FATHER WTF

Liane feeling she’s not a fit mom when she’s the best mother so far :O

Lol stan being sick abt the operation good to know

Omg this is so gory i can’t i’mma vomit

NO OMG NOT THE KIDS BEING DOCTORS

Liane sleeping with anybody is so funny

Kenny drafted to be team b how dare u

Kenny dying for the team iconic

Lmao liane wanting an adoption instead HAHA

EPISODE 3:

Barbrady is dyslexic interesting

Kenny and whoever the girl is is questioning everything rn

Cartman and his tricycle i live

“You will respect my authorITAH”.

Honestly this one was weird

EPISODE 4:

MR MACKEY <3

Stan, Kyle and Cartman ate the m’kays

SIR NOT THE WEED PASSING VNDFNFNJ

Give mr Mackey his job back pls

Odds Kenny has the weed

Kyle flexing his smartass brain

WE GOTTA STOP IKE’S BRIS OMG

But also it’s their religion so y’all do what ya gotta do

Kyle is TRAUMATIZED

And so are the boys lol

Kyle & Ike are so cute— fave lil sibbies

Kick THE BABY !!!!1!1!!1

No bc i was adopted poor Ike :(

Hm… very interesting

Kyle and Ike stay the best siblings i said what i said

EPISODE 5:

SHIT CLYDE GOT WRECKED

Kyle main slayer at dodgeball

Kyle also getting destroyed

Yo WHAT????? FETUS ON THE HEAD??? WHACK

Kyle’s mom scaring the kids

STAN IS ON CRACKK SOS

Bebe robbed

This dinner is v awks

Pip kinda ate down

God pls don’t kill my sons in dodgeball

EPISODE 6:

this is BORINGGG

oh gee this abt to be fucked up ain't it

the goriness of it all makes me very sick (weak stomach issues)

jesus being like :| so funny

"old ladies are fat, and you are too >:(" so authentic and real

THE SECOND VIDEO THEY TAPED YO WHY KENNY GOTTA MOON US ALL DSBFKJSDBGKKSD HE'S UNHINGED UR HONOUR

cartman calling dibs on throwing the chair

STANLEY MARSH YOU TAKE THAT BACK THIS INSTANT U KNOW BETTER >:(

cartman actually throwing the chair.... W

fight breaks out... cartman loves the drama fr

HC cartman starts shit for absolutely no reason and thrives off of it

oh wait... he does that already

IT'S CARTMAN BEING THROWN FOR ME HE HAS NO SHAME FBSDKBDSBGKS

STAN EATING WBK

EPISODE 7:

yo share the chocolate cake cartman

not this dude rizzing miss crabtree

STENDY KISS STENDY KISS STENDY KISS I'M WINNING DSBKJBKDSBKJDSBKGSDBKJ THEY ARE SO CUTE OMG DIE DEAD DIED

no bc the unhealthy obsession I have with stendy is almost disgusting. almost.

i love memory lane on this bus it's good content

might make a stendy drabble on it

SECOND STENDY KISS ???? FEEDING ME FR

the way I am LIVING for stendy content

kenny reminds them of when death almost killed them he's so cute

I like when the bus is abt to tip that kenny is still shown on the bus after being killed

stan's dad singing and stan is just :|

^^ also kyle

^^^ and everyone else

oh it was all a dream within a dream I see

honestly my fave episode so far out of the two seasons I've watched

[chanelfunnell]

mail

A) anon not, NHL audio, video TV broadcasters run their show from the top of the house. Separated from normal beat reporters due to noise. Check my fav fashion style maverick Caley.

B) Anon , Sidney Crosby is not a saint or a monk. He has been with his gf Kathy for ages. What's around goes around but not my biz. I don't want to run this blog about non ice hockey, theories, conspiracy or slit shaming or blaming guys from certain crimes and it does not matter who is the person, how capable of handsome as a player or rich or not. Beside that let's agree that Ashley is Cray nasty piece hovering above Crosby and couple of others over a decade as unhinged cyber puckbunny boiler throwing hissy tantrums over wags or just girls generally.

C) anon I guess Camilla with her conspiracy of damage of virtue (not figure skating lady) based on J.T. has cheered on stupid king in her 60s with a personal police protection officer . They have left her with a broken leg alone in the Highlands and two police bodyguards left. She was lucky that apparently two ladies tourists have found her bcs she would be left up to herself to make it or break it and blamed perhaps for her alcoholism, left to freeze. Ages ago. I read it. Balmoral staff app sent a fat political lard clown to 5 miles away to Birkhall bcs a fattie politician who braved about his shirtless look at a political meeting likes to wander around and pop into the rooms. Not like a killer from Moscow, USA but M said he would be luckier to be stopped by SAS bodyguards than her bcs she would not care about left or right to break his neck in self defence scared to life that old hag was seen with Golliwog doll ages ago in the boot of her car and posing as ugly old fart with all fdlrbs at the parties and up to PR storm. These UK spin PR doctors were right she's lazy but you would expect she is mature in 75 and knowledge as a part of u class but not well bred or a beauty before and then. M is a beauty able to land anybody within her caste or just like that. No idea what a witch Camilla was planning beside running Stud that is not a part of Sandringham but Marketa kicked her from Sandringham in bloom as she presents it as a land lady princess. Maybe they will fight in that time according astrology about it as an estate lol. Camilla would not be bedded by any NHler with or without being bedded by a royal ear jug idiot who could have any beauty or a lady than this control freak horror similar to Markle. Up to the press. Just ugly witch step mother aunt if her 2nd marriage is valid due to civil marriage. Just a ugly mistress stalking and clinging for dear life when a power went into her head and tried to push girls around. Backfired with Marketa but a witch parades at her estate for paps. She's 75, she can due any time, just a commoner depending on old fart before William or Marketa kick her out and Marketa can as it is her estate. Ugly crazy gold digga manipulator. Mainly after her try to dishonour her with inspiration from Tazer lol. Like with Diana. Tampacbino and sexting. What a joke. Ages ago and our so ial.medua and trends. Nasty piece. Trump and his bs is weak compared to her. Plus Markle. We know that these idiots cannot run a water tap, run by their witches or it is run by others . Marketa has her children book out soon but Harry's book shows a real picture of an idiot. So more behind the facade and media posers or liars who don't ban him from the title and hide others, run by ugly manipulators and war mongers linked to Gripen bribe and up to UK state secrets . Both schemers Meghan Markle and Camilla were with either Canadian or UK police protection as just bed mates prior marriages..if valid. Both kicked out by Marketa from her estates and so Charles from the churches at her estates flying as fake eco warrior from Balmoral to Sandringham back and forth to be papped for a church walk but St Lawrence church is in Castle Rising outside of her estate lol ordered to get out and so with his mistress and any pump of Andrew from her churches, housees, lodges and pand. Just 2 inches like with Pippa ugly step sister otherwise the priest can pack from her church as well for blessing of sinners and her slut shaming criminal.. only Dumbo like Andrew or old hag Camilla go out posing for the tabs. Before she is kicked as the 2nd most expensive UK escort after Markle for illegal police protection and taxpayer's funds from Birkhall as Marketa's Balmoral estate. non entities without their stupid royal wishy washy men. No dowry, ugly, lazy, crazy. Only these men can mount it and run by these women living and hogging in the media. Tampons and bananas, destroying other innocent women. Only them are crazier than Kanye West. Only Markle has an idea what's ice hockey and NHL.who does need the Kardashians and Game of Thrones.

[the-firebird69]

Watch "GALACTUS THEME" on YouTube

Dr. Doom: and where did you get this power

Zues Hera: from you Doom

Dr Doom: oh no

Carlton Fisk: this is what he's saying I put things here you're threatening with them I'm using it because I have to protect people they don't want to come here and reveal where they are they have to do what I'm doing for the most part and we have real agents here to verify. Now can you beat that anybody and Tommy f says yes and I say you better be sure

Trask: I'm sure I'll get I've got him pinned down good

Zues Hera: we have motivation in a time limit

Carlton Fisk: oh no trask you ass, you have failed me yet again

Trask: I don't have it not yet and he doesn't have the ships I checked

Carlton Fisk: checked on what ships we have objects we can't check the ones they've shown us not very well. Which ships in particular don't they have

Trask: mine

Carlton Fisk: what if they have their own that hasn't been verified

Trask: I don't have to verify it they couldn't get any material

Carlton Fisk: we've seen areas that are petrified and it's very hard this is an example that mystique goes up and sits on I'm tired of you and I'm tired of your people you're a failure get out of my sight or be banished involuntarily

Trask: no I won't budge I'm here for the boy

Carlton Fisk: it seems like he's here for you and I want to definitive answer and you can't give me one therefore you step down and step aside or else

Trask: oh not step aside and you don't run it anymore old man you know what you used to be

Carlton Fisk: you're not me you're not running things you're not a man you haven't defeated this fully you have weakness greatly and to our own detriment. You're not smart enough to figure out if it's true or not and we can't because of you and your cohorts with fat asses and they are big huge ones tonight from eating disgusting things I want you out of my sight now

Trask: I refuse to it's not your world it's mine you lost it old man

Carlton Fisk: I have not lost it and I'm not going into it I want you out and I've ordered you out and you're a subordinate

Trask: no and I'm not a subordinate they don't follow my orders at all and you get harmed I'm telling you to stop bothering me about this topic I have a right to access

Galactus: none of you ever write to access myself it is illegal in our realm and you do it by force and you do it to your own detriment possibly death

Trask: I'm tired of this he tells us all off all the time he's a little porker and he doesn't get into fights and I've never seen it and his granddaddy shot at him and it didn't work and yeah the real bullets so I'm scared okay I'm trying to kidnap him because of that

Carlton Fisk: he's really stating the law and you're trying to use it just like our friend here lizard man who has no brain. And I'm tired of dealing with people that have no brain. And you're going to prison because that's where I'm going to put you Trask you no longer work for us and I'm going to put it in writing tonight

[salmonskinrolltf]

Oh the idea is amazing! I'm an average guy having boring office works every day though it's acceptable compared to working in the construction site. And I'm wondering what it feels to be a dilf with successful life and masculine figure and dating with men in the same class, could you help me? :)

I have submitted your request to the Magic Die and you have rolled: 3

One day, while you’re at work on your computer in your cubicle, you’re typing a report. All of a sudden, every letter you type just comes out onscreen as a “3,” no matter what key you press.

