#maybe it y'all paid me for my fucking time i would be more willing to follow your arbitrary stupid nonsense rules. btw

[binch-i-might-be]

recently I've noticed that I clench my jaw a lot at work and I've noticed this because obviously while doing that I also grind my teeth and I do not Want to grind my teeth as I don't want to damage them

idk when or why this started but like an hour ago at register. I realised. what was up with that. because I got so fucking mad that I clenched my jaw but while at the same time trying not to grind my teeth and it's the exact same motion I used to do when I was a young teenager. like 13/14. because back then I used to bite my hands when I got too fucking mad/overwhelmed. (I was also That Kid that would punch walls lmao)

now I know that was a kind of self harm and I find it oddly hilarious that I've been having this urge for the first time in years,,,,, because of this fucking job

get yourself a job that will make you want to self harm 😩❤️

[sanguineterrain]

THE PT2 OF REPORTER! READER AND JASON OH.MY.GOD I LOVEEEED IT could you pleaaase do a pt3? 🙏 i need them to kiss already 😩 maybe someone from the batfam or even roy go to jason's house and be like ??????who are you????? to reader please💕 i love your writing, i hope you have a nice day💖

here it is! hope y'all enjoy :) part 1 | part 2

jason todd x gn!reporter!reader. tw: gunshot wounds, injured jason, nightwing cameo, patching up, kissing. almost 2.2k

****

You're being a snoop.

In your defense, you're a reporter with too much time on your hands in the Red Hood's apartment. It's impossible not to snoop.

It's also been four days since you moved in. You kind of feel like a crazy ex, hunting for proof that Hood's cheating on you.

So far, you've found nothing except for a worrying amount of hidden firearms. There's a handgun in the toaster. What the hell.

You've been trying to work on the case, but it's hard to investigate when you're in witness protection. Hood is out right now chasing a lead. He had said not to worry about it, but how can you not? How can you not worry about him?

You glance at the clock. 9:24. Hood was supposed to be home half an hour ago. He said he was chasing a lead. You didn't want him to go alone, but you're also pretty shit at avoiding assassins, so.

You've ordered Chinese food from the select list of restaurants Hood said you can order from. He left a wad of cash for you to use. When you paid, you had a moment's pause.

Is the Red Hood your sugar vigilante?

Hm. Not something you're willing to explore right now.

You chew a nail and pick at a crab rangoon. Hood miraculously (or, maybe not so much, considering his stalker tendencies) chose your favorite Chinese restaurant. Usually, you'd have gobbled up your dinner by now. But you can't stop looking at the clock.

The floorboards in the hall creak. You're up instantly, and you go to the door. You wait for Hood's confirmation text that it's him outside. It doesn't come.

There's hushed voices. You run back to the toaster and grab the gun. You have no idea how to use it, but it can't be that hard, right? Point and shoot?

The door opens. You aim the gun. Right in Nightwing's face.

"Whoa," he says, lifting his free arm. His other holds up Hood, who's bleeding from his shoulder and thigh. Holy fuck.

"Safety's on, smarty," Hood slurs, more than a little out of it. "We gotta fix y'posture."

"Oh my God," you say, dropping the gun and racing to help Hood.

Nightwing takes a step back. Hood grunts as he's dragged along.

"Uh, who are you?" Nightwing asks.

"Gotham Gazette," you say on instinct.

"They're w'me," Hood mumbles. "Pu' me down, Wing."

"Why do you have a civilian in your apartment?" Nightwing asks, helping Hood onto the couch.

You run into your bedroom and return with two pillows to support Hood's head.

"You got shot?" you ask, voice going high. "What the actual fuck, Red?!"

"Hood, why do you have a civilian in your apartment?"

Hood groans. "Can we save questions for th'end?"

"Jesus," Nightwing says. "You're ridiculous."

"That's what I said," you grumble, removing Hood's equipment.

"Great. There's two 'f ya. This is why I didn't wanna come here," Hood says. "My reporter gets nervous, Dickface."

"You coming home shot would make any reasonable person nervous, you jerk," you say, scowling.

"Oh my God," you whisper. "God, Red, what did you—"

You peel back Hood's jacket. His undershirt is sticky with blood and singed skin. Your first real, live gunshot wound.

"Wing's got it, sweet," Hood says. "Go on, y'don't gotta see this. 'S gross, I know."

"I'm not going anywhere," you say firmly. You look at Nightwing. "Do you have a problem with me being here?"

"Well, a civilian shouldn't—"

"Good. What do you need from me?"

"Go have a cup'a tea," Hood says.

You glare. "I wasn't talking to you, Helmet Boy."

"Ever hear'a bedside manner?"

"No. Hence why I'm a reporter."

Hood slumps against the couch. That worries you more—if he doesn't have the energy to fight back, his injuries must be bad.

Anxiously, you look at Nightwing. He presses his lips together and then makes a decision.

"Okay. I need hot water and the first aid kit under the microwave."

You nod. "Got it."

You fetch his requests and return. Nightwing gets to work on Hood's thigh first. You hover, finally settling near Hood's head. He's in his undershirt, his tactical pants, and his boots. You touch the side of his helmet. He turns his head to you.

"Didn't I tell ya t'beat it?" he asks.

"Can't get rid of me that easily." You look at Nightwing. "Is it bad?"

"His thigh isn't bad. Bullet missed anything major and went clean through. I'm just patching him up. Gave him some painkillers. Gonna be a bit before they kick in."

You watch Nightwing pull a needle through Hood's skin for half a second before you turn away. Hood grunts.

"Don't gotta stay," he says quietly. "Lotta blood."

"You're hurt," you say. You don't know what else to say, how to put your urgency into words. Physically, you can't leave Hood's side.

