#i feel like ive spilled my guts here

[odetolovers]

shaking crying screaming

[4byun]

[kamaluhkhan]

COMPLICATED

LUST — part iv of we'll write sins not tragedies

pairing: luke castellan x nemesis! reader (afab) word count: 8.9k summary: the lives of demigods are never simple. why would your relationship with luke be any different? or: four moments of tension + one moment of release. featuring a trip to montauk with percy, grover, and annabeth warnings: a decent amount of reader backstory (mention of dad having cancer); multiple POVs (percy, grover, annabeth, luke, reader - obv nothing suggestive/smutty until luke and reader POV); luke + reader get into arguments and are v stressed so their relationship is a bit strained; reader has tattoos; reader is on birth control; rough smut (protected + unprotected p in v, oral f+m receiving, biting, scratching, slight choking, slight breeding kink, etc...); also slight dark + possessive luke! (18 + MDNI); major angst — we all know how this story ends ;( author's note: this was meant to be a blurb but...here we are! this is basically another chapter of my spill ur guts series lol. i've been gone for much longer than i planned to, but hope u enjoy possibly the angstiest, smuttiest thing i've written so far ♡

♪ "complicated" by avril lavigne

i. 

in the span of a few minutes, percy went from pure joy — being greeted with cheers from all the campers was great, sure, but truthfully the hug from annabeth alone sent him to elysium — to feeling like his heart dropped all the way to tartarus.

which is definitely not a place percy ever wants to visit again. he was happy to be back at camp with his friends, knowing that his quest was completed, his mom was safe in new york, and a war between the gods was prevented.

it should be over….but there’s something in the back of percy’s mind that’s telling him it isn’t. seeing a certain someone in the crowd earlier didn’t do anything to ease that feeling.

"can someone explain to me why clarisse is still here?" 

you raise an eyebrow at luke, and he shrugs in response.  it seems neither of you had decided who should break the news, and neither of you seem particularly excited to do so, even after dragging percy, along with annabeth and grover, into the empty hermes cabin for some privacy.

after another beat of silence, you take the lead.

“look, kid, i know you and clarisse got off to a rocky start —”

“she tried to drown me, and then basically kill me during capture the flag,” percy points out. he hears an ocean roaring at the memory, but that could have also been from his duel with clarisse’s dad, the god of war, more recently.

a duel that percy had won, for the record. luke trained him well.

“and i’m not defending that,” you clarify. “i’m just saying that we’ve known clarisse for much longer. she’s not perfect, maybe a bit aggressive sometimes — trust me, she and i have had some major disagreements, too — but i can’t see her doing something like this.”

“why would anyone at camp want to steal the bolt? to join kronos’ army against the gods?” annabeth wonders. to herself or to the group, percy isn’t sure, but he has a feeling that the wheels in her mind are turning.

“revenge, maybe?” grover suggests. 

almost instinctively, grover glances at you, and so does annabeth. percy wants to kick himself for doing the same. 

with you being the daughter of nemesis, he imagines that it's not the first time you’d been blamed for something just because of who you are. it’s a feeling percy knows all too well. and, for better or for worse, like percy, it seems like you’re not one to accept these things without a fight.

you straighten your shoulders, ready to snap back, but before you can, luke declares:

“it’s not her.”

he then knocks the toe of his shoe against your combat boot. you smile and return the gesture. the tension eases out of the room.

for a second, percy wonders if he’ll ever have someone like that: someone to defend like it’s second nature, to share that sort of secret language with, to smile at him like nothing else in the world matters. 

according to annabeth, the two of you weren’t technically dating — but percy is pretty sure that aphrodite is swooning over you. 

“see, grove? if camp half-blood’s golden boy can vouch for me, then i’m in the clear.” your tone is playful enough — no hard feelings — but the tips of grover’s ears still turn red. “i didn’t steal the bolt. sure, the gods and titans can tear each other apart for all i care — " 

annabeth stiffens at your bold statement, and grover starts to nervously chew on an empty diet coke can he had stashed in his pocket. luke watches you with the hint of a smile on his face, and percy —

well, percy can’t help but admire you even more. 

"— but it's everything else that i have an issue with.”

“everything else?”

you look at percy like the answer is obvious. 

“when have the gods ever fought their battles without us as collateral damage? doesn’t seem worth it to me, to betray my friends.” 

that itch in the back of percy’s brain gets harder to ignore.

“the oracle warned me, betrayed by a friend.” 

“prophecies don't always come true,” annabeth reminds him. “at least not in the way we expect them to.” 

“annie is right,” luke adds, nodding at his sister. “mine didn't. the oracle said i would die a hero.” 

you turn to luke then, your eyebrows furrowed. 

“what? you never told me that.” 

“it doesn’t matter,” luke insists. “my point is that i came back from my joke of a quest, alive and a definitely not a hero —”

“fuck what the oracle said.” you roll your eyes. “dead or alive, you are a hero, tiger.”

you move to place a hand on luke’s arm. to percy’s surprise, though, luke brushes you off.

“i’m not a hero. at least not the one my dad expects me to be.”

again, percy is taken aback by how luke snapped, at you of all people. you huff, and percy can tell that you’re a bit agitated now, too. 

“okay, but that doesn’t mean —”

“my point is.” luke turns to percy, effectively blocking your presence for the time being. “you completed your quest, fought a god, and stalled kronos’ plan. you’ve been through it — all three of you have — but now you’re back. let’s just enjoy the rest of our summer, yeah? whatever happened out there, whatever the oracle said, it’s in the past.”

percy wants to believe luke, he really does. one glance in your direction, and it seems like you do, too.

deep down, though, percy isn’t entirely convinced. there’s that dread in the pit of his stomach, that voice in the back of his head. something in him, warning that this isn’t quite over. the worst has yet to come.

he wonders if — or maybe just hopes — you feel the same.

—

ii.

if you of all people can’t get luke’s attention, grover is pretty sure that the world is ending.

“luke,” you try again, foregoing your usual nickname for him. your arms are crossed and you tap your foot against the floor. it makes grover slightly anxious, feeling your frustration threaten to boil over.

“i’m busy,” he grunts, and flips over another page, scribbling something on the other side. 

“grover wanted to talk to us about something.”

“i-it’s fine, we don’t have to —”

“no, it’s a good idea, grove,” you insist. you smile at grover then. he remembers that, despite the deadly glares you can deliver, like the one you were just giving luke, you have a gentle core. you just guard it behind sharp edges. 

“tell him that i’ll talk to him later.”

“or, you could tell him yourself,” you huff. grover waves awkwardly, even though luke doesn’t realize what’s happening. “he’s right next to me.”

luke looks up briefly, and then back down at the pages in front of him just as quick. he looks tired, exhausted even. 

“sorry, man. didn’t see you there. i gotta finish these reports.”

“no worries. i tend to be quiet on my hooves.”

in the moment of silence that follows, and with luke still not giving you the attention you’re asking for, you walk over to the desk where luke is working. what you see seems to make you even more annoyed than before.

“these reports are for september. why in the name of nemesis are you filling them out now?”

“i just want to be prepared.”

“prepared for what?”

luke hesitates. “just….the future.”

“oh!” you laugh, sharp and sarcastic. “i didn’t realize that the future required you to neglect your friends.”

“i’m trying to help my friends,” luke huffs. he taps his pen impatiently against the desk. “if you didn’t keep interrupting me —”

“oh my fucking gods — ”

grover watches the two of you argue. it had been easier to step in whenever something bubbled up between annabeth and percy, because they were just kids. but you and luke — you were adults. 

when grover met luke for the first time, he was already taking on way too much responsibility for a kid — keeping thalia and annabeth alive, protecting them from monsters, taking care of them. in a lot of ways, those responsibilities didn’t go away: as a senior counselor and resident older brother, a hero for the older campers to admire and the younger kids to aspire to be. camp half-blood’s golden boy, as you liked to call him. 

and, like you, luke is good at hiding. for him, its heavy burdens behind easy-going smiles. 

lately, though, those smiles seem to be strained, his shoulders slowly bending under the weight of it all. the other day, grover asked you if everything was okay with luke. you had looked back at him sadly, shrugged, and said you didn’t know.

that’s when grover decided that everyone just needs a break — an escape. he had been sensing that things weren’t quite right with the others, too. percy seems a little on edge, and so does annabeth.

then, of course, there was you and luke. finding out that the two of you had actually started dating was huge news for someone like grover who had painstakingly watched the two of you dance around your feelings for years. so, it was more than a little weird that you’d barely been speaking this past week. the rare occasion you did was tense at best, and explosive at worst. 

like now, when you pick up one of the reports luke was working on, and threaten to burn it. luke dares you to do so, even suggests, albeit sarcastically, that you use it as your next offering to the gods. 

“oh, a handwritten document from luke castellan himself? they would love that,” you snort. “admit it: you’re doing all of mr. d’s work just to suck up to some gods who don’t even give a shit about any of this. you’re practically olympus’ lapdog.”

luke, blushing a furious shade of red, gets up and yanks the paper from your hand.

“at least my parent is important enough to actually have a seat on olympus and an actual cabin for his kids to stay in.”

you look like you could just about throw luke into a fire, and vice versa. grover had never seen the two of you like this, but it made sense: each of you knowing just where, and how, to hurt the other.

and, he thinks it’s about time to step in before the damage is irreversible. so, grover starts slowly clapping. the clapping gets faster, and he manages to get through the first few lines of the consensus song before you stop him.

“alright, alright,” you sigh. you push past luke, steal his chair, and put your feet up on the desk. luke scowls at you, but you put your hands up in surrender and jut your chin out towards grover. “just listen to what grover has to say and then we’ll let you get back to your precious reports.”

grover tells luke his idea. luke actually agrees, and grover can’t help but feel a little bit of a victory. 

he’s a protector, after all. it’s his job to make sure you’re all alive and happy and thriving. and not burnt to a crisp over some petty argument.

—

iii. 

annabeth had missed home when she was away on their quest, but being back and seeing everyone being taught to worship the gods without question, to believe that the only things that matter are power and glory….well, after everything that happened, after percy, annabeth can’t just go back to doing the same. at least not entirely. 

all this to say, she was totally on board with grover’s idea: the five of you, renting a cabin in montauk to get away from camp for a bit.

unfortunately, the trip starts off less than ideally. you and luke bicker the entire way here — and not the playful jabs you usually throw at each other. 

annabeth remembers the first time she saw you together. it was during breakfast, their first morning at camp half-blood. annabeth had spent the night trying not to cry over thalia, and already missing luke even though he was only a few cabins away. she was still a kid, surrounded by strangers, told that she was safe now, but didn’t quite believe it yet. one look to luke at the hermes table, and annabeth could tell he felt the same way, too — not quite settled in this new place that was supposed to be home, and with these people who were supposed to be family.

she watched as the hermes table went to burn offerings to the gods. when they sat down again, luke looked even more unsettled than before.

but then, you leaned in and whispered something in luke’s ear, and he actually laughed, just a bit, which was a nice change of pace. luke was always the one making annabeth and thalia laugh when they were running from monsters, always the one trying to keep everything together with a smile or a joke.

as she devoured her breakfast, annabeth couldn’t help but keep glancing at the two of you. she heard warnings from her half-siblings, about your mother being the goddess of revenge, and you living up to that name. 

luke either didn't know, or didn't care about whatever reputation you had. sitting there, next to you, annabeth didn’t think she’d ever seen luke so, genuinely happy, so at ease.

all these years later, neither you nor luke seemed particularly happy. you’re obviously avoiding each other, and annabeth doesn’t understand why.

you and luke are a new puzzle that she can’t wait to solve. 

annabeth had finished constructing the most elaborate sandcastle in history, just for percy to accidentally splash it when he was trying to surf a wave; so she decides that playtime is over. it’s time to figure out what exactly is going on between you and luke.

luke is in the cabin doing gods know what. you're on the deck painting your nails, so annabeth decides to start gathering information from you, first. 

“hey." you finish painting your pinky a dark purple, and set the bottle down next to you. "having fun?”

annabeth nods once and sits next to you. she asks if you could paint her nails, and you pull out a bottle of silver polish you said you thought she might like. 

as you work, careful with each stroke of polish, annabeth surveys the tattoos on your skin. you’re wearing a bikini top, so there are some that she’s seeing for the first time. there's one of a knife on your sternum, and annabeth distinctly remembers seeing a similar one peeking from underneath the collar of luke’s shirt. she wonders when you got it, if you had to travel to a tattoo parlour in the city, how many other adventures you'd gone on without having to consult the oracle beforehand. 

maybe that’s a good place to start. 

“have you ever thought about leaving camp? like, long term?" 

"sometimes," you admit. "it would be nice to have some normal early-twenties experiences."

"would you go to school?"

you smile as you keep painting annabeth’s nails. “maybe. i might have seen legally blonde too many times, but i think about law school sometimes.” 

“what about luke?”

your smile fades at the question. “i...i don’t know." your once precise nail-painting falters, and you mumble a curse when a drop of silver lands on annabeth's skin. you swipe it away before continuing. "luke's one of those people i can't really see away from camp half-blood for too long; pretty sure it would burn down without him. there's a reason he feels responsible for everyone there...in a way i respect, obviously, but, it's not the same for me. nobody needs me."

"luke needs you."

you sigh, and annabeth wonders if you even realize how you shake your head slightly. she thinks you're about to disagree with her, but instead you ask: 

“what's this about, annie? are you thinking about your dad’s offer?”

and annabeth’s completely thrown off her line of inquiry. 

“how did you —”

“perce told me that you’ve been talking about staying with him for the year,” you explain. you gesture at annabeth to give you her other hand, and she complies. the silver polish on the hand you just finished glitters in the sun. 

“well, nothing’s confirmed.”

you look up at annabeth, one eyebrow raised. “it's okay, you know — if you just wanna….be a kid for a bit.”

annabeth is silent, prompting you to ask another question.

"what's holding you back?"