Confused, you try to delete the numbers, but your keyboard just keeps spitting out 3’s. You look around to see if anybody else in the office bullpen is having the same problem, but everybody else seems to be tapping away at their keyboards like normal.

Suddenly, your boss raps on the cubicle wall and asks you to come with him to his office. You follow him, wiping some nervous sweat off your forehead. Is it possible he thought you were goofing around and procrastinating?

You sit down across his broad walnut desk, and he steeples his fingers, saying “We’ve been taking a look at your performance, and… We think you’re a perfect for for the VP position that we’re creating at corporate. We need more young blood around here, and you’d be a perfect fit.”

“Thank you so much sir, of course I’ll accept,” you say, though you’re confused about what he meant by “young blood.” Sure, you’re not middle-aged but you’ve been at this company for quite a while. Once he dismisses you, you head to the floor’s all-gender single stall bathroom to collect yourself. As soon as you lock the door behind you, you’re hit with an overpowering wave of weakness. The stress of the afternoon must finally be catching up with you, you imagine.

However, when you look in the mirror, your face looks… fresher. Less tired. The slight lines that were beginning to form at the corner of your mouth are gone, and for that matter, so is the stubble left over from when you were in too much of a hurry to shave this morning. Your hair is beginning to lengthen into a less conservative, more stylish cut as it lightens to blonde and drapes over your eyes.

Your chest begins to tickle and you undo your tie and pull open your shirt to see the sparse black hair that used to dot your chest receding into your skin, all your slight muscle definition and fat sluicing away to give you a skinny, hairless, feminine physique. The corner of a pec tattoo unfurls into sight like a bird spreading its wings.

You hold your hands to your head, instinctively being careful to protect your styled hair. Your new stylish earring tinkles in your ear as your hand brushes it.

You look like some 20-year-old twink, not someone who just earned a VP position. What the hell is going on here? You suddenly remember submitting a wish to some magic dice on Tumblr last night when you were slightly buzzed on scotch and looking for jerk off material. Shit, was that dude actually serious? The pieces suddenly fall into place, and you realize you must have rolled a 3. Well, there went your dreams of being a DILF with a masculine physique. At least you didn’t become the FULL opposite of what you wished for. Hence the successful life. And what else was it you had asked for? Dating men in your same class?

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. You open it to see Mr. Henderson, the VP of Marketing.

You quickly rebutton your shirt. “I’m terribly sorry, sir. I was just-“

He quiets you with a finger and whispers gruffly in your ear. “No, boy. Keep it open. I need to congratulate you on your promotion.” The man engulfs your mouth in a passionate kiss, shutting the door behind you with his foot and locking it again. “Now, how are you going to thank Daddy for getting you this gig?”

[foxie-paws]

#3 Drugging Neil in Columbia

I must admit that was the moment when I really started to be disgusted with Andrew as a character. I could not imagine how anybody fictional or not can make a comeback from this. I made the mistake of interacting with the fandom first before reaching for the books, so after seeing how everyone was obsessed with him, I still had hope it will be explained and worked out in the future chapters… boy was I wrong.

I may be biased as hell with this one because unfortunately I had an encounter with so-called roofies myself. Let's just say that I do not wish  the sheer amount of panic I experienced on my worst enemy. Thankfully, I had someone trustworthy with me. I do not even want to  imagine being alone in this situation. You can believe me or not, but it won't change my experience.

I was horrified to see the fandom excusing it and even making fun of it  because you know getting drugged and then in desperation knocking yourself out is something hilarious. You wouldn't laugh at fictional rape scenes, so why is drugging someone against their will  so funny? Would it still be funny if Neil was a girl, or would that be actually too far?

I barely finished this chapter. I felt a bile in my throat reading this. I actually didn't touch the book for a whole two days after this, knowing they somehow end up together made me even more nauseous. I get it — enemies to lovers and all of that, but shouldn't they be on the same level? When one has all the power and just throws the other around is this really enemies to lovers or something like that or are we reaching those „kidnapped at 16 by the mafia boss dog” abuse Wattpad stories? Neil hasn't really had any choice in anything until maybe the 3rd book when it came to Andrew.

I've read a few fanfics thinking maybe I will see what everyone does, but I have found out that the fandom LOVES the drugging scene and abuses it even more. It's a big fat NO, THANK YOU from me. Of course, anyone is free to ship whatever they want, I'm all for it, but some things just don't sit right. I'm sure everyone has such ships and characters themselves. But for the people defending Andrew's actions and saying he had valid suspicion… Let's just analyze the whole dumpster on fire this whole plot point was, shall we? The whole issue here, yet again, is Andrew's entitlement to other people’s lives. Andrew deemed Neil a „danger” to Kevin. He did it after breaking into Neil's personal things and seeing a binder full of old articles any Exy obsessed kid probably had. The money, the weird papers full of numbers, the contacts pointed more on a runaway than Riko's „agent”. Andrew wasn't stupid by no means, but this time he missed the point by a few meters. Even if Neil was Riko's „mole” what was he even supposed to do? Break in the middle of the night into Andrew’s lot room and yeet a sleeping Kevin through the window straight into Rikos awaiting arms? Abuse Kevin mentally until he breaks? Be a little busy body and tell everything Riko? Well, for this he had to be around Kevin in the first place, what he refused to do, and have a phone to begin with. 

The money?

So it went like this: Riko put a no name kid in Millport a year before to train and then be scouted by the big Kevin Day, play hard to get, then finally give in, paid him in hundreds that he kept in his fanboy binder unprotected before the job that he was supposed to do and then what? Riko was from the mafia. If he really wanted Kevin that badly, I'm pretty sure he would find someone from the industry and not a no name kid that was afraid of the Foxes coach.

Andrew cornered Neil, attacking the only weakness he saw — Exy. Either he went with them or he is gonna get kicked from the team because Andrew „owns it”. Neil being an Exy obsessed bastard, said yes. Then he was forced to get rid of the only thing that kept his father away in his psyche — the contacts — because Andrew „didn’t like them” (it was the similar to what Riko did to Neil by making him change his appearance).

Neil was being dragged to another town in a car full of people not having good intentions towards him. He knew something is not right, but even Neil, who was raised around mobsters, wasn’t ready for the shit Andrew planned for him. Neil’s survival depended on keeping his secrets covered and being in control of his own mind, and Andrew wanted to rip it away from him. He had a bunch of people involved in making sure Neil becomes as helpless as possible. Not really „Yes or No” of him. Andrew himself was often helpless at the mercy of others. Be it his abusers or the system that forced him to take his happy pills. So why did he deprive someone of their free will? He made sure that his victim won’t escape unknowingly, opened the door for Nicky to abuse Neil's state and then act like he had every right to do so. So many things could have gone wrong. Neil had enough time to knock himself out, so what if he simply got snatched by a sex offender?

But for me what followed after was worse. Why? Andrew and his lot didn’t get an ounce of punishment or didn’t feel any remorse. Everyone, especially coach, a man that was supposed to care for Neil’s wellbeing, gave Andrew the green light for doing anything he wanted to Neil. Wymack, because he still dreamt about the woman he had a quick sexual relationship with and sat Kevin on a pedestal because of her, the other foxes because they saw it as another Andrew thing and you cannot say no to Andrew, right? That’s really not a good look for someone who prides himself in keeping hands to himself and making sure to always ask yes or no, but I guess depriving someone of their free mind is not the same as taking someone's body autonomy.

So everything that happened in Columbia is swept under the rug. Andrew felt like he didn’t do anything wrong, his family and Kevin were okay with drugging a kid they just met by his orders and literary kidnap him into a place they will have power over him. (To be honest the fact that Roland as a bartender was okay with drugging someone up to help Andrew is another thing that gave me chills considering how often bartenders in real life have had a hand in rape or human trafficking.)

How they treated Neil after Columbia is distasteful, too. They saw him as a possession they can order around and try to suck him into their ‘family’. Nothing was wrong — Neil shouldn’t have fought Andrew and try to keep his life a secret, and it was his own fault that he got hurt. Everyone knew that Andrew was the best judge of character, and that gave him the upper moral ground to play a little bit of god. Because nothing mattered but Andrew's suspicions and Kevin’s safety, right? The fact that Andrew was attracted to Neil’s looks since the beginning and then decided to drug him doesn’t sit right with me either. Neil had thick skin and so this thing didn’t phase him as much as it would any normal person, but it could have gone south in so many  ways.

There are a few things that make me feel sick even in fictional worlds that I need to collect myself after or sometimes skip over, especially if they are from the point of the victim and this was one of it. I get it that the media and the world is not full of rainbows and bunnies and we decide what we want to interact with, but some things will always leave a distaste in my mouth especially if they are treated as something funny or not as something as bad.