"'M tough," he mumbles. "Toughest guy on the block."

"Dumbest too," Nightwing says, cutting the thread.

"Look who's talkin'."

Their dynamic is odd. Not what you expected, considering how empty the outside of Hood's fridge is. You couldn't find any other photos of friends or family.

"Alright." Nightwing sighs and shifts over. "Now the shoulder. Hood, did it go through?"

"'Fraid not, Blue. Gonna hafta deep dive."

You make a weak noise in your throat. Nightwing pinches Hood's side. Hood winces.

"No, no. I was jokin'. Stupid joke. Sorry."

"I should've never let you go out alone," you say.

"Let me? 'M a stubborn man. Even the Bat can't make me do shit."

"Understatement of the century," Nightwing says, studying the wounds. "You're gonna need to take off your helmet for this one."

They both look at you. You puff up.

"I'm not—"

"Look," Nightwing says gently. "I know you're—"

"Blindfold! You can blindfold me." You get up and look around. "What can we use for a..."

"I think I have a black tie in the top middle drawer," Hood says.

You race to his room and race back with the tie. It smells like the same lavender detergent as your sheets. Nightwing and Hood are whispering when you return; they stop talking as soon as you enter. You pretend not to notice.

"'Kay. Nightwing?" You hand him the tie. "Would you like to do the honors?"

"Weirdest patching up I've ever done," Nightwing says.

"I've had weirder," Hood says.

Nightwing ties the tie around your head. "Okay?"

You nod. "Good."

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Hood asks.

You roll your eyes. "I don't know, Red."

"Don' roll ya eyes a'me."

You raise your brows. "How did you—"

"Magic. Do it, Wing."

There's some rustling, a click, and then you can hear Hood's breathing, just like you did a few nights ago.

"This is gonna hurt," Nightwing warns.

Hood hums. "Nothing I can't handle."

The sound of a bullet being dug out of flesh is one you never want to hear again. Hood's strangled groan is a million times worse.

"Almost done, Little Wing," Nightwing whispers. "I'm sorry. Almost done."

"Red?" You inch forward, searching for his hand. He takes it and squeezes.

"'M fi–ine," he says, sounding very much not fine. "Ah, shit. Ha-hate shoulder wounds."

You move closer, cradling his whole arm. Hood grunts. He strokes your knuckles with his thumb.

"'S okay," he says. "'M okay."

His breathing returns to normal after several minutes. You hold his hand the entire time. There's some rustling, and you hear Nightwing stand.

"He'll be okay. He just needs to rest."

"What can I do?" you ask, blindfold still on.

"Well—"

"Nothin'," Hood says. "I'm peachy. Just needa sleep it off."

You whip your head around. "You got shot!"

"Not my first bullet and won't be my last. Here, lemme put on my helmet—"

"Hood, no! My God, you're insane."

"You're realizing this now?" he asks. "'S fine, I can do it—"

"Okay!" Nightwing says loudly. "I'm gonna go. It was nice to meet you. I'm glad Hood has a..."

"Reporter," Hood finishes.

"...Right. A reporter who... cares so much about him. Uh-huh."

It's quiet for a moment. You know they're having a conversation, but you can't see them.

"Don't tell B," Hood says.

Nightwing laughs. "Oh, you're in the shit. A reporter in your apartment and two bullet wounds? You owe me big."

"We're working a case together, and I'm not trying to expose Hood," you say. "I don't even care who you two are."

That is a lie, but whatever. Vigilantes are a paranoid breed. You can relate.

Nightwing sighs. "Alright, okay. I won't say anything. Make sure he doesn't bleed out. If anything changes, call me on his phone."

"I will. Thank you for helping him."

"What I'm here for," Nightwing says, and he sounds like he means it. "Hood?"

"'M fine, Wing. Go home to your girl."

"Ahem. Right. Good night."

The window creaks and then it's just you and Hood. You make yourself comfortable on the floor next to the couch, blindfold still on. You don't mind the dark. Touching Hood, you feel safe.

"Red?"

"Hmm?"

"Oh. Thought you were asleep."

"No, but Wing's lecture had me gettin' there." He squeezes your hand. "Y'okay?"

"Yes."

You lace your fingers together. Hood's hand is cold. You hold it close and try to warm it up.

"Take that off," he says. "I'll put the helmet on."

"Don't be an idiot. You'll jostle your stitches."

"Bossy, bossy..."

You sigh. "Red, whatever you did tonight—"

"Y'know I won't let anything happen to you, right?" he says. "Right?"

"What if you'd died tonight, Hood?"

You eyes are damp. He squeezes your hand again.

"I wouldn't. Not goin' anywhere."

"You have no control over that, and making such promises is outrageous. Why wouldn't you get proper medical attention?" you ask.

"'Cause that requires Batman, and he and I had a tiff."

"A tiff."

"Mmhm."

It sounds like more than that, but you drop it.

"Red, I was so worried."

"Smarty, th' others would take care of ya if anything hap—"

"I was worried about you! I was worried you weren't coming back, Red."

Silence.

"I... I care about you. I mean, yeah, I care about the case, and I wanna bring in the bad guys, but shit, Red. Not at your expense."

He lets go of your hand. Then, a finger dances across your cheek. You gasp.

"Y'really trust me, huh?" he asks quietly.

"Of course." You swallow. "Hood, of course I trust you."

"Shit." A thumb on your lip. "Shit, smarty pie. Why y'trust me so easy?"

His accent is thick with exhaustion. You love it.

"You have a nice voice," you say unthinkingly.

"Goddamnit." He huffs. "You gotta go t'bed, sweetheart."

Your heart pounds. "Why?"

"'Cause otherwise I'm gonna kiss ya. And this whole thing is gonna go t'shit. And you're my favorite reporter."