“well….at first, i thought it would be a definite no,” annabeth admits. “obviously, it didn’t work out last time. i don’t know if i want to risk it again — if i can trust him, you know? how do i know he actually cares —  that he’ll be there for me when i need him?”

“you don’t.” you pause for a second. “but i’m gonna tell you a story that i think might help.”

you're done painting her nails, so you put everything away. you sit cross-legged next to annabeth, looking out at the ocean.

“my dad never wanted me to go to camp. he wanted to raise me in the city, just like he’d grown up. he’d take me to rock concerts all the time. i was so young, he’d make me wear earmuffs and carry me on his shoulders so that i could still see the band.” you smile softly at the memory. “and then….my dad got sick, he couldn’t take care of me, and monsters started to show up, so he brought me to camp for safe keeping." 

"you've told me all this," annabeth remarks. 

you start fiddling with your camp necklace. annabeth isn't used to seeing you so unsure, so nervous; it throws her off even more. 

"what i haven't told you is that even when my dad got better, he….he didn’t give me a choice of where to stay.”

"oh," is all annabeth can say. 

“yeah, oh," you scoff, but there’s not really any malice behind it. you seem…sad. defeated, almost. your fingers move to play with the hem of your shorts, which causes the fresh nail polish to smudge. you don’t seem too concerned about that at the moment, though. "i told everyone that i chose to stay. the truth is that i stayed because my dad didn't want me anymore. he said that the universe gave him a second chance, so he wanted to live his life without having to worry about monster attacks or taking care of his teenage daughter."

annabeth wonders if luke knows the truth about this; though, considering how difficult it seems for you to admit, she doubts it. 

before, annabeth had a theory that you decided to stay at camp because of luke.

luke was away when you got the news that your dad was in remission. annabeth remembers how happy you were, how excited you were to be back in the city and living with your dad again. you started packing right away.

when luke came back from his failed quest, you had just gone into the city the day before, having promised to visit in the summer and stay in touch. someone – chris maybe, or beckendorf — must have called you, told you what happened, because you came back to camp right away, your bag still fully packed. you never left again. 

"that sucks."

“yeah.” you let out a hollow, breathy laugh. “and, i was angry at first. of course i was. but now, i don’t know. i think that maybe my dad does care about me. like, he still sends me mixtapes with old punk rock songs he thinks i’d like. he actually calls me on my birthday, and we have a 3 minute conversation about nothing important." 

"right…" annabeth furrows her brows. this conversation had definitely not gone as planned. "no offense, but what's —"

"i'm getting to the point," you tell her, bumping your shoulder against hers.  "i realized that sometimes people can only love us in a way that works for them — and it sucks. it really, really sucks. but then sometimes…. sometimes people do actually try. and, i don’t know, it seems like maybe your dad is willing to try.”

“so you think i should take him up on his offer.”

the sun starts to set. you get up, brush sand off your legs. 

“i think it's time for a swim. i also think that you’re smart enough to know what’s best for you, and who deserves a second chance. just know that whatever you decide — we’ll be there for you.”

you leave without another word, but with the return of your usual confident smile, off to the shore to take advantage of the last bits of daylight. 

"she's right, annabeth." luke appears a few seconds later, takes the spot next to annabeth you had just occupied.

annabeth hums.

"how much of that did you hear?" 

luke doesn't answer. he just stares at your form, disappearing in the distance and diving under the waves.

—

iv.

you clear your throat and luke turns around to see you freshly showered. you’re wearing a pair of shorts and one of the oversized band tees the two of you constantly exchange. you've lost track of whose is whose at this point.

luke resists the urge to shamelessly check out your legs, and turns his back towards you once again. that bikini top you were wearing earlier was bad enough. thankfully, the heat from the stove was enough to cover up his blushing cheeks at the sight of your exposed skin. 

“i thought we were ordering pizza,” you say, moving to peer over his shoulder, chin hovering just above. luke had the sense that you were avoiding physical contact, and as much as it drives him crazy, he knows that he’s the one who’d dug his own grave. pushing you away and whatnot. 

“didn’t know that you knew how to cook.”

“not much,” luke shrugs. he keeps stirring the vegetables — broccoli and carrots and baby corn. he’ll add the red peppers once the broccoli turns green so that they don’t become too soft. he’s pretty sure that’s how he remembers it going.

“i could have helped you.” you reach over and hand him the peppers right on time. you shift to lean your back against the counter next to the stove, arms crossed over your chest and eyes following luke. 

luke throws in the chicken he cooked earlier, and then the sauce he had also mixed. he waits a few seconds, lets the sound of everything sizzling fill the space between you. 

“it’s an easy recipe.” luke turns off the stove to punctuate his point. 

and it had to be. something quick he’d make with his mom after she had one of her episodes, before waking up and realizing that she had a son to feed. the sounds, the colors, the smells — it all, overwhelmingly, reminds him of a childhood he once had. one that was never as simple as the food he just made.

none of the bitterness in his throat is caused by his mom, of course. just his father who calls himself a god, and left them both alone to fend for themselves. 

you start getting out plates from the cupboards as you ask: “where are the kids?”

luke checks the pot on the stove to see if the rice is cooked. “told them to go rent something from the video store.” 

“they went alone?”

“they’ve literally been to hell and back,” he replies and sits down at the table. “i think they can handle a blockbuster.”

“i don’t care if they get attacked by monsters,” you state, setting down the last plate in front of him. “i know they can handle themselves. they just better choose a good movie.” 

luke doesn’t mean to snort, but he can’t help but remember all the arguments you’d gotten in with chris over your tastes in movies. 

 “don’t laugh, castellan. i’ve saved movie night on more than one occasion and i’ve never gotten so much as a thank you.” you roll your eyes, but luke notices the ghost of a smile.

it fades just as quickly as it appeared, and luke already misses the small moment of levity that’s passed. 

“what’s been going on with you, tiger?”

you hold his gaze, and luke knows that you’re hoping for a real answer, for the truth he can’t give you. 

“nothing,” he answers instinctively. 

“don’t give me that,” you sigh and turn away from him, returning to your position against the counter. 

“i said it’s nothing,” luke insists, a bit more assertively. “why can’t you just believe me?”

“because you’ve been distant, moody.” your tone is sharper now, too. “you’ve been avoiding me. you’ve barely been eating. the side of your bunk has been empty, which means you haven’t been sleeping, either. gods, i can’t even remember the last time you kissed me —”

“you’re really mad at me because we haven’t fucked?” 

it’s a low blow, and he delivers it as if he hadn’t missed seeing you underneath him. or on top, or beside. luke isn’t picky. 

“you’re impossible!” you groan, and cover your face with your hands. you take a deep breath  before returning to glare at luke. “do….do you not want to be together, anymore? because if that’s what’s happening, i’ll survive. we can go back to being friends.” you clench your jaw to make up for the tremble behind your question. always a tough face, even in the face of potential heartbreak.

of course, luke knows you’ll be fine without him. he’s the one who might have difficulty surviving when you part ways.

“that’s not —” luke sighs and runs a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze. “that’s not it.”

“then what is it?”

“noth—”

“i will send you to elysium if you tell me it’s nothing one more time, because i know it’s not!” you’re shouting now. “i might not know what it is, but i know you well enough to tell that something is bothering you. so i’m asking you, one more time, what is going on?”

the thing is, luke can’t tell you — about what he’s done, about who he’s aligned himself with. he can’t lie to you, either, at least not to save his life.

so, he’s basically stuck in whatever the greek mythology version of limbo is. 

for now, he’s saved by percy, annabeth, and grover, who walk in with a stack of DVDs and armfuls of movie snacks. 

dinner is fine, especially with the kids providing a good enough buffer. luke even catches you smiling and laughing along with them a few times. you approve of their choice in movies, starting with mulan. it’s one of luke’s favorites, too, but he can’t help but let his attention wander. 

the two of you have known each other for a long time. luke has felt your anger. he’s felt your frustration. you’ve been on opposing sides of explosive arguments, of brutal sparring matches. 

but, despite everything, luke’s never been hated by you. it’s unavoidable, given what he’s done and the path he’s on; it's just not something he's particularly eager to feel.

working for kronos….luke won't pretend he regrets it. something had to be done, to take back the poisonous world the gods created. 

he did it for you, even if you won't understand.

he'd do anything for you.

so, for now, he’s willing to endure the daggers you stare at him from the other side of the couch. 

—

v. 

in another life, you might have taken advantage of the queen bed and private room. both hard to come by at camp half-blood, if you’re not willing to risk zeus’ wrath for the latter.

gods, it feels like forever since you and luke snuck into cabin one because couldn’t keep your hands off each other, curses and lighting strikes be damned. 

you almost wish lightning would strike — at least then the bed would be warm. 

“i can feel you being mad at me,” luke whispers. 

“sorry, thought you’d already be gone by now,” you respond, sarcasm dripping through your words. “off to see whoever else you’d rather sleep with.”

“so, you are mad because we haven’t fucked in a while.”

a stupid slip of the tongue. you can practically hear the smirk in his voice, and your entire body feels on fire for giving him any leverage on you. that was definitely not the warmth you were hoping for. 

“whatever,” you mumble, shuffling closer to the edge of the bed, your back still towards luke. 

for the record, you’re mad because of whatever distance luke was forcing between you, or whatever wall he was putting up, for a reason you don’t understand. you’d always known luke well, but lately you haven’t been able to read him. 

and, sure. maybe you are…. frustrated. the two of you hadn’t been intimate in a while, yes, and your fingers are nothing compared to luke’s, but more than that: you just miss actually feeling him close to you. in any sense. 

you’re not sure how much time passes, and there’s nothing but silence. then, you hear his voice again, gentler than before, no cocky attitude laced through. 

“you never told me about your dad.”

ugh. of course, luke had overheard your conversation with annabeth earlier. damn those sly hermes’ genes.

you stay silent to give off the illusion that you’d fallen asleep, but luke doesn't fall for it. 

“we’ve shared a bunk for years, karma. i can tell when you’re not sleeping.” 

you pause for a few more seconds, but you know that luke is persistent.

“it didn’t matter,” is all you offer before he asks again.

“it did,” luke insists. “why didn’t you tell me?”

“it’s not like we tell each other everything,” you scoff. “like, why didn’t you tell me about that prophecy? and why won’t you tell me whatever’s going on with you now?”

“that’s….that’s different.” 

“not really. i bet that it’s all for the same reason.”

“which is?”

 you debate telling luke the truth. 

it was no surprise that you had a certain reputation around camp: cunning, hot-tempered, brash. you were fine being the angry girl whose mother wasn’t enough of a god to warrant a cabin, but enough of a threat to be wary of. you didn’t want to be the one who was also dropped by her father, unwanted and too much of a burden. so, you swallowed the reality of the situation; pretended that nothing broke your heart, and that nothing ever would.

“i didn’t want you to look at me differently,” you admit. 

another pause, this time from the other side of the bed. 

“if it makes you feel better, i was glad that you stayed.”

you can’t help it; you let out a sardonic laugh.

“that’s not much of a comfort, since you haven’t seemed very thrilled with me lately.”

“that’s not….” luke falters. “i just mean that i don't know who i’d be if you left.”

in spite of the situation, the ongoing tension between you, you find yourself smiling. 

“always so dramatic,” you tease.

deep down, you know you’re not much better.

luke was part of the reason you might have stayed at camp, anyways. he was the reason why you didn’t fight harder to get back to your old life, and you always did like a good fight.

it was scary though, that one person had so much power over you and didn’t even know it. you tried to convince yourself that you stayed because luke had needed you, after his quest and everything. but, once you’d known how it felt to have luke in your life, you didn’t want to go back to a time you didn’t. 

truthfully, it still scares you.

“i don’t like fighting with you,” you admit softly, swallowing a lump in your throat. “especially when i don’t even know why we’re fighting in the first place.”

you wonder if you’d just thought that instead of saying it out loud because luke doesn’t respond, until you hear the sheets behind you shuffle, and feel luke position himself behind you.

"i'm sorry that we're fighting. it's my fault."

he settles a tentative hand on your exposed hip, where your shirt had ridden up. luke starts to trace circles onto your skin with his thumb, the way he sometimes does when he's nervous or having a bad dream.

"i’ve just been so….in my head. i don't want you to worry about what's going on with me, okay?

"luke —"

"i have to sort it out on my own.”

"you don’t, though,” you insist. “if you just tell me what’s going on, instead of pushing me away.”

another pause. you can feel him breathing down your neck, and in turn you inhale the spicy citrus of his body wash. it’s all so excruciatingly familiar as you wait for him to say something, anything. 

eventually, luke sighs, deeply, and confesses:

"it's just….we've known each other for so long, but this — us? so much of it is new. i don't want to fuck it up." 

"well, congratulations," you quip. "you're one step closer to getting there."

you meant it as a joke, something to lighten the mood, but you feel luke stiffen at your words, his grip on your hip becoming almost painfully tight as if he's worried you'll slip away.

"i'm kidding, tiger." you weave your fingers through his to loosen his hold on you, and reassure him even more that you're not going anywhere, any time soon. "for better or for worse: you’re mine, and i'm yours. no matter how much either of us might fuck it up."

luke shuffles closer, and you melt into him even more. 

"do you really mean that?"

his voice is soft, surprisingly timid. you crane your neck back to look at him; luke stares at you, his gaze heavy enough to take your breath away. 

“of course.” 

you're so close, and you hadn't been in so long. luke's leg is somehow lodged in between your thighs, and you bite back a whimper as he brushes against you. you feel him behind you, already half-hard, and you rub your ass against him slightly, causing a groan to vibrate through his body. 

neither of you have to do much to crash your lips together.

you can sense how luke’s been unraveling, from the kiss alone. his lips are chapped, rough against yours and already bleeding from the pressure; his stubble scrapes against your cheek, and you’re dizzy with anticipation, imagining how it will leave a stinging sensation on other areas of your skin when luke has his way with you later. 

for now, you focus on your mouth on his: teeth clacking together, your tongue laving over the cut on luke’s bottom lip and tasting copper. luke brings a hand up to your jaw, pushing you into his mouth even more. 

it’s like the first time you kissed. all consuming. messy. urgent — like you've already run out of time. 

eventually, you have to pull yourself away from his grasp, your neck straining at the uncomfortable angle. luke takes the opportunity to suck bruises onto your neck while he presses his thigh harder against your cunt. he slips his other hand further underneath your shirt, cupping your breast and pinching your nipple between his fingers.  instinctively, you start rutting against him. 