[bubbleteaimagines]

Meant to Be

Chris Evans Oneshot

Summary: In which you and Chris are meant to be, in one life or the other

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of an age gap, angst, mentions of death, this is so sad but listen to this song while reading to have your heart ripped out

you glared at the back of chris’ head, or rather the back of his plane seat.

you were mad, and you were mad because you didn’t even have the right to be mad.

he hadn’t done anything wrong, technically. if you subtracted the fact that he had broken up with you months ago and had started dating a new woman shorty after then yes, chris evans had been perfectly innocent.

but no, instead it had been you that messed up. it had been you that couldn’t keep her fat mouth shut, word vomiting all over chris just before the plane ride.

you still cringed as you remember the moment.

you were standing outside of the airport, all cast members of the avengers headed to tokyo for press and interviews.

chris had been standing alone and for some reason, you had decided to take your final shot. you walked straight up to him, puffed out your chest, and blurred out how you were still in love with him like an idiot.

honestly, if you could have picked a time for an asteroid to suddenly destroy the earth then that would have been it.

there were no words to explain the awkwardness of your words, and how chris’ face looked as he gently explained to you that he was with someone now.

someone that wasn’t you. someone that wasn’t twenty years younger than him, someone more mature and most importantly, someone that wanted all the things he wanted.

you had to admit, it stung.

it stung bad that the only reason he broke up with you was because of your age.

“we’re too different,” he had said, “you’re only twenty and i’m almost forty. we just don’t want the same things anymore.”

what he meant to say was that he just didn’t want you anymore. and it killed you, it tore you apart everyday that you had lost the love of your life over a damn number.

what was a couple years when you had a romance like yours and chris’? you were so happy together. you had so much fun. there was never a dull moment and you loved each other so passionately, so deeply, that everybody you met would comment on it.

or, at least that’s what you thought.

but months later you were still left with a bitter taste in your mouth when you remembered that wasn’t your reality anymore.

he wasn’t yours anymore.

“you okay kid?” rdj looked at you worriedly as you bit the inside of your cheeks to keep from crying.

“no,” you whispered lowly so that chris or anyone else couldn’t hear you. “i did a stupid thing today. before we got on the plane, i...”

“ah. that,” robert winced as he reminisced the moment, and the awkward silence that followed.

“yes, that,” you sniffled, still staring at chris’ head. “i-i can’t believe i did that. i’m so stupid. chris was right — how would he ever want me back when i keep acting like a child?”

“hey,” rdj frowned and shook his head. “you’re not stupid. you were emotional. it happens to the best of us.”

“does it really?” you wonder, not believing it. “because right now, it seems like i’m the only one suffering.”

it was true — chris seemed absolutely fine. you never saw him crying in the tabloids after the breakup. you never saw him posting sad quotes on social media or shutting down completely.

in fact, it was the opposite. he seemed happier without your relationship. happier without you.

a sob bubbled up in your throat. you quickly ran for the bathroom.

chris and rdj both frowned at your disappearing figure, but chris also felt a pang of sadness.

he couldn’t help it, — how could he? you were once upon a time the absolute light of his life. for two years, you were his anchor. his rock. his pride and joy, the reason he wanted to come home every night.

chris had loved you with everything in his being. more than any woman he had ever before. you were the love of his life, but you were also someone he had let go.

to this day, he still didn’t know why he did it.

he didn’t know why he left you in hysterics that faithful day, begging him for an explanation. begging him not leave.

it still hurt when he thought about it. it still haunted his dreams, still caused him to twist his face in pain.

he hated hurting you. he always did.

but in a way, letting you go was to help you more than hurt you.

he knew that you were significantly younger than him. but still, he had tried to fool himself into thinking you could both work when it was clear you wanted different things.

chris wanted a family. he was ready to settle down, ready for you to get married and have children.

but you weren’t.

like any twenty year old, you wanted to party and see the world and maybe adopt a dog. but kids? marriage? you had barely experienced anything. you wanted more time, you had begged him to give you more time, but time wasn’t something chris had.

he wasn’t getting any younger.

but you were. you still had a young and fighting spirit and chris didn’t want to dampen it by forcing you into a life you weren’t ready for.

so he ended it.

he met another woman. they talked, they wanted the same things.

chris was happy. or at least, he tried to tell himself that. he tried to tell himself that he loved his girlfriend, loved that she wanted everything he wanted. he loved that he could finally have the life he’d always wanted.

only...it wasn’t.

because you weren’t in it.

-

the plane rocked vicicously as you stumbled back to your seat, eyes red.

thankfully, nobody decided to comment on it but you could see the frown on scarlet’s face and the concern on jermey’s. you could feel anthony wanting to say something, but he was right by chris and he didn’t wanna risk any drama.

not now. you all were supposed to be happy — you were promoting the biggest movie of your lives!

but excitement hardly reached you at all. hardly touched you at all, sadness blocking away any positive emotions.

“you okay?” robert asked again as you sat back down.

you stared at the floor for a moment before letting out a small nod. “i will be,” you said, not bothering to hide your voice this time.

chris frowned at this. he gripped the seat a little tight as the plane shook again.

“why don’t you relax?” rdj suggested, “have some water. try to get some sleep. we’ll be in tokyo soon.”

“where are we now?” you asked, trying to distract your mind.

“i think maybe...somewhere over indonesia? i dunno, the pilot didn’t specify. she just said—”

“ah!”

robert was cut off by the plane shaking again, but this time, it was more deadly.

you jolted to the left, a scream escaping your lips as you went flying out of your seat.

it had seemed you had forgotten to put your seat belt back on once you got back to your seat, and you tumbled into the aisle as the plane tilted in a deadly position.

“y/n!” oxygen masks were quickly administered to everybody on the plane. anthony had to fight chris to put on his, stopping him from taking off his seat belt and helping you.

“chris, no! you need this!”

“like hell! y/n needs me!” chris panicked as he saw your frame go flying.

scarlet screamed as the plane began to twist, the terrified voice of pilot administering the worst news possible.

“the engines have failed! the plane can no longer support itself! we’re going down!”

robert tried his best to reach out for you; to grab you and pull you to safety.

but it was as no use. the plane hit something hard and in a split second your body disappeared as the plane was literally torn apart.

the last thing he remembered was chris screaming for you before it all went black.

-

chris didn’t know how long it was before he finally woke again.

all he knew was that when he did, everything hurt like hell.

he groaned as the aches began to spread in his body, slowly peeling his eyes open to face the bright sunlight.

“h-hello?” his voice was horse. weak. “i-is anybody there?”

he cried out as he tried to move and felt pain emitting from his side. but as painful as it was, he knew he had to get up.

“chris?!”

several frantic voices called out his name, gasps echoing throughout the air. he moaned as someone dropped down beside him, the embrace that they pulled him into causing pain to shoot all over his body.

“oh my god, he’s alive!”

the voice belonged to scarlet. he could vaguely make out her blonde hair, and her figure as she stood over him.

“chris?”

anthony sooned joined her. “is that you buddy? can you hear us?”

“loud and clear,” chris moaned out. “w-what happened? why does everything...hurt?”

the only thing he remembered was seeing you run to the bathroom. and then, it all just went blank as if someone had erased his memories.

anthony’s face was as serious as he had ever seen it. but even more than that, it was grim. full of worry and hurt.

scarlet was the same. she had tears in her eyes and dirt on her expensive clothes that didn’t belong there. chris furrowed his eyebrows.

“we...” anthony swallowed thickly. “we were in a...crash. the engines — they stopped working. we barely had time to prepare before the plane...”

“oh my god,” chris was suddenly alert, panic filling very inch of him as he sat up.

he remembered now. he remembered seeing your figure flying all over the plane because you didn’t have a seat belt on. he remembered reaching for you, yelling your name and screaming for you.

he remembered begging any god that would listen to spare you before he blacked out.

“y/n!”

his eyes widened in horror. where were you?! he searched the premise quickly.

you weren’t anywhere sight. along with robert, jeremy, and hemsworth you were missing.

chris felt a feeling of absolute dread wash over him.

“no,” he whispered, quickly standing up. he ignored every pain in his body. he ignored scarlet and anthony’s warnings to take it easy.

he didn’t care. he didn’t care about himself anymore. his focus is was on you, and where the hell you were at the moment.

“y/n!” he yelled again, shaking his head frantically. “where is she? WHERE IS SHE?!”

both scarlet and anthony flinched at his tone. never, and they meant never, had chris yelled at them before.

“she’s alive,” scarlet answered immediately, trying to calm a frantic chris. “she’s alive, but...”

“it’s not looking good, pal,” anthony’s voice cracked, causing chris’ stomach to sink. “we found her but...she wasn’t wearing a seat belt. and when the plane crashed...she got stuck under some rubble.”

“oh god,” chris felt he was gonna be sick. “can i see her? where are the others? are they helping her? take me to her!”

“robert, jeremy and chris are all alive,” scarlet said. “they’re trying their best...”

scarlet’s voice fell on deaf ears as chris decided to just go see for himself. he was tired of them dancing around it. he wanted to see you. he wanted to know that you were okay, that you were alive.

“y/n!”

scarlet and anthony yelled after him but he paid them no mind, running through the rubble to find you.

the entire plane that they rented for you guys was in pieces. the wings had been ripped off, the cockpit was miles away, and the back of the plane, where you were sitting, was scattered everywhere.

“y/n!” chris tried again, his voice nearly going hoarse from yelling so loud.

but then this time, he did get a response.

he whipped around as someone called out his name, but disappointment filled his veins as he saw that it was only jermey.

“chris, buddy...” rdj and chris hemsworth ran up to him, holding him back.

“chris, you don’t need to see this,” hemsworth told him grimly.

so that meant you were nearby. but where?

scarlet said you had been trapped under some rubble. but what chris expected time was maybe a seat, or a small piece of metal.

a strangled cry left his throat as he saw that you were trapped under one of the plane wings.

“y-y/n,” nobody could stop him as he fell to his knees by your head, the only visible part of your body.

you didn’t even know what to say as the love of your life came into view.

you wanted to say everything — so much — but your body was on fire.

if chris thought he had it bad, then you were ten times worse.

not only were your legs pinned, but also your ribs and your left arm. the only thing that hadn’t been trapped was your right arm, which was completely numb, and your head.

you were still conscious, but not by much.

you could feel it.

the sensation everyone always talked about. the tingling in your brain. the white light behind your eyes.

you were close.