You lean in. "Red—"

"No." He catches your cheek with his hand. "Bad reporter. Breach a' ethics."

"I'll let you," you say. "Do it, I won't stop you."

"This is the adrenaline talkin'. You were scared, that's why."

You shake your head. You've never been more sure of anything. But you have to make sure that he's sure.

You grab his wrist. "Are you thinking clearly? Are you high?"

"Wing gave me one painkiller, sweet. Takes at least three t'knock me out."

And that weighs you down for a moment, remembering that Hood isn't what you thought he was. He isn't a villain. He's a man who's known unfathomable amounts of pain. He's a man who's killed men. Who'd kill for you.

A man made of flesh and blood and scars and dark curls and a warm, warm neck and... and...

"Shit," Hood says.

And then he kisses you. For a second. Then he pulls back.

"Sorry," he whispers against your mouth. "Sorry, I—"

"No."

You pull him back, cupping the back of his neck. He makes a tiny noise. You start to speak, to worry, but Hood keeps you still with a hand on your arm.

His mouth is hot, a little uncoordinated, but sweet all the same. You're careful to follow his lead. His lips are chapped. He has a little scruff; you stroke his face. It suits him. Anything would.

You cannot turn away from this. From him. That is certain.

You pull away for breath and so you don't undo Nightwing's hard work. You listen to Hood's harsh breathing, pleased that you're the reason for it.

"Wait," he says. "Wait, l-lemme—"

Hood starts to pull off your blindfold. You grab it instantly.

"Red, no. Don't show me just because we kissed."

"But y'don't-don't even know what I look like. How d'you know I'm somebody y'wanna kiss?"

"Because I do. And I will kiss you in the dark for as long as you want me to. Don't do it just because you're afraid of losing me otherwise."

He draws circles on your cheek with his thumb. "Trusting me like that 's crazier than anything I've done, smarty."

"Well, don't we make quite the pair?"

"What, crazy?"

You smile. "I was thinking brave. But it is a fine line."

[cryptometaphor]

ACP cuck: The problem with you ultra leftists is you all actually despise revolution. You're never going to win white working class people over with "actually I want things to get worse for colonialists!"

Sarah: The blood of third world children can at the very least be paid back in your discomfort white boy.

Me: That's why we gotta sell them the rope they hang themselves with subtlety. Stalin Funko-Pops.

Sarah: Babe that's disgusting lol

Me: That's the point. Like, the economy improves for better countries, better cultures, and and dumbass incels are clapping their hands over some ethot sticking a Stalin Funko-Pop up her twat.

ACP cuck: And yet you call us the fascists. You're just exporting fascism.

Me: I'll be honest with you guys. I don't fucking care either way. The economy is fake, the only workers are lumpen, the tech is useless. Every facet of western society is just tiresome. Ultimately I don't care if y'all get nuked, starve to death, work forever in coal mines, the only thing I care about is this girl right here.

Sarah: That is some heavy handed hard-right individualism but awwww lol.

Me: Everything about you is perfect hon. And this society does not provide the means for me or anyone to give you what you deserve. I would plant a garden of flowers, some motherfucker wants to mow it down because the homeowners association says it's not up to code, I want to give you a legacy of children who love us, they make us send them to those clown schools and crush their spirits, the only reason I'm alive right now is you. And of course my unyielding rage.

Sarah: Baby... that's how I feel. I can't stand these infantile nazbols lol

ACP cuck: Nazbols?! You two are just nihilists! Like Jim, you say you wanna give Sarah all this stuff. How are you going to do that in a broken economy and destabilizing society? Cultural Marxism isn't real Marxism. It's liberalism.

Me: Ok imma bout to say something that makes me "lose frame" so all my incel homies are gonna lecture me about it, however the truth is I'm fucking pissed. I know I'm smart, beautiful, talented, cunning, ruthless, AMAZING

ACP cuck: wow... lol

Me: And yet I'm a fucking bum. I know it. Sarah loves me despite it. I know that too. But she shouldn't have too. She should have that perfect life, and I don't know how to give it to her. Why should anyone, anywhere, have anything, if she can't? If I can't?

ACP cuck: Again, that's liberalism.

Sarah: Well more so individualism.

ACP cuck: Whatever. My point is you should care about your fellow man. You should care about humanity in general. Jim you're the prime example of what alienation does to a motherfucker. You cannot see past what is good for you. Even Sarah. Who I'm not saying you don't love, you clearly do... Is just a proxy for all the things you need to convince yourself that you're a good person. Because humans need each other and you've genuinely trained yourself not to need anyone as an anti-social parasite. A sociopath. Like, that's why you've had so many failed relationships. Because you're longing for connection but can't bring yourself to admit maybe being an asshole to everybody isn't the answer. You think it's justice, it's just cruelty, you're being cruel to yourself.

Me: If there were anyone I'd be willing to admit maybe I'm in the wrong for, it's this wonderful bitch right here lol.

Sarah: (makes this weird noise)

Me: wth was that lol

Sarah: You are so fucking adorable yet say the most reactionary things ever lol. What's so special about me? Like, I'm mid-AF.

ACP cuck: Glad you said it and not me.

Me: Mid-AF? You're beautiful!

Sarah: Well yeah you think...

Me: No. Like, it isn't "oh man I wanna fuck her", I do, all the time. But "God has to exist to create something so perfect."

Sarah: You're blowing your hookah smoke up my ass but go on lol

Me: You're smart, you're aggressive, you're opinionated, you're absolutely ruthless to people and I love it.

ACP cuck: "wow, she's such a bitch. She's almost as evil as me..."