“f-fuck,” you groan, relishing in the muscles of his naked thigh underneath you, defined and strong. 

luke chuckles, and you feel his breath warm against your skin. 

“you missed me that much, hm?” he taunts, encouraging you to go faster, harder. “you’re gonna cum before i even have a chance to undress you. doesn’t seem fair to me.”

“who —” your breath catches when luke’s hand settles around your throat, pulling you impossibly closer to him. you feel the outline of his abs against your lower back, and his length, hard and waiting. it’s difficult to finish your thought, but you try your best. “who says i only have to cum once?”

“that sounds like a challenge,” luke decides. “what’s our record — three? think we can beat that tonight?”

you laugh, already out of breath. “i think we can do it.”

“good girl.”

your thighs clench at the nickname, and it's one down, a few more to go. 

you maneuver luke so that he lays flat on the bed, your legs on either side of his hips. your hands fumble with the edge of his shirt, and he lets you remove it without any more hassle.

it's a little ironic, really, how much you and luke hate the gods — because looking at him underneath you, you're sure that something divine must have created him, and you have to thank them for it. sharp jaw, deep scar, flushed cheeks; curls slightly askew, and skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat; that cocky smile — you'd worship luke castellan over any of the olympians. 

secretly, of course, you pretty much already do.

"like what you see?" luke smirks up at you, hands firmly on your ass.

you roll your eyes to save face. "come on, tiger, like you're not seconds away from tearing through your boxers." 

luke clicks his tongue, locks his calf around yours to switch your positions. you grunt as your back hits the mattress, but you very much appreciate the force and weight of luke above you. he practically rips off your shirt, then starts to nip and suck down your body. he kisses the fabric still covering your cunt, and you can feel his chuckle vibrate through your body when he encounters the wetness there. 

"i'm not the one who already ruined their underwear," luke teases as he finishes undressing you. he pauses at the sight of you, bottom half completely exposed. you're about to tell him to hurry the fuck up, but then luke spits onto your already soaked cunt and says: 

“i need to clean you up, baby.” he gives you another cheeky grin, teeth glowing like the cheshire cat, before diving in.

luke is skilled at everything he does, so of course he's quick to unravel you once more, this time with a persistent combination of tongue and teeth, lapping at your cunt like it's his last meal. 

as soon as you're done riding out your high, you yank luke by the leather cord around his neck to collide your lips with his again. 

you reach down to return the favor, snake your hand underneath the fabric of his underwear, and you're deeply satisfied to find him already sticky with his release.

“you already finished,” you tease, stroking his v-line. "and ruined your underwear without me even touching you." 

in the dim light of the moon, you can barely make out luke blushing. he hides his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder. 

“guess we’re both desperate, huh.” luke’s teeth graze your skin, his curls tickling your neck. “i need to be inside you, now, so how about you get on your hands and knees for me? i’ll get the condom.”

sometimes, luke tries to be gentle — but not this time. 

this time, he fucks you, hard and fast and deep. 

you love it, even if you might not be able to walk properly tomorrow.

with so much power behind each thrust, and the overwhelming pleasure, your arms threaten to give out, but luke catches you before you fall. he wraps a hand around your neck, bringing you flush against his chest as he continues to plunge his length into you. 

"listen to me," luke growls. he snakes a hand down to rub harsh circles on your clit. "the one thing the gods did right is make this perfect, tight little pussy of yours. you were fucking made for me, weren't you?" 

all you can do is whimper, closing your eyes at his filthy, sinful words. 

you aren't used to luke being so possessive, and certainly not in these past few weeks. it's making your head spin in the best way. you can feel your orgasm build in the pit of your abdomen.

"were you made for me?" luke asks again. he squeezes your neck slightly, and you gasp at the pressure. "answer me, or i'll stop." 

you don’t think it’s likely he’ll stop; you’re sure he’s just as lost in the sound of your cunt squelching and the feeling of you sucking him in. but, he does slow down, only a little bit, and it's enough for you to start whining.

"y-yes, luke."

"are you mine?"

you don't answer fast enough. luke stills his hips completely and you almost burst into tears.

you moan, trying to move against him in vain. luke keeps a firm grip on you, making it hard to cause any sort of friction between your bodies.

"i'm yours," you promise.

luke plants a firm kiss behind your ear. “that’s my girl,” he whispers darkly.

satisfied, luke resumes his pace. he moves the hand around your neck to your chin, angling you accordingly so he can crash his lips onto yours. 

it doesn't take long to feel the tension in your abdomen snap, wetness gushing out of you. exhausted, you collapse onto the mattress. luke slips out of you.

the next few seconds consist of you trying to bring yourself back down to reality after such a high. 

luke turns you around just to face him as he hovers over you. he lodges his hand behind your ear and taps your cheek to get your attention. your eyes flutter open.

“did you just —” 

the dampness between your legs, and on the sheets underneath you, is enough evidence: you just squirted.

"i….” you gulp, feeling yourself flush. “i’ve never done that before."

luke stares at your glistening cunt. you wonder if you should be embarrassed, but then he locks eyes with you. you've never seen them so dark, pupils almost fully blown, just a sliver of brown showing through.

"you’re so fucking hot."

your heart flutters. 

“you’re not too bad yourself, tiger, or i wouldn’t be in this mess.” you wink at him, still trying to catch your breath. your eyes wander lower. you note luke in the current state he’s in; you realize that the scales are nowhere near balanced. “that’s three for me, and only one for you. let me taste you.” 

he doesn't need to be told twice. you get on your knees once more, this time facing him as he kneels in front of you. luke rips off the condom, something to deal with later, and you take him in your mouth, cheeks hollowed and tears brimming your eyes feeling him fuck your throat. when he finishes, you swallow him whole, savoring every drop. he pulls you up for a kiss; you can still taste yourself on him, and it mixes with his new release, a combination that is more than a little intoxicating. 

“fuck,” luke mumbles as he pulls away. he swipes his thumb over the corner of your mouth where some of his cum dribbled out. “i know that was intense, but would you be up for another round? "

"yeah," you reply without a second thought, reaching up to thread your fingers through his curls to ground yourself. 

maybe you should thank artemis for the full moon tonight, giving you just the right amount of silver light to illuminate the sculpted curves and edges of luke's body. his skin is also littered with bruises and bites of your design, chaotic and beautiful. luke looks like a mess, just as you're sure you do. 

you want more. you need more.

"we gotta go for four, remember? but...maybe we, uh…"

"....slow it down this time?" luke finishes your thought. 

you nod, grateful that you and luke are on the same page. he scrambles off the bed to get another condom.

"shit. i don't have another one.”

"check my bag, too," you tell him. luke complies, but comes up short once more.  

you’re sitting up against the headboard now, and luke returns to kneel in front of you. 

"i can use my fingers,” luke offers. “or eat you out again —"

“or we could just do without a condom this time?” you suggest. luke raises an eyebrow at you, so you think through the possibilities out loud. "we both got tested before our first time together and haven’t been with anyone since.” you find yourself pausing for confirmation on that, and luke nods once. “i’m on birth control. obviously there’s still a risk that something happens, but maybe just this one time? you can just pull out whenever you’re ready….if you're okay with that."

luke waits, almost like he thinks you might change your mind, before finally answering:

“yeah, i’m okay with it if you are. i’ve always wanted to fuck you raw. i just didn’t think you’d be into it — and didn’t want you to feel pressured.”

you have to kiss him then. because how is it that the boy who just gave you three jaw clenching, toe curling, heart pounding orgasms be so sweet and considerate?

before you know it, you’re flat on your back, sheets slightly scratchy with stray sand. you don't care much because luke hovers above you; he presses his forehead to yours, curls falling in front of his face. 

"just so you know," luke starts, just as you feel him enter you once more. "i must have been made for you, too. i'm just as much yours as you are mine."

you smirk, bite your lip to keep from moaning so that you can keep up the arrogance, just a bit longer. 

"always so dramatic," you mock, as if your cunt isn’t squeezing around him at his sweet nothings. 

luke grins at you sheepishly, his cheeks flushed. 

"guess that means the gods did two things right," you joke, exhaling when you feel luke brush against that gummy spot deep within you. "maybe we've taken them for granted. maybe we should - " he hits that spot again, and your breath hitches. you dig your nails into his shoulders as he rocks back and forth. “maybe we should thank them.”

luke clicks his tongue, grips your hip firmly. "not a chance, sweetheart. the gods’ll get what they deserve."

you don’t care enough to ask luke what he means. you care more about him going faster. you’re about to tell him to do so, and to throw your legs over his shoulders, but he does it himself before you get the chance. you feel him slipping deeper within you, the force and passion behind each movement, his body molding to every curve and crevice of yours. 

made for each other.

you’re so sensitive that your orgasm approaches quickly. as he helps you ride it out, his thrusts get sloppier, and you know he’s almost reached his peak, too. 

“fuck,” he grunts. “i’m close.” luke starts to pull out, but then you lock your ankles behind his neck. 

“don’t,” you command. 

“a-are you sure?” he looks at you, wide-eyed.

“i just want to feel you this once.”

he nods and brings you in for one more bruising kiss. he finishes inside you, warm and wet. 

luke leaves once he catches his breath, and comes back with a damp towel to clean you up. he knows your body, recognizes how sensitive you are, and presses kisses on the inside of your thighs, where the same lips had made bruises before. 

even completely fucked out, your mind starts to unpack everything that’s wrong in your life. like how luke has always been a little too good at pretending, with everyone else at least, and something serious must be going on if he's trying to fool you, too.  

this luke with you now, the one who gently wipes his cum from between your legs after fucking you so relentlessly, is your luke. it feels like your luke is slipping right through your fingers, and you’re wracking your brain trying to figure out how this can stop before losing him completely.

wait….did luke say something about getting revenge on the gods? your mind is still a bit cloudy, but you could’ve sworn —

 “are you okay?” 

his question puts pause on your spiraling. he’s done cleaning you up, throws the towel on the floor and settles back on the bed, next to you. you’re close enough for the softest whisper, your limbs intertwined beneath tangled sheets.

you watch luke carefully as he waits for an answer and surveys your body, tracing his fingers over the marks he'd left underneath your jaw, across your shoulders, over your collarbones and down your stomach. 

"i didn't hurt you, did i?"

“i’m okay,” you assure him. luke’s hand stops to gently rest on your cheek. your other worries are pushed to the side for the time being: for now, it's just you and luke. “do you think we could pick up a plan b pill tomorrow though, just in case? i love you, but i’m not ready to have your babies.”

luke widens his eyes like a minotaur in headlights. he drops his hand.

 “you’ve never said that before.”

“that i want to have your babies?” you jest, slightly amused at how panicked luke seems.

luke blushes and clears his throat. “well, that too. i meant the whole ‘i love you’ thing, though.” 

your amusement evaporates. you swear your heart stops beating momentarily.

“oh, shit.…” 

you’re not quite sure what to say; you’ve felt this way for a while, truthfully. 

of course you love luke. you can't remember exactly when you realized it, but you just….know.

because if what you felt for luke wasn’t love, then you were foolish to have secretly bought into what silena beauregard had been on about for years, and aphrodite herself might just be out of a job. 

“i know we’re kind of in a weird place, but, yeah, i mean it. you don’t have to say it back —”

luke leans forward to kiss you. gentler this time, but just as firm. “i love you."

"you do?" your heart resumes its beating. 

"of course i do. i have ever since my first morning at camp.”

“yeah right,” you chuckle in disbelief, feeling your cheeks heat up. “it’s not a competition, you know, over who loved who first.”

“karma, i’m serious,” he insists. “someone taught me to burn offerings, and with everything that happened with thalia, i obviously wasn't in the worshiping mood, but then you leaned over and whispered —"

"they like the smell of begging." 

luke grins at you, and you reach up to brush your thumb against the dimple in his cheek. 

"exactly. somehow, that was what i needed to hear. it was nice to know that i wasn't the only one who didn’t want to just accept things the way they were….” he loses his train of thought. luke grabs your hand in his. “i wish i had told you earlier. after all this, i don’t want to lose you.”

“you won’t —”

“whatever happens,” luke continues, somewhat ominously. “i love you, y/n.”

you hadn't heard luke use your real name in a while. you fall asleep, heart full with the memory of him weaving it together with those three magic words. 

the next morning, you wake up — you actually sleep in, for the first time in years — and decide that if you could stay here forever, you would. 

the morning sun stings your eyes through the sheer curtains. the sticky heat of summer sits heavy in the room, and stray grains of sand tickle your skin underneath the sheets. waves wash gently on the shore outside, and an ocean breeze mixes with the smell of burnt cinnamon. you can hear annabeth, grover, and percy crashing dishes and bickering and causing chaos in the kitchen as, you imagine, they scramble to surprise you with breakfast. 

luke is next to you, on his stomach. his curls are a mess, covering most of his face. 

evidence from last night: scratches from your nails prominent on his back, his neck decorated with purple bruises in the shape of your lips. you shift slightly and feel a dull ache between your legs, so you'd call it even.

outside, something clatters on the floor, and you hear percy swear.

luke's eyes flutter open, ever so slightly, and he starts to move. "we should get up before they burn down the place." 

you press your hand to luke's shoulder blade, barely, but in his half-asleep state, it's enough to keep him in bed. luke moves to his side, facing you. you bring your hand up to brush curls away from luke's eyes, even if they're still closed.