“c-chris,” so help you god, you were not gonna leave this earth without speaking to him one last time. you had said your goodbyes to everybody else. as soon as they realized that they couldn’t get the metal off of you — that they weren’t strong enough, and that help wasn’t coming — you had decided to make peace with your remaining breath.

but not with chris. with chris, you didn’t want peace. you wanted love and the happiness of seeing his eyes one last time.

“y/n...” the strangled sob that left his lips wasn’t human. it was gutural, animalistic. chris was crying out for you, he was in pain. “no!”

“i don’t...have much time,” you sputtered out pathetically, blood spilling out of your mouth. “i-i’m dying.”

the revelation was clear to see, but chris still refused to accept it.

“no!” he repeated the word once again. “no, you’re not dying! y/n, you can’t die!”

“c-chris please,” black spots began to cloud your vision. but chris didn’t give up.

“what are you all just standing there for?!” he glared angrily at his friends. “help me! help me get this shit off of her!”

everyone stared at chris with a gutted look in their eyes. they turned away as he tried to lift the wing, as he tried to accomplish what they already failed at hours ago.

“mate, we tried...” hemsworth sniffed. “it’s not coming up.”

“no!” chris turned to him with such fury, such denial that it actually made hemsworth stumble back. “no, you don’t get to decide that! you don’t get to just stand there while she’s dying!”

“we didn’t!” rdj quickly stepped in. “we tried to help.”

“well then try again!” chris snapped again, pushing against the metal. scarlet sobbed as it stayed in the same place.

“t-they know it w-won’t help,” your sad voice whispered out, causing chris to pause. “t-they know i-i’m a goner anyways.”

“don’t say that,” chris sobbed as he dropped to your side again, hands reaching out to stoke your numb cheek. “don’t say that you’re dying. you’re gonna be fine...you’re gonna be f-fine.”

you could tell that even he didn’t believe it. the damage was too extensive. there was no way you were getting out of there alive.

“t-tell my family that i l-love them,” you mumbled, coughing up blood. “and sebastian a-and tom and—”

“don’t,” chris cut you off. “don’t do this.”

he wore the expression of a man being burned alive. he was in pure agony, pain clawing at every inch of him. consuming him faster than it was taking you.

“r-remember that,” you ignored him, the ringing in your ears getting louder. “remember that i love...you.”

there it was.

chris finally broke upon hearing these words. so painful for you to spit out, but yet they were important enough to waste your last breaths on. he was important enough.

“i love you too,” chris broke down, sobs racking his body as he held your hand. “i love you, so much. more than you’ll ever know. i love you for everything that you are. you’re the love of my life. i can’t live w-without you baby.”

“y-you don’t have to...s-say it back...” you gave him a pained smile. “just because i-i’m dying...i know you love h-her now. s-she’s your f-future. i-i’m just sorry we never h-had a chance,” your eyes began to flutter.

“no, no, no, no!” chris whimpered. “it was never her, baby. i don’t love her. it was always you. you’re my future. p-please y/n, you’re the mother of my kids. you’re my wife. it was always gonna be you, no matter what,” he shook his head. “always and forever, we’re meant to be.”

“m-meant to be,” you stuttered out, a ghost of a smile on your face. if you had to die again, you’d happily go out with those words being the last thing you ever heard.

chris bawled as he watched the light finally leave your eyes and your body slump. you almost looked peaceful, as if you were smiling in your sleep, but he knew better.

the love of his life was gone.

“chris? chris? look at me!” robert grabbed chris by the shoulders as he started hyperventilating, pounding at the soil with his fists. “look at me, buddy!”

“she’s gone,” chris cried as robert held him in his arms, “s-she,”

his eyes began to flutter close as he struggled to get the words out. suddenly, it became harder to breathe. black spots clouded his visions and chris’ body began shutting down with every breath, unable to cope with your death.

“what’s happening?!” anthony yelled as chris painfully slumped over, his body going limp in robert’s arms.

shakily, the older man held two fingers to his neck and prayed that he wasn’t gone, too. he prayed that the universe didn’t take chris and you, all in one day.

but they knew.

they knew the minute he pulled his hand back, dropping his head lowly in defeat. they knew before he even opened his mouth. they knew as he pulled away, resting chris’ body gently next to yours.

“he’s gone.”

[alicedopey]

The Wallflower

Gorgeous moodboard made by the talented @naaladareia Thanks babe !

Fandom: Vikings

Pairing: Hvitserk x Plus-size reader

Genre: Modern AU, Drama, Angst, Romance

Words: 1742

Warnings: Angst, some self-depreciation (barely)

Summary: The only thing you wish for is to dance...

A/N: Here is my contribution to @youbloodymadgenius​ 1k Celebration. I’ll let you find out which famous line I picked up, it would spoil the plot. This might turn into a multipart series, depends if you like this one or not.

Your boss was a flirt. Well, one of them was, to be exact. When every employee of the food company you were working for had learnt that two young Danish men had bought the firm from your very American boss, brows were raised. What would they make of it?

Two years later, it turned out they had drastically changed it and made it one of the most famous brands of Danish food in the United States. Those different brothers seemed to complete each other and formed an effective duet.

Ivar was very professional, blunt, harsh sometimes but his mind was swirling with ideas and he knew how to deal with all the competitors his company could cross path with.

Hvitserk was…quite the opposite. He was the cook so he was very creative and more easy-going, funny, smiling and very friendly. Sometimes, he was even too friendly; you reminded yourself as you heard a fit of giggles coming from your other female colleagues on the other side of the room where Hvitserk was probably telling one of his silly stories or praising the women with endless compliments.

It would be a lie to pretend that he was not very charming but contrary to most of your colleagues, you did not take the praises coming out of his mouth very seriously. It was just in his nature to flirt with every girl he met and that also included an older and heavier woman like you. In your mind, Hvitserk could not date a woman like you but rather a perfect looking woman who would shine next to him. It was perfectly fine. Your curves were not everyone’s cup of tea but you did not mind because they were yours and you loved them – well, more like learned to love them.

“So…what did you decide to do for your reunion this weekend?”

Your brows furrowed at your closest colleague’s question and your eyes looked away from Hvitserk. “What do you mean? I already told you I was going.”

“Not that.” Lisa scoffed. “Did you find someone to go with?”

“I did not look for anybody. I’m going alone.”

“You can’t do that.” She replied in a categorical tone. “This would be highly humiliating.”

Lisa was known for being overdramatic over many things so you were not surprised she was reacting this way.

“I was single at the time, you know.” You tried to reason patiently with her. “So, it won’t be a surprise for them if that still is the case fifteen years later.”

Her eyes widened. “You are kidding, right?” She exclaimed a little bit too loud for your liking. “You have to…okay, you know what? I will help you find someone. In fact, I think my brother is free this weekend. I can ask him, he wouldn’t mind.”

“No, thank you.” You had already met the man. He was nice and handsome but not very discreet, just like his sister. “Besides, I don’t like the blind date thing.”

Lisa leaned forwards and whispered, “Pay someone then…” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Right. Paying for a man to play your date, way to boost your ego. You knew Lisa meant well but the more she kept suggesting things, the more humiliated you felt. “No.”

She looked at you as if you were too stubborn for your own good. “You know, having a date means you would be able to dance…”

You sighed. She clearly knew which weak spot to strike on. “Lisa…”

“Good morning, ladies!”

The two of you startled at Hvitserk’s voice. “What’s the topic today?”

“Convincing Y/N to bring a date to her high school reunion.” Lisa answered without thinking. She instantly mouthed an “I’m sorry” as Hvitserk looked at you questioningly.

Thankfully, he did not have the time to make any comment as Ivar entered the room. Every employee ran back to work and even Hvitserk left hurriedly to join his brother, which brought a smile to your lips.

                                               ¤    ¤

The rest of the week went in a blur. After her little mishap, Lisa did not insist on the date issue and Hvitserk did not mention anything either. He probably did not care or even remember it for that matter. So, that Friday night, you got dressed with a nice dark blue dress, high heels, called for an Uber and arrived at your high school, ready to have a good time.

The moment you entered the enormous gymnasium of your old high school when the party was taking place, you were brought back to the past. Some of your friends instantly greeted you and you were all so happy to see each other again and share some memories that none of you really lost too much time thinking about your current marital status or your professional situation.

There was a huge buffet to enjoy, the music was a nice reflecting of the past parties you had attended. Everyone enjoyed themselves on the dance floor, especially you.

Dancing was a real joy and a great opportunity to express yourself. When you were dancing, you forgot everything and everyone around you to just focus on the music and how it made you feel free and finally yourself.

Then, slow-dancing time came. This was the moment when you had to get out of the picture and go back to your usual spot, against a pillar or a wall.

Being curvy had its flaws when you were a teenager. You could not say you had suffered from bullying because you had a strong personality and was not afraid to fight back when you needed to. No. The worse part was during the parties. No boy would invite you to dance, even amongst your friends. It looked like friendship had its limits. You thought things could change with time since teenage years were always considered as the hardest ones when you did not fit in completely. You were clearly wrong. You were an adult now and no men wanted to dance with the fat girl. Nothing had changed and nothing would.

You watched the couples on the dance floor with a sting in your chest. It was probably time for you to go home instead of brooding like you usually did.

“Care to dance?” Your eyes turned away from the dancing couples to meet those of the owner’s voice. Your jaw opened slightly when you saw Hvitserk Ragnarsson standing in front of you dressed in a dark suit, his middle length hair tied in a loose bun.

“Come on.” He extended his hand. “Nobody puts baby in a corner.”

You smiled and put your hand in his. Hvitserk led you to the dance floor. He pulled your curvaceous body against his hard one, his hand on the small of your back and the two of you gently swayed to the music. This was completely new to you, it felt so nice. Tears were welling up in your eyes so you closed them for a few seconds. When you opened them back, the green eyes of your boss were looking at you with gentleness and concern.

You smiled. “Why are you here, Mister Ragnarsson?”