Me: You're God damn right. Life out there is hard, it's not worth it most of the time. Just dumbass people saying dumbass things. Every moment of their lives is a fake and gay psyop against themselves. No virtues, no ambitions, it's all for show. All of it. But Sarah is so genuine, and despite how people bitch and whine how mean and racist she is, she cares. Why she cares I don't know. But she cares about you, all of you, like a mother. Not like my parents who don't know how to give a fuck about anyone. But like a real mother. She lashes out because she wants more for all of you, where as I don't. I hate you. I could never forgive you for the things you've done to me or her. I will make sure you're suffering is cosmic like I have no mouth and I must scream, and you'll wear your shit grin and do it with a smile while you experience an agony only religion could begin to describe.

ACP cuck: The fuck did I do to you lol

Me: When you say some retarded gay shit like "you're not entitled to love" or "you can function without this or that" you know what I'm going through, and you think it's funny. It's gonna be fucking hilarious when you're working ten hours a day for pennies you fucking western piglet.

ACP cuck: Nigga I didn't say any of that. I'm sure your exes did or something and yes many people are stupid as hell. So you just wanna hurt everyone ever just to make sure you hurt the people who deserve to hurt?

Me: YES all need to hurt. Except Sarah.

ACP cuck: Sarah is gonna hurt too! Sarah is hurting and you're contributing to it!

Me: Out of a sense of justice. And the neat part? Sarah will forgive me. She'll still love me despite it. That's why she'll always be the better person and I just want the money and lavish status to spoil her so I can pretend I'm better than I actually am. And meanwhile she's the one ridiculed and bullied. Deep down Sarah is a good person. Deep down I'm not.

Sarah: Baby... You're not a bad person.

ACP cuck: I mean he pretty much is lol. I'll invent a new-term just for him. Serial-killer socialism.

Me: Based. I even got an anthem for it

Sarah: lol! You can't insult Jim!

ACP cuck: I was making an observation

Me: (mockingly imitating his voice) "I was making an observation" observe yo momma's fat titties

Sarah: LOL

ACP cuck: You know, I didn't have to let you speak. You can leave my mother out of your mouth.

Me: Will Smith over here... "Keep my mom's name out yo God damn mouth!"

Sarah: LOL omg I actually fell out of my chair lol

Me: Ya see that right there? That's Marxist value of labor.

ACP cuck: What? How?

Me: Look at her laughing. It makes me feel like the wealthiest man in the world to be smiling.

ACP cuck: Than you should strive to make society better to give her reason to smile.

Me: I'd rather make her smile at your momma's titties expense. OH NOOOOES THE MILKIES, THEY'RE EVERYWHERE don't worry momma I'll suck'em (slurp noises)

Sarah: LOL WTF

ACP cuck: Jesus Christ you are a spiritual liberal. Like you really are a Satanist lol

[drwcn]

NEW!

《 Without Envy 》 storyboard 11 - concubine/sleeper agent!wwx & prince!lwj

Other snippets and storyboards can be found on [Master List]

Lan Wangji knew his Uncle and the imperial court and the elders of the royal family were never going to be okay with him making Wei Wuxian one of his concubines. The servant status is one thing, but that's not the crux of the issue. The issue is that there's already a rumour circulating about how WWX is a wily fox whose sole purpose in life is to seduce and befuddle the prince. Xue Yang: quite a reputation you've cultivated for yourself. WWX: *kuzo's meme*.........ah yes, everything is all coming together now.

Lan Wangji is a smart boy though. He knows how to get what he wants. As Wei Ying inched towards full recovery from his whipping, the autumn hunt is upon them.

The autumn hunt in the royal hunts ground was a competition. Anyone invited could compete if they chose to, and of Lan Wangji's household, Jin Ziyan, Luo Qingyang and himself were in attendance. Mianmian, being his concubine and a woman, had two escorts/chaperones accompanying her for propriety, but flashed him dazzling smiles of gratitude upon her horse.

"I'm very grateful, dianxia, for your allowing this indulgence." "Of course," replied Lan Wangji from his saddle. "My Luo-furen should have what she wants." "Dianxia, ce-wangfu." Qin Su approached them and curtsied in proper form. "I wish you all best of luck in the hunt." Then to Mianmian, she said quietly, "Be careful, Qingyang." Jin Ziyan paid the two women no mind, but Lan Wangji saw the hand Qin Su had clandestinely wrapped around one of Mianmian's booted ankles. Oh...well, this is certainly a positive development.

The rest of the noble women not participating in the hunt rested in their tented pavilions, with Meng Yao as their hostess. They drank tea and ate sweets and enjoyed their free time to themselves. Meng Yao noted Wei Wuxian's absence from Jiang Yanli's side, as did several other noble women, but Jiang Yanli only smiled and said, "A-Xian has been living at my father's manor for several years and is an excellent marksman. Dianxia thought it a waste if he were kept from participating."

The truth of the matter is like this: when Wei Wuxian cheated and lied his way into Jiang-fu, he'd told Jiang Fengmian and his family that he'd lived most of his life by the charity of a hunter's family, and so had trained to hunt game in the wild. After the hunter's family died of some infectious illness that plagued the region, Wei Wuxian had supposed made his way into the city and found employment as a shop boy. He couldn't reveal that he'd been trained in martial arts, but there is no need to hide his skill as an archer. At first, it was so he could use archery as a common interest to get close to Jiang Fengmian's son Jiang Cheng, but Wei Wuxian soon realized that it could also be used as a way for Lan Wangji to cultivate further interest.