"they've literally been to hell and back," you recall his sarcastic words from last night. "i think they can handle pancakes." 

the corners of luke's mouth curl upwards. 

"you're such a smart ass," he mumbles.

you lean forward, plant a kiss underneath luke's chin. his stubble scratches against your lips. 

"don't pretend you don't love it, tiger."

luke breathes steadily. you think he might've fallen asleep once more until he presses his lips to your forehead, pulls you towards him, and quips:

"i love you."

your heart quickens as you echo his words. something churns in your stomach, too.

because this peace isn't something that feels permanent.

you're the children of gods, and there's always a catch. some inevitable plot twist where lovers end up separated, where heroes end up dead or cursed. 

it's nauseating — dangerous, even — that you want a happy ending, a desire buried in you deeply like a knife to the gut. it's cruel that the fates keep twisting, taunting you with what can never be.

no monsters; no gods or titans; no prophecies.

just this.

[noemilivv]

hi! sorry if you don't write for this sorta thing but since ive had to do it a lot and I saw you write for husk just wondering if u would write for husk x a transfem reader who once husk started getting affectionate maybe even just words or a little kiss the reader gets a little scared because of things she had to deal with and worries about telling him she's trans, I just wonder how he'd react, I guess? If you don't write for this type of thing feel free to ignore no response needed, but if you do tysm

Sorry if bothered you or if too long,

Thanks :)

oh my goodness, hi!! ofc i will write this for you!! as someone who’s queer, i understand that we need some extra supportive sometimes, and i’m so willing to give that to you :)

gender-blind ♡

husk x transfem!reader

Warnings: none(?)

It had been bugging you for the past week or so, well.. longer than that, but it had been a week or so since it really started getting under your skin.

You have been dating Husk for almost a month now, which in the grand scheme of things, isn’t too long, but with something like this on your shoulders, the weight of waiting felt like four centuries ago.

You know it’s not the easiest thing for Husk to open up, and you were very eager for that moment until it hit you in the gut way harder than expected.

You’re trans, and there’s nothing wrong with that, and you stand very strongly on that hill, but you can’t help but wonder, what would Husk think?

You fell out of your trance momentarily as Husk approached you, smacked a kiss on your cheek, but before he could say anything, you stumbled back slightly, not enough to fall over, but enough to shake ya a bit.

“Woah, you doing alright?” He asked, concerned, rushing to your aid, but being careful not to touch you again, as he figured it had something to do with that. “Yeah.” You said, steadying yourself, dusting off your mini skirt as you went to walk away.

“No.” Husk started, blocking your way out. “You don’t get to do that.” He added again. “I’m a bartender for a reason, I’ve noticed some shit was up, look, just… spill. Please.”

“It’s really complica-”

“Please.” Husk pushed.

“I’m trans.” You blurted.

Husk stood there in silence for a moment, figuring out his wording before speaking, “Hun.” He started. He was still using petnames. That’s a good sign.

“Let me show you something.” He says, walking over to a table in his room, he pulls a miniature pansexual flag out, “I’m gender-blind, none of that matters to me.” He said, putting it back in its drawer, before he approached you.

“What matters is in here.” He said, pointing to your heart, “And here too,” he said, flicking your forehead, “But not so much, especially considering the idiots in this hotel.” He said with a chuckle, “There’s room for everyone.” He said with a smile as he rubbed your arm. “Especially you.”

HIHIHI THIS WAS ONE OF MY FAVE REQUESTS SO FAR !! also i used the (sorta) confirmed fact that Husk is pansexual so I hope that’s okay !!

[mockerycrow]

Undercover II (Soap x GN!Reader)

undercover series masterlist — previous | next

Summary: After being waterboarded, your body is too exhausted and injured to handle any more. Soap and you are formally introduced outside of an interrogation setting.

[WARNINGS: medical inaccuracies, military inaccuracies, angst.]

“Any dog, you put him in the corner, no matter if they’re vicious or not, they’re going to bite back.” -Mike James.

WAKING UP AFTER such harsh injuries is weird. It’s like the world keeps trying to materialize, distant voices that aren’t too definite, textures under my fingers aren’t quite recognizable yet, not being able to tell pain or pleasure from one another.. I wake up first with sensations across my body—pain, numbness, open wounds, closed wounds—cold, hot, burning, piercing. It makes me wish maybe I did die by Makarov’s hand. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to bare the burden of everything I know, everything I did to prove I was.. loyal, to that sick, sonofabitch.

I feel incredibly heavy, sandbags instead of muscles, my throat feels like I swallowed glass—that’s almost worse than the pain I feel in the rest of my body. The next thing I hear is a faint monitor, maybe two different ones? I can’t tell. My mouth is dry so when I swallow, nothing comes down my throat, but the retraction of my muscles in my neck ache nonetheless. I cough quietly and I gain just enough energy to open my eyelids. I find myself in a.. infirmary type room. I go to move my hand over my gut but metal sliding against metal hits my ears. My unfocused gaze hovers over to my hand and I see one of my hands is handcuffed to the railing of the gurney. My heart drops into my gut as I weakly pull on the handcuffs, a quiet sigh leaving my lips.

Fuck.

My free hand rests gently on top of my gut—they had to have cut me open or some shit, because this hurts like fucking hell on Earth. I feel like my goddamn intestines are about to spill out. Or maybe it’s the aftermath of Makarov’s torture hitting me.

I look down at myself and I’m changed into a fresh hospital gown, a surprisingly high quality blanket draped across my body. My free arm has an IV in my arm and in my vein in my hand, connected to a dispenser not too far away. I look up at the hooks decorated with liquid medicine—definitely a pain killer, I don’t know about the other bags, though. Can’t read from here. My hand goes my face and I feel two tubes; an oxygen tube gently hooked into my nose and a.. I think a feeding tube? My fingers go down to my jaw and I find a bandage wrapped around my neck and jaw, my eyebrows furrowing together. Jesus. Maybe he did break my jaw. Why can’t I feel it, then? I lay my head back down onto the paper pillowcase, closing my eyes for a few seconds. So, now I have to make a plan. Did they patch me because I was about to die? They know I have a lot of valuable information, so they need me alive just enough for that stuff. Makarov’s remaining warehouses, his extensive plans, everything. Do I keep my mouth shut? Yes. I have to remain loyal to my true team, not the one who’s planning ripping populations apart, desecrating entire cities—

The nearby door opens and my eyes shoot open as my heart nearly jumps out of my chest. A doctor comes in with a nurse and they pause at the sight of me being awake. I stare back at them for a moment before the doctor smiles softly at me. “You’re finally awake. That’s good, we nearly lost ya.” His accent is a thick southern-american (U.S.) one. I don’t answer—I wish I could thank them, but I have to be Zhenya. The doctor turns to the nurse and murmurs something just out of my hearing range, the nurse nodding in return and leaving the room, leaving me alone with the doctor. He begins to approach me and my heart monitor immediately begins to spike, as if I’m in danger—because I am—I have no idea who this guy is or if he plans on torturing me, too! The doctor stops in his tracks, his voice coming out as comforting and soft, “Woah there, pal. I’m not here to harm ya, just here to check your vitals. Ask you a few questions, too.”

My hands clench into weak fists as I keep my eyes on him—wait, American??—I don’t have much time to think about that as the doctor comes over to my IV machine, glancing at the numbers before looking at me with a soft, sympathetic look. “My name is Doctor Erikson. Are you in any pain?” I hesitate to answer but I give him a subtle nod, my hand resting back over my stomach. Doctor Erikson turns to the IV machine and ups the drip dosage, glancing at me. “Alright, now I have some basic questions for you, okay, hon? You were out longer than expected, so it’s just prodecure.” I answer with another nod, keeping my eyes training on Dr. Erikson. He has dark skin with tightly curled hair, put up into a neat bun. He has square glasses resting on his big, arched nose. Dr. Erikson is clean shaven, a scar resting on his cheek—looks quite old, probably from a shaving accident when he was younger. He has big, welcoming and soft brown eyes that you don’t feel like they stare into your soul. In this line of work, we need more people like him. His eyes may be soft, but you can tell he’s seen some things. I rapidly blink in order to focus; I naturally profile people when I feel.. on edge.

Dr. Erikson presses the end of his pen and the ballpoint end pops out with a click! He looks at me, a soft subtle smile remaining on his face. “What is the year?”

“2023.”

He nods and quickly checks something off—probably a box. “Who is the President of the United States?”

“Joe Biden.”

“What’s your name?”

I stare at him for a second and my heart stops for a moment before I answer with, “Zhenya. Zhenya Antonenko.”

Dr. Erikson and I stare at each other for a moment before he checks off two more boxes. He sets aside the clipboard on a counter nearby in the room. He keeps the pen and walks over, murmuring, “Keep your head still, follow the pen with your eyes only.”

Dr. Erikson begins to move the pen left and right, tracking my eye movement as I keep my eyes trained on the pen. After he doesn’t find any eye coordination discrepancies, he sets the pen down and grabs an otoscope, putting a singular use cone on the end, clicking the ‘on’ button, the end of the cone emitting light. He comes to my left side and gently puts the cone inside of my ear, checking for a few seconds. “You’ll have some visitors in a few moments, they will inform you of your medical injuries and what procedures we took.” He murmurs softer than he was before, considering how close he is my ears. My ear tingles as he removes the otoscope, coming around to the other side of the bed to check my other ear. I don’t respond. Dr. Erikson hums as he throws away the single use cone and murmurs ‘stare straight ahead’, using the little light from the otoscope to test my pupil dilation.

Fuck. I don’t want to see them again. Not now. My hand grabs the blanket, and then there’s a firm and quick knock on the door before the door swings open.

In comes fucking Laswell, Hudson, Mutton-Chops, and Mohawk.

What in God’s name is fucking going on??

Dr. Erikson puts the otoscope away and walks over to them, glancing back at me before talking. “They’re in a delicate state, physically and mentally,” He mutters, probably thinking I can’t hear. He isn’t good at being quiet with military dudes. His own people though, sure. “Be sure to play nice.” Hudson immediately approaches my bedside and I can’t help the hot and stinging tears that threaten to spill from my tear ducts—his soothing voice instantaneously makes my worries die down for a good 10 minutes. “You’re okay now, [Name]. The mission is over. You’re in good hands.”

I choke on a sob; of relief? Of devastation? Of need? Of grief? I don’t know.

I lift my handcuffed hand ever so slightly, my voice wobbly, “Why?”

“It’s a safety precaution,” Laswell says gently, approaching the bedside that Hudson is on. Mutton-Chops and Mohawk stay by the door, quietly eyeing me. I catch Mohawk’s eyes and I can’t read his emotion which makes me feel on edge; I turn back to my familiar faces. “S.. Safety precaution?” I question, glancing between them. They give each other a look—a look of pity—before Hudson speaks up. “You’ve.. been through a lot, [Name]. More than I can imagine. Until we have you go through a psychological evaluation, we’re keeping the cuffs on you.”

Oh. So like a caged animal.

My shoulders sink and I glance at the handcuffs, joy mixing with dread. “I know it’s hard, but we’re having Soap stay with you until we can have that psychologist come for you.” Laswell murmurs, gently grabbing my hand and squeezing it? avoiding the IV and it’s tape. I nod as I glance over at the men. “What kind of name is Soap?” I mutter, earning a snort from Mutton-Chops. Hudson looks at me worriedly, his wrinkles-in-the-corner-of-his-eyes kind of worried. I look back up at Hudson and look between him and Laswell a few times, biting the inside of my cheek. “Everything?” I ask. They don’t even need more than that to know what I’m talking about. “Everything.” He confirms with a nod. I take a deep breath—which I immediately regret because now it feels like my guts are trying to spill out again owowowowow—and I must wince because Laswell grabs a pillow from a nearby table and puts it on my abdomen. “Here, hold the pillow with soft pressure. It helps that weird feeling with your stitches. Learned it from the field.” She comments, her eyes scanning me like a worried mother. I nod as a thank you and use my free arm, applying pressure across my abdomen—gentle, mind you. Oddly enough, it brings me some level of relief. “We’ve provided Soap with a recorder so we can record your statement and stories, so you don’t have to repeat everything over and over.”

I nod silently—my throat feels like shit and I have no energy to speak, so might as well save what I do have for the statements..

Hudson clears his throat and glances at Laswell, then back at me, “Laswell and I have to go for a bit, since the operation has been revealed, we have a lot of shit to do.” He says with an unsatisfied tone; like he wants to stay by my side. My heart warms a bit from that— Hudson has always taken care of his team, made me feel like I belong. I crave for him to stay near me but I bite my lip, —and then quickly releasing it from the hold my teeth had on it because I one-hundred-percent forgot that my lip was injured—and shake my head. “Go,” I start. “It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere, right?” I attempt to make a joke, and Hudson tries to offer a stale chuckle—one he only does if someone got seriously injured.. It must be bad—and he squeezes my hand gently.

They murmur me their goodbyes, taking their leave, pushing the door open and walking out. Mutton-Chops follows them close behind.

That leaves me alone with Mohawk—“So you must be Soap, then.” I state as the man starts to approach my beside, his boots thumping against the infirmary floor. He offers a boyish grin that fits him quite well and he nods, grabbing a chair and easily pulling it kind of near the bed, but not too close. The distance suggests distrust, caution. Which is understandable because he did take place in my brief torture part two..

Like a wild animal, again.

“The one and only,” He chimes, his fingers fiddling with the recorder. Soap leans back in the chair, his eyes studying me for a second. “Doc said someone should give ya th’rundown of what happened, eh?”

I nod, my fingers absentmindedly playing with the pillowcase of the pillow across my stomach. Soap hums and tilts his head, his expression turning ever so slightly sad. “You had internal bleedin’ n’ broken ribs; one of which nearly pierced ye lung. Your jaw is fractured on yer right side, they had t’put a screw in. Your stabs wounds were pretty ‘typical’ by the doc’s standards, but they did have to open you up and repair th’abdominal wall. He said you’re lucky you didn’t lose any organs.”