“Hvitserk.” He replied. “Why don’t we enjoy the night, first? I promise I will answer all of your questions afterwards.”

You nodded. Hvitserk winked at you.

                                              ¤   ¤

The two of you did enjoy your night. After sharing a few dances, Hvitserk met your friends. He introduced himself as your boyfriend which led you to choke on your drink. Nonetheless, you did not correct him, secretly enjoying the fact that some of your friends were watching you with some obvious jealousy. It was a nice change for once.

At the end of the night, Hvitserk offered to drive you home and you accepted. The ride was silent, awfully silent but you did not wish to break this silence. You felt almost afraid to ask him why he was here because you did not want to discover this was out of pity.

Almost too soon, he parked in front of your little house and turned off the engine. You knew there was no other chance to escape explanation time.

“You did not have to do it, you know.” You finally said, your eyed fixed on the windshield. “As I said to Lisa, I don’t mind going alone. I certainly do not need…”

“Pity?”

This made you look at him. “Exactly.”

“I don’t do the pity thing, I only do what I want to do. And I can assure you I wanted to be with you tonight…I just wish you would have asked me.”

You felt a little bit comforted at his words but choose not to read too much into them. “Thank you, then. I had a great night.”

“I did too. Would do it again whenever you want to.”

Once again, you chose to ignore any deeper meaning behind his words and simply smiled at him. He smiled back.

“So…can I get a good night kiss?”

You burst out laughing at this. Now, that was more like Hvitserk. You chuckled, leaned in and kissed his cheek. His facial hair tickled your lips. Then you realized what you had just done, meaning pecking your boss on the cheek and abruptly straightened up. Heat was creeping up your neck and ears. Hvitserk was looking at you with a playful twinkle in his eyes.

“I did not know you had watched Dirty Dancing.” You blurted out to embarrass him. He chuckled though.

“I never did. I heard it from one of the ladies at the office. Guess I spend too much time in marketing.”

He winked and you felt yourself blushing again although this time, you smiled at him.

“Good night, Hvitserk.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

You got out of the car, walked to your front door, opened it then closed it behind you without even looking back at him once. You did not wish to show him he had charmed you even more, particularly because you were convinced he was not interested in you at all.

But Hvitserk’s eyes never left your body, enjoying its every curve until you had disappeared behind your closed door. Then he started his car and left, a satisfied smile lingering on his lips.

Tagging (please tell me if you want to be added or removed): @naaladareia​ @tephi101​ @gearhead66​ @therealcalicali​ @ivarswickedqueen​ @akamaiden​ @peaceisadirtyword​ @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​ @mblaqgi​ @captstefanbrandt​

[soulwillower]

buttercup • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

requested: Would you mind writing a Richie Tozier X reader soulmate AU where Richie is VERY self conscious and he finds out that the reader is his soulmate and the reader is well known and very pretty, so he’s just like djjdjfgjjcbvnfnf but once they actually meet she really likes him? :0 thanks if you consider!

warning: swearing, angst, richie being edgy and also a bit unstable (king shit), neuroatypical richie!!!, fluff, soulmate au!! <33 also sorry this may be rough, i havent edited it at all

[reader + losers are in college]

lmk what u guys think of this one,... idk LOL

4.1k words

♡

richie was about to be sick. yes, he really, really was going to vomit in approximately ten seconds and he didn’t know what he was going to do. the room, full of barely-adults chugging jungle juice was sweaty and bustling and the walls were closing in on him quick. those people who weren't in the main rooms were doing sniff in the bathrooms and blocking his pathway to heaven (the toilet) so he quickly stumbles towards the sliding-glass door.

he passes a guy who claps his shoulder and says in a deep voice, "you good, bro?"

no, no. he's not good, bro. thanks for asking, though.

as he finally breaks free of the plastic, out of the crusty balloon that was holding his body hostage, he takes a deep breath and sprawls himself on the back deck, staring up at the clouds in the nighttime sky. maybe he should go home and mull this over, before he crams it down his own throat and chokes to death, alone and broken on the back deck of a 22 year old business major's rental house.

he laughs to himself - an image which he's sure would be a full on maniacal scene to an onlooker - as he lights a cigarette with very shaky fingers. even if he chooses to give this situation some thought, he will end up being forced regardless because this is, quite literally, richard tozier's destiny.

y/n y/l/n is richie's destiny, and it makes him feel like complete shit.

you see - his whole life, richie knew about the fucking soulmate tattoos. of course he did, everybody did - it was, like, one of the first things you learn, ever. he knows that there's basically a soulmate for every person and often times the soulmate marks were different, the ways of finding your soulmate were wide and far.

for most of richie's life - actually, almost all of it up until the last month - he'd had a big, fat 0 tattooed on his arm and below it a humiliating phrase that was quite the epitome of richie himself.

yet it never changed, which led him, his friends, and his parents to determine that he'd gotten a time-counter soulmate mark, which he likes to pride himself on believing he did not give a single fuck about.

the number is supposed to count the amount of time that you've spent with your soulmate, and there's usually a sentence or phrase that's associated with your soulmate's first thoughts of you below it. and yeah, of course the first thing the lucky guy or gal thought of richie is 'wow, those are the ugliest socks ever.' pretty fucking on-brand, if richie says so himself.

so yeah, he never really paid attention to his soulmate mark - partly because the thought of emotionally opening up to someone enough for them to know his whole and true self was repulsive and terrifying enough to make him physically ill, enough for him to develop a crazy sense of humor as a less-than proficient coping mechanism for the insecurity and fear that lives in his mind rent-free, 24/7 365. but mostly he didn't pay attention to the mark because, you know, he thought it was lame.

that is, until it changed from the 0.

it happened on the first day of classes fall semester of this, his freshman year of college.

which, honestly, was a huge fucking bummer, because he literally came into contact with almost 800 new people that first day through classes, dorms, walking around campus, and the dining hall. and yet, as he got back to his dorm and smoked a bowl with bill, he'd noticed that his arm had said 00:51:26.

bill had been so excited he'd almost lifted richie through the roof, because 'holy sh-shit, rich, y-you did it!'

it was hard to believe someone was out there for him, though. and yeah, he didn't give a fuck about it, but he also kind of did.

richie, now thinking back on that day, groans a bit. if he'd just known, if he had just fucking looked at the thigh of the girl in front of him with the soft-looking grin and the alluring scent of orange creamsicle shampoo, who'd smiled a bit when he borrowed a pen - if he'd just known then that y/n was meant to spend the rest of her life with him, he could've... well, he's not really sure what he could have done.

he thinks to that moment in time, as he was blowing smoke out the dorm window with bill and giggling as he ate an entire bag of cheez-its, and how much he wanted to know who it was back then.

but tonight, it had become a nightmare when the information practically fell into his lap. he's at this house party in late september, and about five minutes ago it was just boring enough to warrant sitting on the rug in the living room and just fun enough to actually stay.

“-yeah, she said the first time you guys met was in microeconomics, right?” ben says, and richie huffs in agreement as he picks at the skin on his nails. ben was talking about her again, and richie's heart was beating stupidly hard. y/n, one of his closest friends that he'd made outside of the losers, never failed to make his heart run a goddamn marathon.

“-she told me the first thing she noticed was that you were wearing socks with sandals. and she thought that your socks were really ugly.” he finishes with a laugh and richie’s head snaps up at that. he feels chills spill over back as if he’d been doused with ice water and he gapes at ben. “wait, what?” richie shudders, the words escaping his lips quietly enough that his friends mistake it for a forceful exhale brought on by offense at the word 'ugly.'

“well she was right to think that.” stan says from behind his solo cup, carefree, as if richie’s life wasn’t crashing to an alarming and unbelievable halt. eddie giggles faintly somewhere from the floor where the losers are sitting, but richie’s mind is reeling too much for him to react to or even comprehend anything.

“rich, i th-thought i got you to st-stop wearing socks and sandals so long ago.” bill adds, laughing into his hand. but richie’s barely registering any other fucking information because he’s staring at ben, who is finally noticing his friend’s perplexed face. “you good, rich?” ben asks carefully.

“wh-er, wait. what exactly did she say?” richie asks, really not wanting to know the answer and yet wanting to know more than life itself. it can't be her. he’s getting odd looks from everyone now, but he's starting to breathe quickly and he thinks he might vomit. he kind of regrets never showing anybody but big bill his soulmate mark, because he's suffocating right now in embarrassment and bill is a little too drunk to assume what richie's assuming right now.