"Lan Zhan..." Wei Wuxian stroked the snout of Lan Wangji's beloved ferghana horse and grinned. "You really want me to ride him?" "Mn." "You...won't be mad then, if I win?" Wei Wuxian's grin turned slightly wicked. "If I beat you?" Lan Wangji's brow twitched with interest, "Not at all. That's rather what I'm counting on." "Yeah? And why is that?" "Because while I can claim victory with the sword -" "- Very modest, you." Wei Wuxian teased, grinning, which earned him a subtle little glare. "- amongst my cousins, my marksmanship is not unrivalled. You may have a greater chance of winning with him. Huangxiong promised that whoever wins today's hunt will be granted one wish." A wish? Wei Wuxian mulled over this information. His own mission turned and circled in his mind. If I could but gain access to... ... Of course, Wei Wuxian glanced at the prince and the saw the light in his eyes. Lan Wangji is probably thinking of something entirely different.

And so it was inevitable that went the count of the hunt came in, Wei Wuxian's name was at the top. Lan Qiren's little mustache just about flew off his face the way he scrunched it up in displeasure.

Gentries, nobles, dukes and princes watched with envy and shock as a servant came forth to accept the Emperor's reward.

"Jiang-xiong," Nie Huaisang leaned close to Jiang Cheng while they watched from the sidelines as Wei Wuxian bowed before the Emperor. "Why do you look so smug?" Jiang Cheng played with the end of an arrow with an air of mock innocence, "I don't know what you're talking about?" Nie Huaisang pulled at the leather of his riding attire in discomfort - this was so not his style - and tsked, "I know you, Jiang-xiong, you're not subtle. What did you do?" "I was the one who told Lan Wangi that Wei Wuxian is an excellent archer when I went to visit Hanguang-fu." Nie Huaisang understood instantly, "Oh....oh I see..." "What? Don't judge me! You know what they did to him. String up like some unruly animal and whipped. I never agreed with my mother's plan to send him along with my sister anyway. Wei Wuxian may be lowborn but..." Jiang Cheng scowled. "He's too good for them. For Lan Wangji. He's clearly not going to do right by Wei Wuxian. I won't stand to see a perfectly good man wasted as some prissy prince's concubine instead of being where he could put his real skills to use." "Shhhhh, ancestors, Jiang-xiong, keep your voice down! Words like that are a great dishonor against bixia, you'll lose your head!" Jiang Cheng shrugged.

Xue Yang *at a later times*: so lemme get this straight, you won the Hunt, and then Lan Xichen asked you what you want as reward - WWX - as a good little servant I said "I want for nothing that wangye and Jiang-zhuzi hasn't already provided me" - XY *rolls his eyes* Right. And then Jiang Wanyin came out of nowhere and said - "陛下，魏婴乃微臣之家生子，是前管家魏长泽 的独子， 因幼年时父母过世一直遗留市井。上天庇佑，几年前父亲将他巡回。魏婴为人端正淳厚，虽未上过学堂，但头脑机智。陛下也看到了，他弓发出众， 是。。。如能加强训练，以后必会为我姑苏所用 - " Bixia, Wei Ying is this subject's home-born servant, the only son of our previous head of staff Wei Changze. Due to the unfortunate passing of his parents in his youth, he has been getting by doing odd jobs in the capital. Heavens be willing, Father was able to find him after these many years and brought him home. Wei Ying is kind and righteous; though never have been taught by scholars, he is sharp of mind. As bixia has seen, he is a great marksmanship, is ... If he could be granted proper training, he would be a great asset for Gusu in the future. - And what a waste it would be if you were left to twindle away within the confines of a harem. I bet Lan Wangji just loved that. The balls on Jiang Wangyin - I do love his style. WWX You're the only one. Jiang-shushu just about had a heart attack when Jiang Cheng dissed Lan Wangji in public. Madam Yu nearly popped a vein too. XY: Yeah well, he's got a point. You may be Jiang Yanli's companion, but you're not Lan Wangji's concubine, you're just a servant with a skill. Honestly why shouldn't they put you to better use than waiting to maybe spread your legs for a prince who might just as easily toss you aside after the newness fades. WWX *slaps him up the head* Rascal! I'm your shixiong. Don't be so rude. Anyways, Lan Zhan, he - he was willing to let me go. I think he loves me you know - XY: He what now - WWX: He said - Lan Wangji came to kneel beside Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin and bowed to his royal brother, "Huangxiong, Wei Ying is the peijia of my Jiang-furen, a servant of my manor. I... I long knew he is an excellent marksman and should have submitted his candidacy for the ranks but -" Lan Wangji looked at him then, eyes huge with something unreadable. "Jiang-xiao-jiangjun is right. Wei Ying is good, his mind is bright. He would be more suited to militia than...than within the walls of the inner court." "Wangye, have you....have you grown tired of Wei Ying -" "Wei Ying, no -" XY: Oh barf. So please tell me you chose to go to bingbu (ministry of war). WWX: Going to bingbu was never the assignment. If yifu wanted me in the ministry of war, I would've infiltrated them from the start. I refused. And it had the intended effect. "No?" Lan Xichen leaned forward curiously. "Joining the ranks will elevate your rank to that of a subject of the imperial government, and if you are truly as skilled and talented as my brother and Jiang-xiao-jiangjun say, you may rise yet to stand in my court as an officer of the imperial military. You will have your own commission, your own manor, marry, have children - all things which will be forbidden to you if you remain as you are now. As you are male, you cannot provide for Hanguang-fu any offspring, and your low-born status has precluded you from the position of consort or even vice-consort. Have you considered your options carefully? " "I understand bixia, and my decision is made. Nothing would please me more than to stay by wangye's side. I regret nothing." XY: >_> And A this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact you're increasingly horny for Lan Wangji? WWX: Of course not. Because of Lan Qiren, I couldn't advance in Hanguang-fu. But now that Lan Xichen had given me his royal decree, I am Lan Wangji's sanctioned mianshou. XY: *insert eye emoji* So...y'all fucked? WWX *wistful, thinking about the night he spent at the autumn palace after the hunt* : We did, you pervert. Ya happy now? *WWX sighed* But I know who we are and what I must do. Yifu needs me by Lan Wangji's side, for what reasons I do not yet know. No matter how he and I are now... one day it will

all end. XY: *stares into the camera like he's on the office*

Note: yifu = Wen Ruohan, WWX's adoptive father.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 3

A certain redheaded tabloid journalist tracks y/n down at work. Y/n finds out how persistent she is when she makes her an offer she just can’t refuse. 