Lucky.

Lucky.

Lucky.

That fucking word. “I’m lucky?” I bark out with disbelief. I know I am, but that phrase makes me so angry.

I look back at Soap whose lips are pursed together; he’s sitting up from my slight outburst which makes me look back down at my lap. Soap doesn’t say anything for a moment, the faint beeps of the monitors filling that empty space. When he does speak, he switches on the recorder. “This is Sergeant John MacTavish, Callsign Soap interviewing…” He trails off, holding the recorder out between himself so it can pick up his voice, as well as mine. I take a deep breath and let it go. “[Name] [Last Name].” Soap offers a mood lifting grin as he repeats his name back to me and murmuring the date. His lip curls just enough to show some of his gums by his right canine tooth, ever so slightly. I can’t help but wonder for a moment why he suddenly is so friendly, but I already know the answer to that. When you’re in this line of work, there are friends and there are foes. There are no frenemies in this game. You are either on their side or against it. Something I can relate to.

“What division are in, and your mission?” He has a professional tone for the sake of the recording. I don’t even know this guy it seems so unlike him that it makes me wanna roll my eyes into the back of my head until they get stuck there. “I’m a sergeant of Task Force Eclipse. My Captain is Tyler Hudson, and my teammate, besides my captain is Trinity Wilson, code-name Lake. My other teammate Sasha Miranov, code-name Coal, is KIA. Richard Jensen, code-name Tendril, had committed treason and had joined the very cause I’ve been fighting against. He’s also KIA.” I pause as my heart aches. “My mission began a few years ago, I was a special ops soldier that worked with the CIA, being placed wherever I was needed. Station Chief Kate Laswell called me into a special conference room where I was met with my future colleagues…”

I pause in the doorway as my eyes scan several different unfamiliar faces, sweeping the room on instinct. I spot Laswell, General Shepherd, and an old friend, Tyler Hudson standing in front of the round table where the three strangers are sitting. “Come in,” Laswell beckons, holding a thick, vanilla folder between her fingertips. The confusion is shared between amongst me and three strangers—I shut the door behind me. Laswell leans over the table and presses a button and the glass walls of the conference room become foggy and soundproof. “Sir.” I greet General Shepherd with a kind and professional tone, taking the seat closest to Laswell. He nods towards me, his hands folded neatly in front of him. His brow is pushed forward like something is troubling him; isn’t surprising, considering his position. Laswell holds up the folder as she begins to speak. “You must be wondering why I have called you all here today. You’re here because between Captain Hudson, General Shepherd and I, you four are the best for this job. You have not been given any details up until now because this quite possibly might be the most confidential mission you will ever work on in your time of service.”

Laswell places the folder down and motions to the person furthest from me. “Everyone, this is Richard Jensen. He will be joining us from MI6, along with—the girl who is next to him—Trinity Wilson. Then there is Sasha Miranov and [Name] [Last Name] from our very own CIA.” We look between each other wearily because Laswell still hasn’t said the nature of this mission, and General Shepherd hasn’t said a word at all this entire time. We give each other silent head nods because there will be time to get acquainted later. I put my hand on the table and fingers tap nervously against the glass top. Laswell steps out of the way of the wall with both Captain Hudson and General Shepherd. Hudson hands her a small remote which she murmurs a thank you, turning to said wall. It prompts all of us to look in the same direction and she presses a button and a projector projects a light box with a symbol of a moon and sun in the middle, hints of CIA and MI6 logos as well. She looks back at us, letting out another sigh laced with stress. “Today, you are no longer with your old units. You are now in Task Force Eclipse, lead by Captain Tyler Hudson; curtesy of CIA.” My eyebrows raise for a second because of the anticipation in my bones, in my veins. Working with Hudson?

She presses another button and pops up Richard Jensen’s face and basic information; his name, his age, blood type, occupation, whatever. “Also starting today, you are no longer yourselves,” Laswell presses another button and Jensen’s information fades into Russian, quickly translating back to English. My lips part in surprise as Laswell opens the vanilla folder, going around the table, passing out different documents to everyone. “Starting today, you are living as new people, from either Russia or Ukraine. You lived and grew up in these areas and share the same ideals as our enemy—who you will be working closely with.” No fucking way. There’s absolutely no fucking way—

“We have entrusted you five to work this undercover op, to weasel your way into Makarov’s organization and take information to relay it back to us. Is that clear?” Shepherd’s tone is rough, rude, and authoritative as always. He’s leaning his hand on the table, looking between all of us. I keep glancing between my documents, briefly glancing over the information before looking back up at him. “Sir, no offense, our mission is to.. be terrorists?” Trinity speaks up, her accent cutting through the air like a knife. Her tone shows she’s absolutely baffled, traced with incredulousness. “Yes. You will have to be prepared to commit acts you never would otherwise.” He responds, holding back his snappy response from her own. I look down at my paper and see my new name, my new age—very close to my actual one—my new backstory, fuck, even passports and other official documents are displayed with my new name. “You will have to work close with the group, even find your way under Makarov’s wing. We will set up times and dates for you to relay important information back to your Captain, and to me.” Laswell’s voice is a bit quieter in volume as the heavy mood sets in the room. I tense as I borderline feel everything just.. sink. “You all have worked undercover ops before, and you all have done incredibly well. This is why we trust you with this task.”

It was no secret the CIA and MI6 trusted some of the wrong people, and some of the right people.

taglist: @glitterypirateduck @darling006 @elowynnlane @hardnutpost [If you are not tagged and you’re here, it did not let me tag you.]

[monsterswithimagines]

Undisclosed Desires - Part 11

Joe Goldberg x female!Reader

Summary: Twenty minutes before he would have met Guinevere Beck, Joe meets you instead. You intruige him, but it will soon become clear that there is something off about you.

Words: 951

Masterlist

Guysssss I'm sorry if this sucks. I spent all day at the office wishing I could write and then I got home and people just would NOT leave me alone and I had to keep taking breaks 😭😭. Also I kind of didn't know how I wanted this chapter to go at all but now that I'm past it I'll probably have less trouble.

I'm not mad, (Y/n).

It's been three days and you're still avoiding me, but I'm so not mad that I give Ethan a raise and that I buy Paco dinner twice and that I smile at everyone who walks into Mooney’s. That's how you know I love you: I understand that you need time and space to figure out how you feel. And I can wait. And I don't take it out on others. Love is patient, after all.

And this is love. I know it is. You said I am great, and cute, and ugh, and that means something. But you said it yourself: you are ruining this by avoiding me. And when I text you, you're short with me. Why are you doing this to us? Are you the kind of girl who sabotages good things?

Then you finally text me properly. It's a long string of texts, and I want to ignore you because I'm not mad, but I'm a little disappointed in you, honestly, and I think that's fair. But the more I read, the more I smile, and I know I will not ignore you.

YOU: ok im so sorry i know iv been super distant and rude and that is totally on me and id love to tell u iv just been busy or whatever but the truth is actually that i've kind of been avoiding you?? i know i know im a mega bitch. plz forgive me 🙏🏻

YOU: but heres the thing iv never??? done this before??? like gone on dates and gotten drunk and spilled my guts to a guy and liked a guy

YOU: like this is so embarrassing bc i might just be making a super big deal out of nothing

YOU: iv had like six coffees today im sorry im not making sense

YOU: iv never had a boyfriend before and i dont have any other friends here and also im kind of like. super insecure??? so

YOU: you can interrupt me any minute now

YOU: pls

ME: Just give me a moment.

Ethan isn't here to watch the register but honestly, (Y/n)? I don't care. There's only two people in the store and they've both been browsing forever. They're just going to end up buying books they will never read, so I go into the office and close the door behind me. And then I call you.

You answer right away.

“Hey, you,” you say, embarrassed.

“You should have too much coffee more often,” I tell you.

“Uh, no, never again. I have a horrible headache.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” you assure me. I hear something slam in the background. “Oops.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just rearranging my furniture.”

“Okay. Why?”

“I'm having a… day,” you say. “Sometimes I just have these moments where I have to change something about my life right this second, you know?”

“So you rearrange your furniture and you text guys illiterate love confessions.”

“Illiterate!” you exclaim. “I will have you know I am a copywriter, and I'm very good at my job.”

“Uh huh.”

“My failure to capitalize my texts is entirely on purpose.”

“Right.”

“And so is the lack of commas.”

I keep quiet, and you realize that I called what you sent me a love confession. You don't correct me because you do love me. You do.

“So,” you say. “Thoughts?”

“I like you. I think that's pretty clear. I went to a music festival with you, and the music was terrible.”

You laugh.

“But I don't want to push you into anything. Have you really never had a boyfriend?”

“Well, there was this boy at summer camp when I was twelve. We held hands on the swings and he shared his Nintendo with me. But I don't think that counts.” I've never wanted to kill a twelve-year-old boy before. “Then there was a girl when I was fifteen. I liked her but it turned out she was just, like, experimenting. So was I, really. We lasted two weeks.”

A girl, huh? This isn't something I expected. But I don't react, because I know you want me to react, and you also don't always like to get what you want right away.

“But no,” you conclude. “I've never actually dated anyone before. That doesn't mean you're pushing me.”

You are so brave, (Y/n). You've never been in love with anyone before but here you are, taking charge.

On your end of the phonecall, something else slams. Then something shatters. You curse and someone knocks on the office window, and I hold up my finger at him to indicate one minute.

“Hey,” I say. “Do you want me to come over and help? After work, I mean.”

“No. I mean, yes to coming over, but no to helping. I'll just get annoyed because you're not doing it exactly how I want it to be done.”

“I'll just bring food, then.”

Another kock at the window. I'm going to kill this guy.

“Great! I'm craving pizza,” you say.

“Pizza it is. Toppings?”

“Pepperoni. And jalapenos.”

“You got it.”

“See you tonight, Joe,” you say, but what you really mean is I love you.

We hang up and I go help the man. I am so nice to him, because you have invited me to your apartment. You want me there. You want me to sit on your bed and feed you and watch you move your books around because you love me, and you told me you've never had a boyfriend before which means you think I am your boyfriend now.

Closing time can't come soon enough.

[glassjoe]

I saw your post hihihi, could you write some Aran X reader headcanons? (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠) Like how Aran would act in front of his beloved when he realised he has a crush on them?

hihi ! sorry this took a while, im a slow writer & ive been busy lol

okay so. tried my best. i went with the idea of reader/beloved being someone who works for the wvba but isnt a boxer, left it unspecific.

first few bullets are pre-crush/general hc stuff, then the stuff u actually asked for happens. im still figuring out how i wanna characterise these fucks so if it seems odd or ooc please lmk

aran ryan with a crush | headcanons! gn reader

cw brief mention of alcohol and vomiting. nothing huge, just mentioned in passing but slapped this here anyway. also penultimate bullet point is a bit sexual but again only brief, u can skip over it

Emotions aren't Aran's strong point. Most complex feelings he has are released in the ring--he finds bloody noses and bruised stomachs are far more interesting conversation partners anyway--and the ones that stay rooted deep in his belly are routinely sweat out or lost in the haze of a night on the town. Rinse and repeat ad nauseum. Wallowing in it helps no one, after all.

But sometimes, a feeling in his gut won't get chased away as easily as, say, guilt or grief. A stubborn sort of stabbing, not unlike himself, gets tangled in his belly, too stuck for his stomach acid to burn through when wild nights come back for seconds.

As much as his thick skull in the ring would have you think otherwise, he's not dense. He knows what crushes are, had more than enough in secondary school, and he's not oblivious to it nor the source. He doesn't even know you *that* well--yet--but that's never stopped the heart from wanting.

cont under cut

There's no real "moment" he realises, no build-up, just sitting exhausted after a match well-won, and being now too tired to now fight the butterflies swarming his stomach or stop his eyes from following you as you pass by with a clipboard. He hides his gaze with a swig of water, drinking a bit more aggressively than he needs to and spills half of it, and by the time he recovers you've disappeared. The buzz in his gut doesn't fade, just deflates, and his hand meets his sodden hair with a half-hearted groan. Fuck.

For a while, he tries to shove it down. Where knuckles and bottles don't work, brute force emotional repression just might. "Not ready" to be tossed into dealings of love again, he'll try convince himself. Should that fail it's "Grown men don't have silly little crushes, make a move or get over yourself."

He's not as good at hiding his emotions as he'd have himself think. Just as he can't help a cruel grin in the ring, smiles find their way onto his face before he has a chance to realise he's pleased. What he intends to be a subtle smolder looks more like a hyena after a successful hunt, toothy and wide, with red blood swapped for rosy cheeks. Of course, he then attempts to recoup and snap his head away with an exaggerated frown, leaving you to wonder if he was happy to see you or wants to devour you.

Its embarrassing. He feels like a fawn, unable to properly control himself or function as soon as you step in the room. He swears all he has to do is smell you and his heart spikes not that he'd know what you smell like.

Pre-match, he doesn't want to see you. Or during, really. This suffocating adoration that came from nowhere has choked him enough to messing up in the lowest stake situations--he still gets teased over the time he intended to pass you your drink and full-hand knocked it over in his flushed haste--he doesn't want to risk it coming to bite him when it really matters. He makes a point to not provoke the audience close to staff, at risk of seeing your face--perhaps disappointed, perhaps amused--and throwing his game off.

And in turn, post-match is his favourite time to see you. Though Aran Ryan being calm will happen when pigs fly, the rush of a bout serves well to at least temper his energy a bit. Not as erratic, or bouncy, and a bit more in control of himself. Plus any fuckups can be blamed on muscle fatigue. You dote on him as best you can, he's noticed. Asking if he needs anything, offering to ease the strain rippling under his skin... Another bonus of being all tuckered is his face already being red and sweaty, so he's in no rush to hide flush that creeps up his neck as you fuss over him.