“wait, y/n y/l/n, right? from my dorm. she’s here tonight, she told me- oh, y/n!” stan calls, looking directly over richie’s shoulder. it happens so fast. y/n, in the flesh, walks past at just that moment, breaking out into a breath-taking, world-halting smile. richie's chest hurts worse than it ever has before as she waves and bustles over to plop herself next to richie. and holy shit, she's wearing shorts because even though it's cold out, the house is warm and richie can see dark ink on her thigh. a soulmate tattoo. he can't draw his eyes away even though his brain is screaming to knock it off because there's going to be something there he doesn't want to accept, but he then does it anyways.

he almost hyperventilates as he reads the words emblazoned on her thigh,

27:36:08 and right below it: "holy hell her hair smells like orange creamsicle"

he almost sobs right then and there as she greets him with a soft hand on his shoulder, completely unaware of their fate and richie has to stand up abruptly because he can literally feel the numbers changing on his arm as the seconds go by with y/n at his side.

and now, mere minutes later he's out here, laying in self pity as anxiety claws at every inch of his body and fear tingles on him like the slight presence of snowflakes falling on his skin - briefly he wonders if, as an older man, he'll wonder how he never got cold wearing nothing, vulnerable as he welcomes in that falling snow.

he would be totally daft not to wonder how he ended up with a soulmate like her, someone not only so fucking attractive but so kind and undeserving of a monstrosity of a human like him. she is, in every place he isn't, a complete and utter success of a person; he's a hurricane where she's whitecaps in the sea, he's loud and abrupt while she is kind and outgoing. maybe they do work well together, hell - they spend enough time on study dates outside of class for him to know that he does really like her. but richie also knows his standoffish, happy-go-lucky and untamed personality paired with his unwillingness to make himself appear vulnerable to most people will probably have a very large impact on... whatever it is that happens with y/n.

because that's really the point, isn't it?

she is stuck with him. bucky beaver, the trashmouth, mr. i-can't-keep-my-trap-shut-for-three-seconds. y/n, the most incredible person in this world, is the kind of person that was designed for richie to admire from afar, as he is so willing to suffer through. because as much as it hurts to watch her and to love her without loving her, it is a thousand times safer for both of them than the inevitable look of disappointment that will befall y/n’s angelic features when she discovers who her burden of a soulmate is.

the thought makes richie choke out a weak sob, sitting up and digging the heel of his palms into his sockets, trying to scrub out the image of himself from his brain. awful, awful, bad.

he takes a long drag from his cigarette and for a brief moment he wonders if, just maybe, she’ll love him back eventually. the thought makes him feel like crying all over again.

huge nose, big teeth, awkwardly skinny and too tall. maybe he's got nice hair, but he sometimes wakes up too late and can only brush his teeth and swipe on deodorant before he's sprinting out his dorm with his pickle socks and stan's old sandals, trudging to class and getting in the way of y/n's future.

but he is her future, after all - how can that be right?

he doesn't have enough time to take another drag from his cig as he hears the glass door open, the noise from the party bursting through the gap in the foundation of the house and sending him back to five minutes, ago, inside. he cranes his neck and can't bring himself to be surprised when he sees her, backlit from the party inside and figure in his mind standing like the only being in the world.

she thinks he looks devastatingly beautiful tonight. she loves the awkwardness in his bones, the way he carries himself with confidence although she's not sure he always really has it. he's wearing some dumb socks again as usual, though they're mostly covered by his black pants and red high-tops this time. it makes her smile softly.

she wants to know him, really know him, as more than just a classmate, a crush, a boy who's friends with stan uris from the floor above her own room. she wants to feel his large hands on her in more than just fleeting greetings, knucks to the shoulder or jaw. she wants the sharp taste of nicotine and mint from those life savers he was always sucking on in her own mouth as he holds her tightly against him, she wants to know everything about him and be with him, even if they aren't somehow destined to be forever. which, she thinks with an array of wild animals tumbling around her chest, they might be.

after all, someone at this party is her soulmate, and she's almost 99.8% sure it's richie. it gives her the most beautiful butterflies she's ever had, even when he stares at her from the deck with glassy eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

"what’s up, buttercup?” is all she says, in her mind because he's stunned her to near-silence once again by just existing, and in his mind because she is the most perfect being.

he doesn't respond despite being completely charmed by her, because he's breathing in the nicotine and its making his fingers twitch and even though he's sober by now, he thinks he may be tweaking a bit, mostly from the overwhelming set of information that just smacked into his face when y/n walked over into that room.

he watches as suddenly she's dropping herself so she's sat next to him, her legs swinging off the edge of the deck. she eyes his cigarette. "that's so unhealthy, rich." she says softly, teasing but with a lacing of truth behind it that really makes richie itch to never smoke ever again in his life. but he's a stubborn ass, so he instead takes a deeper drag, maintaining eye contact. he can feel one tear slip from his eye and he feels so fucking melodramatic as he does so, but he's at the lowest he's been in a while, so he gives himself a bit of credit.

she reaches out and pulls the cigarette directly from between his lips, sending him a pointed look as she presses it out on the finished wood of the deck. he wipes the tear away when she's not looking. and as she turns back he smirks, unsure what else to do, as he blows the smoke out of his mouth towards her face.

"hi, toots." he says in what he hopes is a normal tone, despite his blotchy and tear-trailed face. she blinks her eyes owlishly at him but just shrugs, "you left a little prematurely back there. what, do i smell that bad?" she jokes. no, he thinks, you smell like orange creamsicles.

it's bittersweet, the irony in her statement. because he knows that she probably knows what she smells like every day, as it's literally tattooed right on the meat of her leg, on display for her and whoever else lucky enough to find themselves being acquainted with the skin of her upper thigh. the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

maybe if he were feeling a little less in-the-dumps, a little less like a complete and utter disappointment and failure that ruined this sweet girl's life, he would have ribbed her back a bit. you know, grind her gears in typical tozier fashion.

but he's exhausted and so distraught that he can't bring himself to even look at her. "i'm not in the mood" he grumbles, his heart pounding. she frowns, tilting her head.

"okay, what's wrong, richie?" she asks, and it's in that caring voice that she uses that isn't pitying but simply solicitous in nature. her calming force on him is obvious and immediate and his teeth stop rattling around in his head

he wants to scream because she's burning warm and perfect while he's frigid cold inside his body; a wasteland full of broken slinkies and half-formulated 'your mom' jokes that are melded to the crust of him with the tar that's been sucked straight from those damn ciggies. for crying out loud, if he were to so much as touch her, she'd get corrupted.

she notices as he scoots a bit away from her, and her heart hurts. he's so upset, clearly, and yet it hurts her that he can't trust himself or her enough to open up; no fault of his own surely, but heartbreaking all the same. "i care about you, and i really want to be here for you." she says it like there's going to be more, but the words kind of die in her throat as she realizes the extend of her words.

holy shit, she thinks, i'd go to the ends of the earth for him. if richie asked me to, i think i'd probably kill the queen.

"i stubbed my toe, and it really hurts." he says then, and the absurdity of his excuse makes her laugh out loud, head tilting back towards the moon as the bubbly giggles tumble from her lips. she looks at him after and his face is a twisted mix of affection and utter pain, a combination that hurts her to her core but lights a fuel in her that makes her want to help him.

"it's true." he mutters, motioning to his shoe limply, and she looks at his foot, the tip of his converse scribbled in sharpie with the word 'half-brain' and then a bunch of hearts.

"i like your socks." she says absentmindedly, grinning at him as she says it, voice teasing. but the reaction she was hoping for was nowhere to be seen as richie suddenly heaves a hiccup-sob, one so upsetting and quiet that she thinks she misheard it.

but he's keeling over and clutching his face with his hands, shaking his head, and her heart breaks. "richie, honey please tell me what's going on. or i can just sit here, if you'd rather-"

her sentence is cut off with richies own rushed words, expelled from his mouth so quickly that it's almost as if they were trying to escape while his lips tried to hold them in.

"-you're going to have to spend the rest of your life trying to force yourself to love me, and that terrifies me.”

as he says it, his stomach twists itself inwards at his admission and he thinks he's going to be sick. he doesn't deserve you, you're going to resent him for it. she's silent for a few moments, and he doesn't dare look anywhere near her as tears trail down his solemn cheekbones and drop onto the black corduroy that wraps around his jittering legs.

"richie, please, what are you trying to say?" she says quietly, sounding scared, nervous, upset... richie did that. it's his fault. he tilts his head back, his brain buzzing in guilt. "fuck," he says, and it comes out broken, "you... i- you're my soulmate." he says, looking down to where his chest rises and falls almost unnaturally, a consequence of muscle memory being tampered with by the lethally college combination of nicotine, alcohol and marijuana on an empty stomach.

earlier he was afraid that if he opened his mouth too wide he would lose control of his tongue and then the words would come out without him wanting them to, but he knows he's basically sober by now, as sober as y/n is next to him - he's just neurotic, but he doesn't want her to know that, because oh god, what if she hated him for it?

she wouldn't, right? isn't she supposed to find a way to love him?

this was a really stupid idea, but in his mind it was one that had to be done. shutting his eyes, he tugs the sleeve of his left arm upwards, taking a shaky breath. again, it's silent as she reads the words written there. wow, those are the ugliest socks ever.

she stares at the words, and the number above it, then she looks at her own thigh, where the exact same number counts on in time with his.

he wastes no time, though: "-don't worry, doll. i've got it figured out, we can just- maybe we can get yours covered and you don't have to think about it anymore. fi-find someone better, like, oh, bill - he'd treat you nice i think. just- we don't have to think about it, i'm sorry." he says in one breath, not looking at her at all.

"richie, how can i be yours if you're not mine?" she says thickly because she's fighting off tears wondering how someone so incredible and full of life could feel so undeserving.

"you can't want me, you can't." he insists, not looking at her as she gapes at him because if he were to look at her expression he may lose it. it's quiet again in their own little world here, the air silent and numbing as y/n takes a breath.

"oh my god, wait richie how are we this stupid?" she asks, perking up and lightly slapping his arm. he looks at her in shock as she begins to laugh, "we've been alone together so many times. how did we not notice?" she asks, and he chuckles a bit, shrugging.

"maybe we're not the sharpest crayons in the drawer, toots. all i'm sayin' is that i figured it out first." he says cheekily, and secretly both of them are shocked to see how quickly they fell together, as if the knowledge that they were made for each other made all their insecurities fall away.

her face softens again. "you know, i saw my timer counting tonight and i was hoping more than anything that you'd be here. that we'd be-" she adds softly, a hand landing lightly on richie's thigh, sending licks of flames up his body. she takes a breath and restarts. "do you know how fucking bad i wanted it to be you?"

and just like that, y/n unintentionally provides a luscious mix of words and tricks that fill him with barely enough confidence to let him bet when he knows he should fold.

what's life without a little risk?

he meets her eyes for the first time in a few minutes and hers are large and hopeful as they wait patiently for him to give her something. but he still can't speak without running his mouth, so instead he cups her cheeks. her lips part slowly and he stares in awe at her raw beauty, unable to hold it in longer.

he presses his lips to her quickly and to her it feels like he is trying to prove something. it makes her heart soar as he comes alive against her, pressing as enthusiastically as she is into him. he tastes, as she'd guessed, like nicotine but mostly like a mint and it makes her grin as he pulls back.