Trigger warnings: Christianity, stalking, survivor’s guilt

You made it out alive, and that was more than could be said for some. 

Your consolation prize was a ghastly scar on your hand that you kept bandaged up as to not scare small children. You did get some worker’s comp after all; enough to pay for your medical bills and a little extra to make up for the lost workdays. All things considered, you were the lucky one. Four people lost their lives that day and three more were injured far worse than you. You should have felt grateful to be alive.

But somehow that was even worse. You got a couple stitches and some time off. It wasn’t worth four people’s lives. 

Your therapist explained it to you very gently. You were experiencing a phenomenon known as "survivor's guilt". She encouraged you to join a support group, get outside and familiarize yourself with your new experiences. 

This was good advice and all, but yours was the newest, hottest crime. You couldn't go anywhere without being hounded by reporters looking for whatever details you had somehow left out. Dr. Bloom encouraged you to take some time off work until the media circus died down, but you had bills to pay.

"I feel like there should be some rule about re-opening a restaurant within a week of it being an active crime scene." Charissa observed as she wiped down a table. "If anything, it's a health hazard."

"Are you serious?" You scoffed. You'd been tasked with refilling the salt shakers. Appropriate, because there was plenty of salt to go around. "Demand for this place has never been higher. Everyone wants to see if the blood is still on the carpet."

"Hooray for capitalism." She rolled her eyes. "Are you gonna be okay, [F/N]?"

"'Okay' is a very relative term." You forced a laugh. "I think I can make it through the shift if that's what you're asking."

"Aren't you behind the bar all evening?" She asked.

"Yeah, but that means I'm trapped." You folded your arms. "First thing you see when you walk in is the waitress who survived the- what are they calling him?"

"The Baltimore Butcher." She answered with a voice full of vitriol. "Do you think they ever consider the ramifications of giving literal murderers these weird superhero names? Like, no wonder we get copycats, they treat these guys like celebrities."

"Holy shit, right?!" You slammed the salt shaker down on the table. "Y'know, last night on the news, they used the creep's graduation photo and kept saying that he was a good Christian young man with a lot of prospects."

Charissa stuck out her tongue in disgust. "I saw that. And how he was 'corrupted' by crack cocaine. Once again, blaming a drug that was used to villainize poor Black neighborhoods in the 80's as some kind of corrupting agent."

You nodded furiously. "Instead of understanding that Christianity is a violent imperialist religion that lets violent white men absolve themselves of any guilt."

"And they knew it wasn't crack." Charissa added. "I heard that shit was completely uncut. You know he spent a lot on it."

"And I will say this until the day I am put in the goddamn ground," you tensed up. "The only reason the fucker escaped is because he is white."

"Hey y'all." Another waitress walked in for her shift. "What are we talking about?"

"Cocaine." Charissa answered. “Also white privilege.” 

"Great." She said dismissively. "Hey [F/N], can I scoop up that bar shift? I could really use the tips."

"Madison!" Charissa scolded. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What?" Madison shrugged and glanced at you. "I didn't get any paid time off. I need the money."

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" Charissa scowled. "Are you seriously joking about her trauma?!"

"It's fine, she can have it." You rolled your eyes, then turned them to Madison. "Just know you're the reason I have survivor's guilt."

"Well now I feel bad." Madison frowned.

"Good." You and Charissa said in unison.

It was sort of comforting to get back to the script. Almost nostalgic. It provided the illusion of normalcy in an incredibly abnormal new reality. 

You approached the first table in Madison’s block, hoping for a new beginning. A young woman with fiery red hair sat alone by the window. 

“Hi!” You greeted, with a smile as genuine as you could muster. “My name is [F/N], I’ll be your waiter tonight.” 

The woman smiled back. “Evening.” 

You couldn’t tell what, but something was off. Perhaps you were trying too hard to force normalcy. Or maybe it was the borderline predatory way the woman was looking at you; like a shark following a trail of blood. Either way, the vibes were rancid. 

“Can I start you off with a drink or is water okay?” You ask. 

“Could I possibly trouble you for a glass of chardonnay?” She asked, lowering her eyebrows. 

“Of course.” You nodded and reached for your pen. 

“Actually,” She corrected herself. “If you could bring a bottle and two glasses, I’m expecting company.” 

“Absolutely.” You scribble the order down on your notepad. “Do you have a preference?” 

She thought for a moment. “Oh, dealer’s choice. Whatever you prefer.” 

You soon returned to her booth with a bottle of your favorite chardonnay and two stemmed glasses. You poured a small bit in one glass to let her taste. 

“You have wonderful tastes.” She complimented, filling her glass. “It’s very delicious.” 

You rocked on your heels. “Would you like to place your order now, or do you want to wait until after your guest arrives?” 

“Actually,” she repeated, filling the other glass. “My guest is already here.” 

She slid the glass across the table and gestured to the other seat. 

You felt stupid, but there was no way to avoid this. You couldn't just not do your job. She cornered you by the confinements of your profession.

"I really can't, I'm on the clock." You said, apologetically. The wine beckoned you. "I'm sorry, maybe another time."

"Oh, bummer." The woman placed her chin in her hand and pouted. "Well, I'm sure there's something that would make your boss look the other way."

She glanced down at your bandaged hand, then met your eyes. "The bandages are a dead giveaway, [F/N] [L/N]."