He'll make a show, teasing you for wanting to help, and as subtly as he can try to delve a little deeper, find out more about yourself. Whether you're working his wounds or jotting down on a clipboard, your company is exhilarating. It makes him giggle laugh. The insane cackle of a man has never sounded so nervous.

As he learns about you, as you grow closer and start meeting outside of designated hours, he feels both at ease and more tense. Scared of scaring you off, as he often finds he does, but he still won't dial himself back for your sake. Wants you to see him bear all and like him anyway. So he checks. He does what he wants, does his best to not act too different where it matters, and simply... checks. Waits for your reaction. His intention is to see if he should pursue, so to speak, that you simply enjoy him and his company regardless of his reputation or persona or who he is on a genuine level. As well as if, yeah, he didn't need to yell at that guy like that, that was just uncalled for. He's perhaps not the best judge on that end, though.

Speaking of trying not to act different, well, everyone acts a fool in love. He can certainly try, but an early 20s man in a male-dominated sport? There's at least a few masculinity issues trailing aftet him. He can't help but puff his chest out like a bird of paradise when you compliment him, or flex his arm when you so much as graze it. Simply can't stop himself from saying how he could protect you if you're walking through a forest, or wanting to compare hand sizes, regardless of your size compared to him.

Aran Ryan is still Aran Ryan. While there is an extent of not wanting to scare you off, he's not holding back on the name-calling or insults, no mattet how playful. He may dig too deep into genuinely sensitive areas though. Maybe he's still in denial about this, trying to prove it to himself. Or he's just not that great at boundaries.

He's nearly tripped over his own feet several times. One time you managed to grab his hoodie only to also fall onto his back. Nearly died, he swears. Cushioned your fall quite nicely at least. He'll want to make a lewd joke about it, but gets embarrassed as it leaves his mouth because he gets a mental image so it descends into stuttering and ends up insulting you instead to cover himself. Brilliant work Ryan really making yourself look great.

Aran's a mess of a man. He's all over the place. Stuck between wanting to impress you and staying true to himself unabashedly, and he finds doing both is very difficult. Past lovers compounded that. And as long as his affections remain unrequited or secret, that's not really going to change easily. Maybe its comfort he needs, or just a helping hand. Maybe you should say something...

GOD im so sorry this is SO all over the place i qrote this over several days so my flow wasnt there and i dont wanna put too much effort into thesee. i. need to write down how i charactetise these guys stat so im uh sorry if this is shit. i would have a nicer ending to out a ribbon on but idk how to end bullet point hc stuff so. enjoyyy

AND TY FOR REQUESRTING !!! as much as im bitching this was fun to do !!! and also feel free to send more of these in !! i can do more like this or i can do thise ones that like its a scenario and all the boxers react to it those seem fun

[mataglap]

I forgot how it feels to get inspired to write. to actually have the words spill out of your brain instead of wringing them painfully out.

maybe I should start writing down those little random scenes that pop up in my head before they fade away?

anyway, I’ve been playing Diablo IV, and I like Lorath Nahr, and considering the tone and the general direction of the game I’m absolutely sure he’s going to get killed or worse, so I’m going to write down this scene before he dies and it makes me too sad to write.

and yes, I’m playing a sorcerer.

---

It does not take arcane powers to know that he's being watched. He can almost feel it on his skin, sliding over the back of his neck and his shoulders, down his spine, like a warm, curious touch.

"You're not being subtle," he says without turning around.

"It was not my intention to be."

"Fair enough." Lorath can appreciate honesty. Not that it's going to change much. "I can't offer you anything, though. Sorry."

"There's no need. You've already given me enough."

And that's that; he could drop the subject now and he's reasonably sure it would never come up again. That is, if his blasted curiosity didn't get the best of him.

He gives the stew another stir. Needs more time: the spoon doesn't quite stand up on its own yet. "How come?" he asks, turning around. Wipes his hands with a rag, just to have something to do with them.

The mage regards him though half-lidded eyes. "Given recent events," he says slowly, "I've learned to treasure every feeling that isn't rage, or pain, or fear."

That's… fair. And way too wise for someone who looks this young. Lorath hasn't asked his age yet, and at this point it doesn't matter: the shit he's seen would turn anyone old. Not that it shows on the outside. To all appearances, his new friend seems unshaken by the string of horrors Lilith's been leaving in her wake.

It could be a good thing. It could also be very bad.

"I wonder," he says, making eye contact. "How are you this calm? The things you witnessed leave a mark on the soul. You’ve met Donan, you know what I mean. I expected you to be a wreck, and here you are, boots on my bloody table and not a care in the world."

The mage smiles faintly, and for a second Lorath thinks he's going to actually take the boots off the table – but no, the bastard just deliberately recrosses his legs. It's hard not to smirk at that. He's always had a weakness for people who didn't take any of his shit.

"If I share the secret with you, you will owe me a secret in return."

The curiosity is going to be the end of him, one day. "As long as it's a secret of my choosing."

"Deal." The mage's gaze slides off him and unfocuses. "You're right. I don't know if I'd be myself anymore if I didn't learn to… It's hard to explain."

Lorath turns to the stew. "Take your time. Food's going to be a while."

The pause is long enough to stir the stew thoroughly. He keeps stirring.

"When I find myself surrounded by horror," the mage says finally, "the kind that threatens to shatter the soul… I cast a part of my mind elsewhere, to some good memory, or perhaps a dream. And a part of me pretends I'm not there at all. And I cling to that with all the strength I can muster."

"Hah. You're lucky to have good memories."

"Nonsense. Everyone has good memories. Take this moment, for example: you're warm, dry and safe, and you have a pot of stew that is going to be delightful, if the smell is any indication. You have a friend to talk to and to eat with. This is a happy memory in the making."

That's way too earnest for Lorath's taste. "Assuming I don't burn the stew or set the place on fire," he mutters, uncomfortable. "So what you're saying is, the next time you're knee-deep in guts, a part of you is going to think of the time you stared at my arse while I cooked you dinner?"

"That is exactly what I'm saying."

It's the first time he's heard the wanderer laugh. Sucks that there's a good chance it's also going to be the last.

[risetherivermoon]

Psst, psst. What’s this I read about Rosekiller no voldy au, but Barty still loosing his mind???

someone else also asked for this one so ill just tag them here: @wewillbeinfrance

This one is tad more of a loose idea, but i just adore stories where characters are unreliable narrators, like so unreliable that it leaves you like: "goddammit is this actually really happening or not??"

i feel like this is how i would approach this idea, and you're probably asking how barty would 'lose his mind' if its a no voldy au,

and that my friend, is a good question,

i think with this it would be mostly revolved around Barty and some past trauma and maybe more current trauma that has been effecting him in a way where he doesn't remember it at all besides flashes

and he doesn't really tell anyone or anything so he's basically just slowly mentally declining, and these reactions slowly get more frequent: losing time, seeing things that aren't there, dissociating, panic attacks, etc

i know i used the phrase, 'losing his mind' but i feel like its more so hes just mentally ill and doesn't understand why and doesn't tell anyone whats going on so he just gets worse, which i guess is pretty near to being the same

Evan and the rest of the group (which includes the slytherins & the marauders) are just kinda seeing small details or moments that make them go like: 'uh barty you okay?' and he just nods shakily, thats kind of the whole idea

like i said, ive really been wanting to write smth lately where the main character's capabilities of telling the story are very low and it's almost hard to follow at points

and maybe id sprinkle in evan povs or other characters just to make the difference from bartys mind and reality even more drastic,

such as moments where he shares looks with characters or notes that they're in the room, and then a few seconds later they walk in,

or, moments where he has a conversation with a character and mentions it in conversation and they have no idea what he's talking about,

moments where characters say something about what he said and he doesn't remember saying it

him seeing things that aren't there but just brushing it off as he slowly gets more accustomed to living like this

i believe that this story would have a happy ending where he gets to heal, but i like to think itd be drawn out, and definitely confusing lol

anyways, thanks for listening to me spill my nerdy guts everywhere, and thanks for the ask!

(original post/list: socks fic ideas )

[outpost51]

WIP Wthursday

@elshells tagged me back in may tysm!!

Rules:

In a reblog (or new post/w rules attached) post up to five filenames of your WIPs, not titles, file names

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be something you wrote in the last 7 days (we're posting progress here. If you haven't made any, go make some and come back to post!)

After you've posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from, write 3 sentences on it anyway and then 3 more on another to share!

That's it! You can invite others to join in or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request.

Tagging @sparatus @thetrashbagswasteland @teamdilf @commander-krios @void-botanist @vacantgodling and any of my other multi-wippers <3

Between a Rock and a Hard Place, Interlude IV: House Edge

Mandibles tight to his face, Kadmos grabbed one of the chairs in front of his desk and spun it around to face them. His eyes cut back to Faus as he pointed to the seat. “Sit.” “No, thank you, sir, I’m good standing all the way over here with my bones unbroken.” A low rumble filled the room. “Sit. Down. Mr. Domiril,” Kadmos bit out. “Or so help me, I’ll have Pyro put you in this chair.” Only the big hand landing on Faus’s shoulder kept him from hitting the ceiling, but when he turned his head to look — there was dark blue blood still drying on the knuckledusters looped around its fingers, and more coated the copper-plated hand like a mottled glove. One day he’d learn to trust his gut, preferably before someone spilled his guts on the ground. Warm breath puffed across the back of his neck as a deep voice purred, “Make my day, pretty bird.” Faus rather liked his face not beaten to burger meat and his body not fed to varren or vorcha or whatever assorted nasties Kadmos had waiting to dispose of evidence. There was a rumor floating around that the Cassis were cannibals, and he didn’t feel like fucking around enough to find out the truth. Rima, naturally, proving more and more that she very much belonged with this family, sank gracefully into the other chair. Her gown fell open at her hip when she crossed her legs — blood, it looked like blood sliding down a pale bone blade, freshly removed from an unwilling sacrifice to complete some dark, forbidden ritual. Crow’s sudden appearance beside her didn’t help matters, perching on the desk to play with an actual blade as if they weren’t ready to tear out each other’s throats less than half an hour ago.

2. stellar parallax

3. blinding neon

4. unlikely adventures

5. meteorite

[voidsentprinces]

Haurchefant: Here we go.

Aymeric: Ishgard Hellions.

Estinien: Warrior of Light.

Haurchefant: Night starts.

Aymeric: Night starts now, ladies roll with us. Walk into the Forgotten Knight got them necks snapping us.

Estinien: Fellas looking jealous as we throw out the gil.

Haurchefant: Heavens Ward show up waiting to go in for the kill.

Aymeric: Tonight is the night, we rock, your either getting stacks, getting stuffed, or getting fucked.

Estinien: Then the door is kicked open and the Warrior of Light steps in.

Warrior of Light: THIS IS THE TALE! OF CAPTAIN JACKE SWALLOW!

Aymeric: YEAH--wait what?

Warrior of Light: PIRATE SO BRAVE! HE SERVES LIMSA LOMINSA!

Estinien: Wait time ou--

WoL: STOPPING ALL THREATS FROM THREATENING LA NOSCEA! A GULL WITH GREAT SWAY! IN THE SHADOWS OF THE ADMIRAL!

Haurchefant: That was rather nice but we're back in the Forgotten Knight. Buying up spice rum got Tataru singing her heart.

WoL: JACKE SWALLOW!

Aymeric: Serving up ice harder than Coerthas, breaking through the blizzard and cheering through the night!

WoL: USE HIDE NOW!

Estinien: Better keep your lass, cause I'm not Mr. Nice Guy. More like hunt your dragons, take their eyes, then lance you twice guy.

Haurchefant: All dressed up with no where to run and make you feel crazy with my cup of co--

WoL: THE DAY HE WAS BORN! HE WAS A MISFIT KNIFE WIELDER!

Estinien: Oh by HALONE!

WoL: OL' CAP'N JACKE! AND HIS CUNNING POSSE! HE'S THE PAUPER OF COSTA DEL SOL! THE JESTER OF YELLOWJACKETS!

Aymeric: Mhm?

WoL: UNCOVER PLOTS! WHAT LIES IN STOOOOOORREE!?!?

Haurchefant: Sounds wondrous.

Estinien: DON'T ENCOURAGE HIM!

Aymeric: Put your hands in the air and yell, we count stacks. C'mon.

WoL: V'kebbe.

Estinien: Nope!

WoL: Perimu!

Haurchefant: My dear friend, I would ask that you find another means to proceed!

WoL: ROGER THAT LET ME TRY WITH ANOTHER CLASS!

Estinien: WAIT FUCK N--

WoL: LIFE IS A BOX OF LEYLINES! CAUSE I JUST ROLLED A BLACK MAGE!

Aymeric: Oh no...

WoL: THOUGH I AM NOT THE FASTEST CASTER OF THE DoM! I GIVE FIRE IV ALL MY LOVE!

Haurchefant: Not QUITE better.

WoL: Okay then I am a Blue Mage, vomiting sardines with all my might.

Estinien: ABSOLUTELY NOT!

WoL: Then you can call me, Dark Knight. Killing Ishgardians with my blade!

Aymeric: Close enough.

WoL: Alright, Fray, these bastards wanna play rough! LETS GET RELOADED!

Haurchefant: YES!

WoL: THIS IS THE TALE! OF SIDURGU AND RIELLE!

Fray: THIS THE TALE!

WoL: GUARDIAN OF ISHGARD'S TRAGEDIES! SPILLING GALONS OF BLOOOOOOOD!

Myste: TAKE IT HOME!

WoL: GOT FUCKING SPIKES ALL OVER MY ARMOR! FUCKING GUTS IN THIS BIIIIIITCH!

Fray: WOOOOO!

WoL: THIS WHOLE WORLDS CORRUPTED! TIME TO PAY FOR THE INNOCENT! JUSTICE DEMANDS NOOOOO LEEEEEESSS!

Aymeric: Alright maybe we shouldn't of brought the Warrior of Light, who is apparently a job-o-holic.

WoL: Imma try Monk next.

Estinien: Yeaaah okay, you do that. Lets get out of here.