"is this okay?" he's asking then, his thumb soothing over her cheek sweetly and giving her the same butterflies she gets when he smiles; the very same butterflies that release when he says anything to her, when he comes to her dorm for a study date with two red bulls in his hand, and when she realized their tattoos beat the same.

"yeah, of course." she whispers against his lips, the feeling of his teasing lightly making her sniffle. she presses their lips together again, this time warmer, more comfortably and his hands move to her hips and tug her closer, her hands winding to his neck as his own hands explore her body, caressing her sides gently. he pulls back and holds her softly.

"your hair smells nice." he says sheepishly, and she grins so widely she thinks she may split in two. her heart flutters as she looks into his eyes, finding nothing but love. "orange creamsicle, huh?" she asks with pink cheeks, and he laughs lightly, nodding his head. "best smell ever, babe."

"you make me happy." she says it onto his lips again, and the shiver that runs down his spine is a feeling he wouldn't mind feeling forever. his heart soars because he believes her, he trusts her. she wouldn't lie to him.

"we're so dramatic, aren't we?" richie jokes, his walls sliding back up a bit, but as y/n cuddles into his chest, head against his beating heart as she presses kisses to his neck, he realizes she accepts him.

"yeah, well. we're made for each other, aren't we rich?" she asks gently as his hand falls to brush over her thigh, right over the words. "that's right, toots." he says softly, looking down at her hairline softly, still in disbelief that it worked out for him. she turns to look at him, cheeks dusted a bit as she leans up to press a kiss on his lips.

tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings​ @stenbrozier​ @simplesammyx​ @dickology64​ @clownsloveyou​ @baby-yoda-a @moon-shine-baby​ @daughter-of-the-stars11 @lets-vibe-bro​ @trashedfortozier​ @oceandog13​ @finnskindofwoman​  @kait-tozier​ @upamongthestarss​ @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs 

[heeytwelve]

A mundanity that creeps into your very soul

Insidious Humdrum is he most intriguing and controversial character in Simon Snow books. It also one of the main characters of “Carry On” book, and, (as unpopular opinion) - he is still appears in “Wayward Son” - he mentioned by Simon, Agatha, Penny, Baz multiple times as nightmarish memories. 

I believe Humdrum will make his appearance in third book and I want to dig on why he is so important in “Carry On” set and why Simon might be not quite done with him.

Humdrum is “official” antagonist of the first book, the prophesy which gave Simon “The Chosen One” title also implies that his only mission in life is to banish the Greatest Threat of World of Mages.

It’s important to notice that Simon himself is not really invested in fighting Humdrum, he strangely detached from his life mission:

“When the Humdrum comes after me, I fight him. When he sends dragons, I kill them. When you trick me into meeting a chimera, I go off. I don’t get to choose or plan. I just take it as it comes. And someday, something will catch me unawares or be too big to fight, but I’ll fight anyway. I’ll fight until I can’t anymore—what is there to think about?”

Excerpt From: Rainbow Rowell. “Carry On.”  Think about it - he never create strategies, he never tries to understands what is it he tries to fight with, he never initiate the battle, he accepts battles, when he can’t avoid them.  You’d think that he just escalate this part of job to The Mage, but then, (say to compare with HP) he doesn’t exactly bothers The Mage with questions or he doesn’t try to find out what Humdrum behaves like this and what is he plotting. 

Oh, yes, plotting. See, we could say  - you know, Simon is just like this, he’s quite passive, he hates to think or take action, but it’s untrue. Simon, in fact, has 3 antagonists: first one is Humdrum, which was given to him, second one is Mage (which as Voldemort in HP both created him and destroyed) and third is the only one antagonist he actually chose - Baz, the handsome vampire. Because Simon chose him (and Baz accepted). it is this antagonist he is really fighting and very passionate about: he thinks about his plotting every day, he cracks his secret/superpower, he finds his weakness and “defeats” him. Simon is capable of active fighting, thinking and strategising.  

WHY Simon is so NOT invested in fighting Humdrum?

Let’s take a look at Humdrum and Simon, using Penny’s method, aka - what do we know, here I gathered a small table of data for these two:

So clearly, you can see that Humdrum is very unusual antagonist. Yes we can see that like in many pairs protagonist-antagonist there are a few opposite qualities of them, and it’s normal, it is trigger to fight dynamics. But at the same they are sort fig leaf to hide from Simon (or reader) who Humdrum really is.  Humdrum - is Simon’s doppelgänger. And that is VERY important, let’s look at this from writer point of view, it is not your usual antagonist-just-a-person-who-have-opposite-beliefs-or-hates-you-for-some-reason. This antagonist is VERY attached to protagonist, he is in fact his continuation. 

WHY would you want to write exactly this type of antagonist, what do you want to say?

I have multiple answers to go through.

1) To show Simon’s complexity. To show _protagonist_ complexity and somehow preserve the certain image of him. In “Carry On” Simon (at least for me as a reader) associated purely with soft and positive features, he is the definition of the good and kind hero. Yes, he’s impatient and short tempered, but he is empathic, he is thoughtful, he cares about most of the people around (he protect and shield his _chosen_ enemy, Baz. He won’t end him without second thought when he finally has opportunity - the scene in catacombs), he doesn’t hold grudges or avenge betrayal, he always tries to think above the things, see the whole picture, kinda look past himself. It is very high EQ and it is my dream character. But realistically for kid who had no one to raise him to love and understand people; with tough childhood - it is impossible to have no dark sides. Again, remember how annoyingly for reader neurotic HP would be in books? Well, guess what, his dark side is still in a book, it’s just detached from him, to not spoil his image for reader. Perhaps, because at this point (introducing the character) his dark sides are not allowed to make impression and they are not important YET. 2) To allow protagonist to do things he want to do, but can’t. This is “Jekyll and Hide” type of protagonist and yes, this is fair for Humdrum too. He destroys things and doesn’t feel bad about it. He “mundane” and again, he doesn’t feel bad about it. He doesn’t have to go to magic school and still - he is known, strong, dangerous. But most importantly - he can express his negative feelings. He is unhappy to be forgotten - he attracts attention (quite brutally); he is unhappy to be the only one who left to deal with trauma - he reminds about it - he summons Simon exactly at the place where bad things were happening (Lancashire) and he takes the form Simon probably tries to push away from his mind; he dislikes Mage - he talks to the Mage harsh and dismissively and laughing at him; the only people which Humdrum snatches/damages away from Simon are Agatha and Baz - it might be some sort of jealousy expression, and surely he express his jealousy about Simon’s skill and development. And IF he really hates the magic - he sure express his hatred good too, by literally destroying and he allows himself to feel pleasure from act of destruction (the face expression Simon never saw on his own face). And often, this reasoning for introducing doppelgänger goes with implying that protagonist has hidden desires to not be as good as he currently is. What doppelgänger does, it is what protagonist secretly desires to do.

To sum this these 2 points  - they _usually_ lead us to the point that protagonist is not as good he thinks he is. And while it is partly true - I believe, it is NOT Humdrum purpose. 

3) While Humdrum is surely threat to magic, is he Simon’s antagonist, really? Does he hates Simon? Do his actions have purpose to destroy what Simon have/created? It is a big no, to all these questions. 

Humdrum is metaphor for Simon’s trauma, he tries to shove away from himself.

Many people talk about Humdrum in the book, but most informative are - Penny, Mage and Baz, Simon and Humdrum himself.

Penny, I believe, is an author’s reflection in the book, so her words are clues), and she tell us - that Humdrum face is his real face (he is Simon), he’s childish and Simon’s dealing with negative emotions frustration/fear/annoyance/going off brings him joy (genuine childish laugh). She also tell Simon, the reason why he have to fight Humdrum - cause he the only one who can (and have to) do it.  Which is true. Mage - who is the real Simon’s antagonist and evil in the book - is the one who setups the reality “Humdrum is evil, you have to fight it”. Which can be easily translated to “Your feelings/experiences are not valid, you have to get rid of them”. He also setups example of not being important as a person, but being important as a weapon, to sharp your blade constantly if you wish. 

“Look at me, Simon. Have you ever known me to indulge myself with a normal life? Where is my wife? My children? Where’s my house in the country with my cosy chair and a fat cocker spaniel to bring me my slippers? When do I go on holiday? When do I take a break? When do I do anything other than prepare for the battle ahead? 

Excerpt From: Rainbow Rowell. “Carry On.”

Again - it translates to these old methods of dealing with trauma: fight it, ignore it, experience more trauma to make yourself numb. It doesn’t work. Mage doesn’t care about Simon. But in a way, Simon follows his instructions.

Baz - he is the symbol of healing love Simon needs (one of his defining quotes is “I chose you” - returning Simon everything what was taken away by Mage at that point)  he have experienced Humdrum only one time, but it’s enough for him to figure it out precisely. He understands that Humdrum is Simon (or his part) and he does not hesitate to confront Simon with it, because it is important. And he the one who tell Simon the aftermath of ignoring Humdrum. Baz is the one who - finally - triggers Simon to act. He also the first character who sees Simon (and Humdrum) and accepts them as whole. And still loves him.  Simon - he doesn’t talk about nature of Humdrum a lot. He hardly bothers to describe fighting scenes in a past. But he clearly indicates how he avoids Humdrum, thinking about Humdrum, thinking about time he will need to deal with it. He doesn’t want to have any touch points with it, even when he’s confronted about it. He shouts at Humdrum when he sees his own face on him, but he never thinks that Humdrum is him. Because it’s all painful. Humdrum - is pain he released and locked himself out of it. That is why he reluctant to deal with Humdrum, though it his life mission. He only do it if he have HAVE TO. And then - he will take the pain/fear/negatives and lock it in Humdrum again (make magic holes bigger) and leave. So he can stop thinking about him again. And finally, Humdrum. He thinks a lot, he has time for it. And he know exactly who he is. And when Simon is ready, when Simon’s is finally ready to face him by his own will, he tells him who he is:

“It’s the Humdrum,” I say. “It’s you on the day I found you.” His eyes are wide and soft. “My boy—” “I’m not him,” the Humdrum says. “I’m not anybody’s boy.” “You’re my shadow,” I say to the Humdrum. I’m not afraid of him now. “More like an exit wound,” he says. “Or an exhaust trail—I’ve had loads of time to think about it.” “The Insidious Humdrum,” the Mage whispers. “It’s a crap name,” the Humdrum says, bouncing his ball. “Did you come up with it?”