You then noticed a wire sticking from her pocket. Undoubtedly some kind of recording device. You looked at the ground. "I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave."

"But who will drink all this wine?" She asked, raising her glass.

"Ma'am." Your voice hardened as you tried to bite back an overwhelming rage. "Please leave the restaurant. I'm not going to ask you again."

Your manager, Matthew, passed by. "What's going on here?"

"This waitress is being very rude." The woman complained. "I ordered chardonnay, and she brought me chablis."

"Chablis is a type of chardonnay." You corrected. Even you found it strange that this was the hill you were willing to die on. "She asked for my preference, and I prefer the unoaked varieties."

Matthew looked confused. "Well, she's right."

You gestured to her pocket and he caught on immediately. He narrowed his eyes. "Ma'am, please leave the premises or I'll be forced to call the police."

The woman stood up, rummaged through her pockets and slapped a handful of bills down on the table. She then proceeded to drink both glasses of wine and walk away.

Matthew looked at you apologetically as he collected the bills. "Are you sure you want to be here tonight? I can call in someone to cover for you."

You shook your head and grabbed the bottle by its neck. "No, it's okay. I appreciate the concern but I really just want things to go back to normal."

"Hey!" A woman from the adjacent table called out. You prepared to immediately recant your statement about not going home.

"We like chablis." The woman said, gesturing to herself and her friend.

Her friend joined in. "And if that nosy reporter lady isn't gonna drink it..."

You glanced at Matthew, who shrugged. "Sure. It's yours."

The women exchanged delighted looks as you placed the bottle on their table. Matthew handed you a couple of clean glasses and you began to pour.

"For this wine, I suggest any of our wonderful seafood dishes." You explained, your cheeks stinging with a smile. "It also pairs quite nicely with chicken and game bird."

"Thank you." One of the women said. "If you don't mind, we'd like to take a look at the menu, please."

"Of course." You nodded. "Just flag me down whenever you're ready."

"This is why I put you behind the bar, by the way." Matthew gently scolded you as you collected the soiled glasses.

"Didn't you hear?" You said. "Madison needs the money because we can't all have paid time off."

"You should have come to me first." He sighed. "She has no right to say those things to you."

"Never stopped her before." You shrugged.

"I'll talk with her after the dinner rush." He said. "Just... try not to get cornered tonight, okay?"

"I'll do my best." You answered, flatly. “Because that’s definitely something I can control.” 

The rest of your shift went smoothly, or, as smoothly as could be expected given the circumstances. The nosy reporter was right, your bandage was a dead giveaway. You had to dodge a couple of questions, but most people had enough decorum to know the wound--metaphorical and literal--was still fresh. 

You said goodbye to Matthew and Charissa, collected your things and walked out to your car. You put the key in the ignition, only to find your gas tank was completely empty. You had just filled it that morning. 

You bit back a scream and fought the urge to slam your head against the steering wheel. Throwing the door open, you mentally prepared yourself to either make a long trek to the nearest gas station, or beat someone up.

“Looking for this?” A smug voice said over the cicadas. 

You turned around and saw the nosy reporter from before holding up a canister. A deep, blistering fury overtook your face as you slammed the car door. “You siphoned my fucking gas?” 

 “It’s not like you left me with much choice, [F/N].” She crossed her arms. “You’ll get it back once you answer my questions.” 

You threw your head back in disbelief. “You’re Freddie Lounds, aren’t you?” 

“I see I’m not the only one who does my research.” She said, looking a bit impressed. “How’d you know?” 

“It’s the first thing that comes up when you search ‘unethical crime journalists Baltimore’.” You answered. “There’s a whole flair dedicated to you on the subreddit for murder survivors.” 

Freddie seemed proud of herself. “Need a ride?” 

“I’d rather drive off a cliff.” You said, honestly, before turning around to leave. 

“Where are you going?” She walked after you. 

“To get more fucking gas, you evil bitch.” You shouted back. “Are you gonna follow me to the BP too?” 

“Look, I heard what you were saying to your friend.” She called out. “About white privilege.”

“Yeah,” You rolled your eyes. “It’s the same privilege that allows you to siphon a stranger’s gas and sit in a parking lot all night without getting arrested.”

“And I agree with you.” She hurried to your side, her chunky platform boots clacking against the asphalt. “They did you dirty and they’re shooting themselves in the foot by not listening to you.” 

You turned around and threw up your arms. “Why didn’t you just lead with that?”

“I invited you to sit down over a bottle of wine, did I not?” Freddie chuckled. 

“Cornering me at work is not a gesture of goodwill.” You huffed. “And I actually do want to put my story out there, but all you’re accomplishing by stalking me is guaranteeing you won’t be the one to do it.” 

“Are you really in a position to be that selective?” Freddie smirked and placed all her weight on one hip. 

You groaned. “What?” 

“The Baltimore Butcher is still out there, and you won’t be the hot new victim forever.” She grinned sadistically. “Soon enough, him or some other psycho is going to strike, and your fifteen minutes of fame are up.” 

“Good. Then I can go back to living my life.” You said. 

“But what if his next victim is a Christian?” Freddie grabbed your shoulder. “What if the next person who narrowly avoids getting their throat slashed decides to go on record and say that he doesn’t represent ‘real Christianity’?” 

You went quiet. You hadn’t considered it, but the thought of anyone downplaying his faith as a motivation made your blood boil. You looked into the man’s eyes and saw a person driven to kill for his god. A god he shared with the crusaders, conquistadors and slavers. 

“...but it does. Christians colonized half the planet for--” 

You stopped yourself when you saw Freddie’s smile. 

“You want to get on your soapbox, now’s your chance.” She bit her lip. “Take control of the conversation while you still can.” 