[red-dye40]

it’s my fic’s birthday n i just want to take a mome to reflect on this past year of writing my cringe jthm fic because no joke it has been one of the most therapeutic and rewarding things ive ever done for myself so im gonna spill my guts under the cut here in case ur into that sorta thing

no joke i started writing ancillary auxiliary (obvs under a different much dumber name) when i was THIRTEEN. i was perpetually very very scared of and confused by my psychosis—i saw and heard things constantly that no one else did, and no one could explain that to me, which was obviously very isolating and frustrating. jthm made me feel rly normal (like not alone??) and this fic was a way for me to explore and dissect all these things i was processing and experiencing and repressing. i abandoned it like right away because i was a young teen with undiagnosed adhd but im sure it’s still kickin around on deviantart somewhere.

i have struggled w a lot through my years—addiction n subsequent withdrawal, hallucinating nonstop, uhhhh Being Trans In Society, willingly choosing to be an actor bc i am literally insane—and i felt like my brain was only getting sicker, because i never prioritized my health! none of it! but especially not my mental health!

in the isolation of quarantine a couple years ago i had like sooooooo many psychotic episodes, and eventually i admitted myself to a psych ward bc i was so scared and i just wanted to get better finally!

and i did get better! eventually!

it took a lot of hard work, and i was in outpatient for what felt like forever, and i was going to therapy twice a week and trying a bunch of meds and also just experimenting w hormones bc why not. i stopped making art (which truly truly was sometimes the only thing in my life that brought me joy) because the shit i was making was so scary, i just didn’t want to subject myself to that.

eventually i got myself a really amazing job, literally a dream job of mine, and things fell into place, and my job was my whole personality for a while. idk when it happened but sometime last summer i suddenly felt myself really wanting to read jthm again ?? i guess as i was reflecting on all my trauma, and how i used to cope w it as a kid?? but i reread director’s cut and it truly felt like someone unclogged a drain in my head and all this new inspiration and like LOVE for my past self and xir interests just rushed in and it was so exciting!!!!

and i remembered this fic i had started so long ago, and how proud i was of the concept, and i started writing it in my notes app and it got bigger and bigger and i found a little corner on instagram of ppl who liked it (thank u to those of u who are still here rn!!!!! if ur reading this ilysm) and now it’s this! and i love it!

it might just be super self indulgent at the end of the day idk but! i love everything that has come from this fic (and Other Fics i have written 👁️) and i am so grateful to all of u who have read ancaux and enjoyed it and reblogged and left comments like :) thank u so much

there are three (maybe four?) chapters left i literally didn’t anticipate this to go on for so long and i have no idea when it will end but im excited :) and i hope you’ll stick around :) the ending is rly good i think

LOVE U ALL THANKS

[petewentzisblack1312]

heyyyy sorry to put you on the spot but. what's your fav lyric from every fall out boy album? the clock starts now ⏱️

sorry ive taken days to answer this. the thing is. i cant answer this. there are too many lyrics off of every album that are star lyrics to me. im going to pick one off of every album but you could ask me this question again tomorrow and the answer would be different. anyway heres todays menu

"stood on my roof and tried to see you forgetting about me/hide the details i dont want to know a thing"

i picked this line for personal reasons more than literary ones, but it is a very specific feeling when theres someone who you want to excise from your life but they meant so much to you that you want to know if it matters to them or not and you dont know which you prefer and you also dont want to know at all. and i think this encapsulates that well.

"i got your love letters, corrected the grammar, and sent them back/its true romance is dead, i shot it in the chest and in the head"

ive said it before but i LOVE when theres an inversion of a cliche or idiom like this and fob does it often.

"ive already given up on myself twice, third time is the charm/threw caution to the wind but ive got a lousy arm"

i was trying so hard not to bring in another inversion of an idiom but i also didnt want to say something from hum hallelujah or say the entirety of youre crashing but youre no wave. so.

"not the boy i was, the boy i am is just venting."

this line gives me gender feelings and also it is a specific mentally ill troubled feeling where expressing complicated or negative feelings makes people think youre relapsing.

"if i spilled my guts/the world would never look at you the same way/and now im here to give you all my love/so i can watch your face as i take it all away"

i have felt this vindication at someone who has wronged me. i have felt this, and this song and this line have been there for me.

"i'm stuck in the sunshine riptide/dancing all alone in the morning light/the sunshine riptide/you came in like a wave when i was feeling alright."

i maintain that this is the best description of a manic episode ever.

[braindeadcharlotte]

A collection of grimy Transgender poems

cracking dollar store razors in the shower

hands splayed in ecstasy 

while mother is immolated 

and screaming

us against the world and so on

everything feels like plastic razors cracked open these days

all days 

smoke and vapor and ash

a pest rotting in a chrysalis 

a slimy memory in the heads of those who would like to forget

or remember

the hardened chitinous slough that surrounds me wonders which is worse

i don’t

a voice dripping honey whispers to me 

why do you miss hating yourself so much

a dying colony of insects inside my lungs writhe

for a moment my eyes go black

and i am back

in the bathrooms

a choir ive wanted to know spills venom from above

asking why i still want razors

why I’m so fond of a memory

when my arms opened up like zippers 

and revealed secrets to me i still don’t understand

if ive seen God it was then

in holy lacerations 

if i had the guts i would vivisect myself 

and see all of God’s glory before falling from Her prison

i so badly want to know if I’m pretty on the inside

still 

once a smoker always a smoker

she says it’s stupid

but i think about the shower floor all the time

and the school bus in 5th grade

bleeding on a friend’s lunch tray who never liked me anyway

and crying louder than i would’ve like to when I was ready

It is vile how much easier it is to be alone with your hatred

than with a partner cutting it away 

we feel murdered 

we feel more hatred than we ever have

it is seeing red 

while he is seeing nothing at all 

buried deep under the earth, into the pits that fall below

a special level of hell for adults aborted 

if i am to be forcibly cut out

and cleansed of blood and piss and semen

and made real

i hope i come out beautiful

 gut lining

i have memories of lying awake beside a ghost, terrified at her closed eyes and the future

i looked at yours while we blossomed from garbage and carrion 

and my guts lined with

Rage&Nicotine&Vomit&

Disgust&Hatred&Memories&

Regret&Bile&Bathrooms&

Loss&Stares&Betrayal&Hell&

Fathers&Ghosts&Failure&

Mold&Beer&Running&Razors

leave me alone

for a moment

while a new fear grips my stomach and the meat between my ribs

of all the things i deserve, it isn’t this

i don’t deserve meat i deserve more razors

skin sloughs off me like pages

it was never mine to begin with

I’m a spotlight in a home infested with bed bugs and flies

i am filthier than they are in their wettest dreams

they start to feed on scraps of long rotten cuts and its funny!

it is charming and it is growth, it is life and birthday parties and blood

i cannot stand it, it is hard to stand one more moment

one more blistering second of razor sharp memories of a young man in a bedroom, a park,

a shower

brown rot fungi threatens my home

i bathe in boracare and concrobium 

it likes being bleached and shiny and pure

it wants to drink it like an old friend

it wants my insides to be clean 

like all good girls do

sometimes i feel intoxicating 

its not often

I’m learning to be an egotist again

it takes time

to hate oneself for being better than other vermin

submit and break into such tiny pieces inertia has no choice but to intervene

where do you go from here

britney spears is my christ 

and there will be no resurrection

but i hope she takes my eyes and my hair when she falls to the pits

my tribute to a silent shepherd, undeserving of idolization 

razors are still lining my guts

but their stings are loving tonight

i can tell

For her, miss Charlotte

colors i so love elude me

i am transparent

i was the void

and i held adoration in my chest

it bore holes like scabies under the skin

it was hot to bleed the ocean of space

all over everyone i loved

my thoughts can’t shut the fuck up anymore

when my lover sleeps there is nothing to stop them from re-burning 

those familiar circles 

how am i supposed to live like this

a wanderer of memories that feel like an others’

warped scenes of a childhood that couldn’t be mine

shouldn’t be mine

when did i lose the color of a house on fire

is it really better to be the smoke of a gender reveal party before it sets a forest ablaze?

a demon within me says yes

another is waiting for the same black smoke it has always known

i don’t phlebotomize it out under searing water any longer

i beg for it to stop screaming

for it is only screaming into a new void

where nobody that exists can hear

Charlotte isn’t living or dead

she is an idea in a mind that is tired of hating itself

and everything around it

she’s swirling in a toilet bowl

clawing desperately at the edges to keep from being flushed

please, I’m begging, she only looks like shit

i promise you’ll like her if you give her a chance 

she’s sweet and caring

she thinks about what she says, so she doesn’t hurt anyone

she is full of love and fire, she is tall and confident

her lungs are pink and her brain isn’t quite as dead as it feels

nothing is below her

she is the burned remains of a slaughterhouse and the mushrooms are just now moving in

she is a Goddess in her own right, on the precipice of life and death

growing out of a body that has been rotting for 20 years

i want to love her more than i want to cut myself open

she is allowed to grow out of me lethargically 

my bisection is nearly sedate 

for her, miss Charlotte

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

If you have any input at all PLEASE comment, I would love to hear thoughts from fellow transgender people in particular!! Ive never written anything this vulnerable but I still want to share it, something about it makes me feel the need to

tysm for reading!! <3

[pwblogarchive]

June 2007

June 4, 2007

goodbye the longest year of my life.

sometimes i want to blow my head but not in a hottopic kind of way.

i am global warming.

i am toxic.

sometimes i am glad i saved everything for a rainy day.

i am a wish.

i am under your skin.

i love you and life:

separate but never equal.

fuck it.

its all okay.

"Too young to hold on and too old to just break free and run..."

posted by xo at 8:05 PM

June 6, 2007

“its easy to get older not so much wiser”

"pooh"

"yes, piglet"

"nothing, i just wanted to be sure of you"...

posted by xo at 8:40 AM

June 7, 2007

“fuck the palm readers, i love mirror breakers.”

i have an obsession with sitting inside a confessional in church and hearing someone else spill their guts for once.

id almost take an oath for it.

get me out of new york.

this city only gets me up to making bad decisions.

love, the last boy.

posted by xo at 10:40 PM

"the christian in christian dior, damn they dont make them like they used to anymore..."

if i bashed your head in how good would the secrets be that poured out.

posted by xo at 4:00 PM

June 9, 2007

“late night snack”

the light splashes in and out. its almost violent. everything rational inside of me tells me that its the dull white of a voicemail. but my eyes are playing tricks on me. i see it purple textured velvet. the tv is blaring whatever. i can see light is sneaking in the cracks everywhere of this suite. like vermin. take a vote, the eyes have it. there is too much space here. between me and everything else in this room. i wish i had a habit bad or not just to pass the time. just trying to fight the big black sadness.

June 9, 2007

“sic transit itum”

Theres an opposite to deja vu. They call it jamais vu. Its when you meet the same people or visit places, again and again, but each time is the first time. Everybody is s stranger. Nothing is ever familiar.

This isn't learning from my mistakes anymore so much as it is damage control. I might as well be trying to paint a house that's on fire.

Posted by xoat 11:33 PM

June 11, 2007

“counting sheep and you.”

tour life has got my fingers spitting from a pornographed philosophers mind. girls with bruises in designer patterns. too full off the diet pills to be hungry for iceburg lettuce and water lite when it shows up. i trapped you in my head a long time ago. i am a treasure chest filled with trash. two orders: one near tears and one beer tears. just put em on my tab.

dont you dare tell me about true fucking love. i spit and punched and blood for it. and now i want to sleep inside of it.

June 12, 2007

“cantsleepcantsleepcantsleep”

dont you feel bad for the suicidal cat thats stuck with 9 lives.

my head only goes from zero to rage.

like a domesticated animal giving into instinct.

carved our names into a tree

and i dont care that i saw it first in some movie.

i think ill always go back and see if it sticks.

i feel like the santa maria. like i got there just after the discovery.

heads like this are gonna go extinct.

posted by xo at 5:53 AM

June 14, 2007

“lullabye.”

everybody is dropping like flies.

the truth is i am a slave to my head and my thoughts, not the other way around.

i am the hand up the skirt of this moment. over underwear, under pants.

under medicated. underwhelmed.

me and you in a not so private corner.

duke it out with our lips and teeth.

ill find the love if its there between your cavities.

dust it off.

its a cold hard ride back from where ive been.

what ive seen.

and what ive done.

or how ive come undone.

apples that make your teeth bleed

love that makes my heart coma-

keep careful count of your tears in that corner-

the market is shit.

they arent going for what they used to.

keep em in a jar-

bury them in a wine cellar.

so you can remember when you felt like just a madman.

im a trust junkie.

i need a fix.

i have so much i want to say. none of it is eloquent or poetic- referencing change and belief- lies and betrayal. how sometimes this ride doesnt feel fun anymore, when the press is controlling it. i will post when i have formulated all of the thoughts. i am tired of constantly defending this, its enough to defend it to the world- but to defend it to believers has drained me. i am only human, a kind of lousy one at that. i am 1/4 of this thing that has felt magical to me for so long. i dont want to lose it. i hope this makes some sense.

i hope i am a boomerang on its way back not some stone sinking in the sea.

thank you to everyone who has stood beside this and me- in both the light and the dark. it means more than a handshake or hug or song,,,

on a good note. the video felt genuinely fun to make. so thank you for taking part in it. the smiles are real.

goodnight.

posted by xo at 11:49 PM

June 17, 2007

“i may be just a dime store prophet. but youre a dollar store whore.”

so i guess i am on the up. thunder on runways cant even kill the boredom. the tips of my fingers bruised from the letters on the typewriter. but if feels so much more final than this. and that is why i love it. and i said the last time i was put in handcuffs it was over a can of spraypaint. she said 'someday i want to spraypaint with you". and that is why i love her. in a backyard, lying on the couch on a sunday kind of way. one that is not explained or thought out. but runs up the back of your legs to the back of your head and crashes out of my mouth whenever you show up. what keeps your head together when you feel the tilt and spin of the world. what keeps those club jaws grinding in between the trips to the bathroom. the best week never. theyre taking stabs at me while im leaning and yawning, but sometimes YOU get through. pinpricks become blackholes and i feel my moods pulled into them. whats up with my obsession with your obsessions. been writing so much lately the paper is starting to add up. theres a part of me that wants to take a match to it sometimes late at night- the same part inside that cant walk next to balconies for fear that i am going to jump off of them.

i can make a mess of anything. but its strange to say when a stranger can bring you peace. you just swaying in the heat of the meet and greet. a face and a voice i dont know. just a tap on the shoulder and a "keep your chin up" from you. but there was a kindness there that brought me back. thank you.