Excerpt From: Rainbow Rowell. “Carry On.” 

He is willing to talk about himself and all this scene he is strongly communicating on Simon’s side, but not on Mage’s. He behaves like he is Simon’s ally and they have the same goal. He’s open about his wishes (to evolve, to be like Simon, to be the one with Simon), he is open about what happens if Simon’s continued to follow the Mage’s instructions ( “He’s right. End everything. All of the magic.”). 

The scene of dealing with Humdrum doesn’t feel like Humdrum eliminating, but more like becoming one with him, finally accepting what was shoved away, belated debts payment. It is very sad but beautiful scene.

“I’m sorry that all the good stuff happened after I left you.”

“The Humdrum puts his hands over mine and gives me a small nod. His jaw is set, and his eyes are flinty. He looks like a little thug, even now. I nod back. I give it all to him. I let it all go.”

At the end - Humdrum and Simon became one, like it was before Simon first went off and got his magic at 11 year. Now he back to the same state and next book he is dealing with trauma (not the way he should, unfortunately). 

Maybe the key of getting powers back is to learn how to live with Humdrum and not ignore him. To accept yourself, to find yourself. Maybe use Humdrum powers too. “Someday dragon. Someday ferocious.”

p.s. The negative power of sucking off magic reminded me about Dementors in HP a bit, in a way, that’s what made me think about Humdrum as trauma or depression. At the same time, sometimes, Humdrum would show us, that he is still a doppelgänger of Simon’s and have the same thoughts  - like his phrase about “it’s it better than fighting” about Baz is quite the same as Simon’s.

[prorevenge]

Bully me for months? I'll hit you where it hurts the most, literally.

I want to preface this by saying I'm not proud of what I've done here. To the casual observer, what I did might seem like justice, but, really, I wish it didn't have to go as far as it did. I want my story to be a cautionary tale of what happens when bullying isn't taken seriously. I don't want this story to inspire you to do what I did, but as to what happens when people don't make the right choices the first time. Also, TL;DR at the bottom, the quotes aren't exact, and apologies if this seems a little all over the place. It's not easy for me to bring up stories like this, but I felt maybe I'd do some good by sharing it.

For as long as I can remember, I had a habit of bottling up my emotions. My single father is a staunch believer in traditional masculinity, including the idea that men and boys shouldn't cry. By my early to mid teens, I succumbed to this outdated idea, and accepted my fate as a quiet, stoic drone that just took orders, respected authority, and did hard work (especially manual labor.)

Enter my high school, which had a huge problem with bullying. The worst kids by far were the trashy "gangsta" kids (their words, not mine) from the inner city who targeted anybody they considered weaker than them. I was a pretty muscular 15 year old, but that didn't stop them from saying things like "Dude, you're so fat," or "Wassamatta, fattie? Lose your Twinkies on the way over?" In class, it was mostly petty annoyance: taking my pencil, sticking gum in my hair, insults. They got physical when the teachers weren't looking. Tripping me in the hall and pretending it was an accident; slamming my head against the locker, hitting me with footballs or soccer balls and saying a fake "whoops, sorry!" By themselves, it didn't seem that bad, but enough grains of sand add up to a huge pile, and, at that point, I was up to my waist in it.

Of course, the school didn't do anything about it. Teachers would either tell me "I'll take care of it," and then nothing ever changed, or I'd get something stupid like "I didn't see it. There's nothing I can do" or "You know, if I stopped class every time a kid was acting up, we'd never get anything done." Sure, and if a tree falls in the forest, it didn't make a sound because you didn't hear it. My father wasn't any help either. He'd tell me things like "there's gonna be people like that everywhere you go," or "if you're crying about this, you'll never make it in life," basically telling me to go suck it up because there are worse things out there. As a kid, I was hurt by this, but I was 15, so my self-esteem had been run over by a Combine a few times by now. For months, I just kept ignoring and waiting, hoping my teachers would keep their word about dealing with this problem. Sadly, it seemed they'd rather prioritize pep rallies and Career Aptitude Tests than do their job in keeping kids safe.

By around Spring, I'd had enough. By now, my sadness and annoyance had transmuted into boiling rage that I'd been keeping in me for far too long. If nobody was going to fight for me, I'd do it for myself, literally. I devoted the majority of my weekend to prepping for a showdown on Monday.

One of the few good things about my father is that how knowledgeable he is in self-defense. He believed it was important for a man to learn to fight, so he had me take several different kinds of martial art classes. If I was gonna fight a bully, I had to make it a proper fight. I then researched about Krav Maga, a branch of martial arts that's basically a military-style form of self defense, meant to train you how to fight if you were ever in danger "outside the arena." No rules, no balanced teams, no referees; just you and your need for survival. One of the components of Krav Maga is knowing the body's biggest "weak spots," ones that maximize the most amount of pain when hurt. Things like the groin, toes, and eyes were obvious, but you could also hit the knees, solar plexus, and even the spine. Since my classes didn't teach Krav Maga (you had to be 16 at the time,) I watched many online videos, making mental notes of the techniques used. It was almost always the same kid or group of kids that bullied me, so I already knew what they looked like, and, more importantly, where to strike.

On Monday, I waited for the next chance to come for the bullies to attack. To my surprise, they kept quiet for the most part. Maybe this was one of my lucky days where I'd actually get some work done. Then, while I was crunching for an exam during lunch, one of the bullies, a regular, spilled my water all over my textbook, and saying, "Whoops, sorry!" As he and his pals started walking away laughing, I got a good look at the back of the guy's neck. I raised my fist, aiming for the middle where I'd likely hit his spinal column.

WHAM! I knocked the guy over to the ground. That's when all Hell broke lose. His friends tried tackling me away, and I tried remembering to hit all their weak points: eyes, throat, groin, and jaw. It was fairly sloppy attempt at Krav Maga given my inexperience, and the other kids trying to fight back, but it got the effect I wanted. Of course, I didn't come out unscathed. I got punched in the jaw, a bloody nose, a bruise to the forehead, and more than a few kicks in the family jewels. The other kids noticed us fighting, with some going to get a teacher while others watched in a mix of shock and excitement. Eventually, the principal and a few other teachers pulled us apart, and sent us to the office, after our injuries were treated.

The principal talked with us individually while the assistant principal called all our parents. When it was my turn, I explained what happened. At some point, the principal said, "Why didn't you tell the teacher?" At that moment, I just snapped, somehow managing to sound even angrier than when I was fighting a few minutes ago. "I ALREADY TOLD THE DAMNED TEACHERS, LIKE A MILLION FUCKING TIMES, BUT NOBODY WAS DOING SHIT ABOUT IT! NOBODY! YOU TELL ME OVER AND OVER 'I'LL TAKE CARE OF IT, I'LL TAKE CARE OF IT,' BUT NOBODY EVER FUCKING DOES! I WOULDN'T HAVE FELT LIKE I HAD TO DO THIS OF SOMEBODY HERE ACTUALLY DID THEIR DAMNED JOB FOR ONCE!" I got an extra week of suspension for yelling.

Much to my surprise, my father was rather quiet about the whole thing. Normally, my father had the temperament of a dragon, but maybe this whole fight touched his inner "macho man" that made him go easier on me.

On the car ride home, he said calmly, but firmly, "What happened? And tell me the truth." I told him, "They wouldn't stop picking on me, so I defended myself." I waited to hear my father make some snide remark about hurt feelings, but he just said, "Were you in danger?" I paused for a moment, and said, "...Yes." I knew I was exaggerating, but maybe this could open my father's eyes to see how much I was hurting. He was quiet for a minute, and then said, "I can't judge on your situation 'cause I wasn't there, but it's in a boy's nature to be aggressive sometimes, and it sounds like those bullies were just using it for harm. I also know you well enough t'know you wouldn't lay a finger on somebody unless you felt like you had to." I nodded, holding back tears. "Next time you're ever in that kinda danger, call me. Don't wait for the teachers to fail you again. I'll give 'em Hell." I was stunned, and, once I realized what'd just happened, I smiled. That's one of the few redeeming qualities about my father. As toxic and narcissistic as he was, he was an expert on bringing vengeance to those who deserved it.

During my suspension, one of the bullies' parents wanted to press assault charges on me, but my father threatened to counter-sue the school AND the parents for letting the bullying go on for so long. Thankfully, nobody had to go to court as the bullies' credibility sank faster than the Titanic. Once word got around that I fought back to stop the bullying (rather than the strong, quiet guy going psycho,) more kids decided to come forward to the principal about their experience being bullied, too, and how they also went to the teachers for help. This included a few girls who were being sexually harassed by these kids. This was a PR nightmare for the school that left a permanent stain on their reputation among the locals. In the end, the bullies got expelled, some faced charges for sexual harassment, and I got transferred to a different high school. I guess I'm a little proud that I inspired some other troubled kids to come forward, but I really didn't like violence. I'm built for self-defense, but I don't like hurting anybody unless it's to protect those I love. I would've much preferred if teachers actually did their job, and "took care of it" before I had to.

I did get a gift certificate for summer classes in Krav Maga for my Sweet 16. Thankfully, I've never had to use it yet.

TL;DR: Bullies spend months torturing me, and teachers won't do anything, so I researched and imitated an advanced martial arts to bring maximum physical pain to my bullies.

(source) story by (/u/aitacrybaby)