June 19, 2007

so obvious but: i fucking hate this sugar free low carb diet world. i want the wild fucking west. i want love in handcuffs. i want more scars. i dont want this fucking future. meth bake sales to lower global warming. sweat shop work to burn calories. i hope this ship burns before it sinks. i hope this planes air goes bad before it crashes. i dont want this to be an affair anymore, i want to walk down the aisle with catastrophe. lets go to hell just for the weekend. your happiness is making me miserable. waste the time of my life. and if that mocking bird wont sing, im gonna buy you a diamond ring.

i only feel in love on the stage and on the side of a pillow. everything in between just makes me wish myself to pieces. please dont put me back together, keep me in a box under your bed.

June 20, 2007

i hate explaining my own interpretations to people. id rather you come up with your own- but this one seems to be pretty glaring....

there is a distinct difference between the idea "seasons change, but people dont" and the idea "everyone changes". this difference is simply the connotations of the two. in the former: the idea is brought forth that there are certain parts of you that are inherently there. forever. whether they are a part of your DNA or how you were raised- they are so deep and solidly rooted they cannot change. to me these are your ideals, your morality, your internal monologue. they remain constant though are defined differently as your mind and heart mature. to simplify, people who are kind have something switched on within them that will not change. on the other extreme malicious people will always be malicious. not to say there isnt gray area between the two- where someone who is kind can act maliciously and vice versa. obviously there are more rare examples where something can impact someone in such a tremendous way that it will cause a deep change in them. these remain constant through celebrity, through tragedy, through happiness, through loss. i can feel certain things in myself and ways that i know i will always feel- no matter what else changes around me. if you read my actual diary entries from when i was 14 to now, while the language and subject matter has changed- and hopefully has gotten a bit better. my subconscious impacting me and my decisions seems to remain faithful. however, what was meant by the latter "everyone changes, i used to be tiny", is the idea of growing up. honestly, i am not who i was a year ago or 5 years ago or 10 years ago. i think i would hate myself if i never changed. this is an experiment more than anything. if new cultures, people, and art didnt impact me and change me than this would be fraudulent. we expect any of our fans who have been with us from the beginning have grown and changed. i hope most of these changes are for the better, though i know i am human and make mistakes. sometimes i turn right when i should have turned left. but anything you loved or hated about me from the beginning have not changed- these are the things that make us each different from each other and either magnetize or polarize from others.

June 22, 2007

“the AMERICAN dayDREAMer - die-a-tribe”

when they rip the tickets i hope im on the ride with you. sleepless in seattle and pretty much everywhere else- wont bore you with the details, but actually i probably will. you dont have to be a train to come off track. dont have to have feathers to flee the coop. i dont gotta tell you about my adventures, i keep them in my head and forget them and remember them every once in awhile. i watch them on projector screens while you are talking about your magazine or countdown. were flypaper baby- but nothings sticks. molded from teflon and porcelain. doesnt take much shining around for you to want to get back under that rock you crawled out from. i found a point when i was searching for pointlessness. i found a love when i was looking for madness. gonna save your sweat for when we get to heaven. autocratic hearts and throats- tongues loving on the skin and words- listening too carefully and robbing them of their beauty. you only think im blooming when im wilting on the outside. dying to be dearly forgotten, not wrongly remembered. florescent yellow in the toilet bowl. i love holding strangers hands, pulses matching, beating just off the p.a. speakers. you dont have to sell me on how this isnt real, cause my guts are whats in deep not my head or my heart. sometimes i get the feeling when i walk into a room like im in some movie from the forties where ive been shipwrecked and marooned on a desert island, only to return to a life that is no longer mine. or maybe just a raft adrift, except i slept through the s.o.s. calls. the caveman frozen in ice analogy works as well, only i am too lazy to transcribe it. im projecting. im bobbing and weaving. im deflecting. only cos i want to mean more than all of this. i lost it at woodrow and nichols, brakes ground to my teeth. just a kid strung out on neon lights

June 26, 2007

dear man in the mirror: get over yourself.

i love it when people wonder how its gonna end.

my right hand is fucked.

boxers fracture im pretty sure and a cut down the front that we super glue every night.

if i shake you yr hand with my left thats why.

im clumsy-

with both actions and words.

what happens in vegas stay in vegas except for when brendon hit me with a bowling ball.

deaths just the other bookend on this thing, so who cares.

posted by xo at 12:28 AM

June 28, 2007

The world is your oyster, what does that mean? That I'm just grinding sand waiting to be sucked down by box dye blondes and chased with hynotik. .... dumb-luck, but there's no such thing as smart luck. Think It got us kicked out of vegas. Happy as a clam but how happy can clams be? Dreaming of being steamed or robbed of their only worldly possession, pearls, sounds like a total soccer mom fantasy- only with upscale spas and mugger fantasies. I am a starfish waiting to regenerate a point. Till then, I am kind of pointless. I got a bad rap for not caring but I still pay taxes and wear my seat-belt in back seats- though I'm considering changes. I am a fixer-upper. Feeling the buzz but too far off the hive for any of the other bees to get it. And man I gotta tell you, the years are like friends in your old hometown. They stop being so friendly. They only want to reminisce. And no matter what they keep moving and changing you whether you want them to or not. The doctor says I need to stop talking with my fist and do more talking with my mouth. I told him I was never too great at that either- that it was usually my mouths talking that had to get my fist involved in the conversation. He said well then I had better start throwing a good left or hope I can play bass one handed. Neither seems too reasonable right now. Thinking maybe I should just stop all together. I order every movie in hotel rooms just so I don't feel alone. Its a very home alone moment for me, you know without the holiday music and cute culkin looks, but I'm hoping you are catching my drift anyway. Yes, for those who wonder there are other journals online. Sometimes I kind of leave bread-crumbs to get home to them for you. Sometimes I just space out. I also have a pen and paper diary and some letters and what not that I have been typing on my typewriter. I've been working on other visual art too, nothing I like well enough to show anyone. Its more for my own piece of mind. Drive, fuck, and sleep safe. I'd like to know that you awaken in the morning with out a headache or blurry eyes. Love is in the air, just get ourselves the right equipment to grab it. Its like moths headed for the brightest light, which aint me. But I'm ready to sweat and run and get there. And just cause you got a scar on your wrist or a charcoal stomach, were supposed to get eachother? Cause I don't really even get me. I'm too busy calling everyone else crazy- in these late slurred debates on how everyone else is not exactly like us- to worry about you calling me crazy. Tho all the other rhymes for crazy work on me lazy, hazy, etc.

someone has some great pictures of this past week. if i find any, ill post some.

June 28, 2007

from pete's friends or enemies blog

June 28, 2007

“the pretend”

i never really appreciate the compliments people give me. i feel like people say them because they feel like they have to- "youre hot"- except in my head i dont see myself that way so it doesnt mean a thing. "you played great tonight"- except i probably didnt because its not really my thing. "i love your words"- except they only make sense to me out of patricks mouth. "i love you"- but you wouldnt if you knew me. and so on.

but the other day my friend told me: "you have an incredible sense of the pretend". and it made me shake. just in the way that its all i believe. i dont care too much for the ins and outs of the world we are inside. i like the one in my head far better. it is not chronological or pragmatic. but it meant alot to me.

as did this...

so i cant fully remember writing this entry. that is because my brain is scattered and resets all of the time. the only thing i save room for are faces and memories. maybe it is a collection of entries. but apparantly someone cared enough to remember or patch together an entry from a year ago... so thank you (i think they made little changes or additions here and there). its funny because i am in vancouver all over again, it rings so much more true now.

"and like florence nightingale and nurses through history. we fall in love with those were protecting and curing. we dream big and then wake up everyday and hunch over computer screens. and everytime we let our fingers go it amounts to a little more than the worlds smallest violin paying just for you. here i am half asleep between vancouver and salt lake city. can't remember the last time i had a conversation with you that wasn't from between the dotted lines of the highway. i don't want sheep or parrots. i feel like we have a vested interest in each other. it's love of sorts. you were there in the beginning, you've stuck around when everyone else climbed aboard, i hope you're there when it's gone. for all the times we've come off course, you have always served as a compass. steady. unforgiving. at times hard to find. but you were always there. this probablly isn't worth your time to read. but as long as you do we'll keep playing small, secret shows. we'll keep writing this. we'll keep ignoring what they say. this is we- everyone- the haters, the newbies, the so, the ckk, ock. a collective [[sigh of relief]]. everyone always asks what's the cure of growing up? this is it. it's you. the smiling faces screaming and 'doging' security in the front row. the kid that waits outside after the show until their hands are blue just to say hi. don't ever let me fucking forget it. we don't deserve this. but now that we got it. we will do our best to keep it like a kiss in the corner of our mouths. for our heads to your speakers, to your ears, to your mouths, to you, your fingers, to us, to our mistakes, to our heads and back. the new songs are coming. what if for one moment we became everyone we dreamed we could be? there is a buzzing from outside of this darkened room. as though if i walked down the hallway past their sleeping faces, red in the warmth of the afternoon. i would walk into the first day of my life. light gleaming off the windshield- like the wizard of oz after the color washes over everything. like i could start all over again- only with the same faces that are imprinted on my heart forever. and my same bed. and dogs. and ex- loves. and friends. save your troubles for another day, they wern't at the end of the hallway. baby boy, you're too busy writing tragedy to notice. we're shaping up to do big things. and you're nothing special. except.. what if you are? "

posted by xo at 8:01 PM

June 29, 2007

i never really appreciate the compliments people give me. i feel like people say them because they feel like they have to- "youre hot"- except in my head i dont see myself that way so it doesnt mean a thing. "you played great tonight"- except i probably didnt because its not really my thing. "i love your words"- except they only make sense to me out of patricks mouth. "i love you"- but you wouldnt if you knew me. and so on.

but the other day my friend told me: "you have an incredible sense of the pretend". and it made me shake. just in the way that its all i believe. i dont care too much for the ins and outs of the world we are inside. i like the one in my head far better. it is not chronological or pragmatic. but it meant alot to me.

as did this...

so i cant fully remember writing this entry. that is because my brain is scattered and resets all of the time. the only thing i save room for are faces and memories. maybe it is a collection of entries. but apparantly someone cared enough to remember or patch together an entry from a year ago... so thank you (i think they made little changes or additions here and there). its funny because i am in vancouver all over again, it rings so much more true now.

"and like florence nightingale and nurses through history. we fall in love with those were protecting and curing. we dream big and then wake up everyday and hunch over computer screens. and everytime we let our fingers go it amounts to a little more than the worlds smallest violin paying just for you. here i am half asleep between vancouver and salt lake city. can't remember the last time i had a conversation with you that wasn't from between the dotted lines of the highway. i don't want sheep or parrots. i feel like we have a vested interest in each other. it's love of sorts. you were there in the beginning, you've stuck around when everyone else climbed aboard, i hope you're there when it's gone. for all the times we've come off course, you have always served as a compass. steady. unforgiving. at times hard to find. but you were always there. this probablly isn't worth your time to read. but as long as you do we'll keep playing small, secret shows. we'll keep writing this. we'll keep ignoring what they say. this is we- everyone- the haters, the newbies, the so, the ckk, ock. a collective [[sigh of relief]]. everyone always asks what's the cure of growing up? this is it. it's you. the smiling faces screaming and 'doging' security in the front row. the kid that waits outside after the show until their hands are blue just to say hi. don't ever let me fucking forget it. we don't deserve this. but now that we got it. we will do our best to keep it like a kiss in the corner of our mouths. for our heads to your speakers, to your ears, to your mouths, to you, your fingers, to us, to our mistakes, to our heads and back. the new songs are coming. what if for one moment we became everyone we dreamed we could be? there is a buzzing from outside of this darkened room. as though if i walked down the hallway past their sleeping faces, red in the warmth of the afternoon. i would walk into the first day of my life. light gleaming off the windshield- like the wizard of oz after the color washes over everything. like i could start all over again- only with the same faces that are imprinted on my heart forever. and my same bed. and dogs. and ex- loves. and friends. save your troubles for another day, they wern't at the end of the hallway. baby boy, you're too busy writing tragedy to notice. we're shaping up to do big things. and you're nothing special. except.. what if you are? “

June 30, 2007

I have a new girlfriend

The iphone.

posted by xo at 4:46 PM

[shadyzombiemaker]

i just need another deep one. and maybe. maybe everything will be fine. maybe ill bleed out. im. im done. im done with messing everything up. I. I dont feel Worth anything.

Im done with everything. Im done with myself. Why would anyone like me. why should they.

Just let me rot again. let me be slient. these stupid pills make me spill out my organs and i hurt everyone.

hasnt been awhile since ive done it for sadness or the lack of feeling. but the mania is running out.

truly. i fucked up.

if anyone wants to go deeper. youre gonna go as deep as you wanted. in filth and nothingness.

theres no concern theres nothing here. You hurt. and all you rely on is being like this because who are you. What have you become.

You are an object, the strings aren't gonna be pulled, youre alone. With your feelings of nothingness and filth.

No one can help you. you need to do it yourself. Youre all you have.

Youre body is like this forever. You cant fade them.

im a degenerate scumbag. and this is the end of a person. Im all hollow with blood and guts.