“Fine.” You spat. “I get off work tomorrow at four.” 

Freddie shoved the gas can into your hands. “I’ll see you then.” 

[bitchassbucky]

.zip

Word Count: 2k

Warning/s: toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, gaslighting and manipulation, abduction, injuries were mentioned, stalking, dark!bucky x dark!reader, emotionally/mentally unstable!reader, dismemberment (not gore-y but still), three very special character mentions, shady corporate stuff, career sabotage?, food mention, sedation/drugging, f-words.

A/N: oh my god, this is the final chapter of CTRL. to all who read from the start, thank y'all so fucking much - from the bottom of my big-ass heart, thank you so much for coming along with this journey. this is my first FINISHED series, oh my god. to @babyboibucky (CTRL's number one fan), @sarge-barnes-sir, and @borikenlove thank you so much for indulging my inner degenerate GHJSDFG and for screaming (affectionately) at me when i first let y'all read the finished draft.

BUT THIS IS NOT THE END (just yet), i will be uploading TWO epilogues very soon: the explicit version and the not-so-explicit version. stay tuned!

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

epilogue:

.eps (explicit)

.eps (cut)

CTRL playlist CTRL moodboard

Your demeanor, character, even tone, changed.

Calculated, cold, unnerving.

But you sat there like a housewife in front of her husband, eating spaghetti and meatballs. Acting all dandy like there isn’t a man strapped onto the chair four feet away from you.

“C’mon, darling, eat! I made your favorite,” your eyes twinkled as Bucky helplessly tugged on his restraints, “oh, sorry, you’re tied up.”

Hm, sick in the head, bad for the heart.

“What do you want?” Oh, wow, even talking hurts for him. His throat is all dried up, he tasted something bitter under his tongue.

You chuckled, moving half a meatball around your mostly empty plate, “for you to stop treating me like I’m stupid.” You spear the meat with your fork, swirling it in the sauce, “I know you’ve been… checking in on me, Bucky.”

Oh, fuck.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I was-- I mean, look at you--” He’s making it worse. You’re mad. You’re angry because he was being a good friend.

He only did that because you were lonely and he’s right: you are lonely.

So lonely that you’re willing to kidnap a grown man to keep you company, “I’m so sad for you.”

“You’re aware you’re the one’s been tied up, right?” You’re curt as you should be, scooting over near Bucky to feed him.

“I can’t eat that—” If he wasn’t sitting down and tied, Bucky would’ve vaulted over you and called the neighbors, she’s fucking crazy!

You giggled, rolling your eyes as if he had the freedom to make a choice right now, “if you’re thinking of screaming… More than half of my neighbors are felons or on parole, I doubt that they’ll call 911.”

Jutting forward the fork, you let the prongs gently touch Bucky’s lips, “now, eat! We have so much to talk about.”

“No. I don’t-- I’m not hungry.” He shakes his head, the fork hitting his chin and clanking down the floor.

“Just eat the fucking food, Steve!”

Bucky flinched at your sudden outburst. The words—the name—seeping in a moment later. Steve? Who the hell is Steve? Was he your husband? Boyfriend? His head throbbed again, his mouth filling with saliva like he’s about to throw up.

You kneel down, pulling a napkin from the table to wipe the meat and the sauce from the floor.

“This better not stain.”

—

He promised thrice.

Once over pasta and meatballs, once over dessert, and once when you were clearing the table.

You relented, of course. Half because you love him and half because it’s getting annoying.

“As long as you don’t leave me, okay?”

“Yes, I promise. I won’t leave you.”

Bucky’s still seating on the dinner chair, slightly slumped without the ropes holding him up, “look, I’m really sorry about the anesthetic, I went overboard with it.” You look over to him—at least he’s regaining his fingers and arms again.

“It’s okay, babe, I wouldn’t trust me either.” If he could stand up, he’d go over and hug you. Helping with the dishes, peppering you with sweet kisses.

A genuine laugh slips out of your lips, “ugh, still… I’m really sorry.”

The last of the plates were neatly stacked, cups and cutleries were placed gently on a drying rack. It was getting late, you could tell.

“I’m not mad, by the way.” You muse, prompting Bucky to lean forward, listening to you.

“What do you mean?” He takes your hand into his, ever so gently.

“You did that,” you squeeze his hand back, gazing into his soulful eyes, “because you love me.”

Did you know that some people could read microexpressions well? Bucky went through a whole lot of them before answering, “of course, I do.”

Contemplating whether you call him out on it or not, you hum, placing a gentle hand on his jaw, “it’s okay, you’ll learn how to love me.”

He has to. He has no other choice.

Bucky clears his throat, “have you seen my phone?” His tone was hopeful, upbeat, maybe he can reach out to someone, anyone, before you can do any more damage.

“Yeah, ‘s on the couch.”

He tried to move, he really did. Bucky’s fairly strong, he can bench an easy 140 on a good day. But even the beefiest motherfuckers have no match for Propofol.

“Don’t worry about your friends, they’re not worried about you, Buck.” The coolness of your tone sends Bucky into a panic—again. “D’you wanna check your messages though? There’s a lot of ‘em.”

Grabbing his phone, you asked Siri to read him his latest notifications.

Urgent: Notice of Immediate Termination

From Joaquin: Where are you, man?

From John W.: Do you have copies?

Urgent: Notice of Immediate Termination

Urgent: Gross Misconduct

From Joaquin: Bucky, what the fuck?

From Samuel Wilson: Pick up the phone, Barnes. You’re fired.

17 missed calls from an unknown number

From John W.: I knew you were a freak but holy shit, dude!

72 text messages from an unknown number

Bucky never really liked horror movies. It made him jumpy and anxious. Too paranoid, even. But now? Now he’s sure that people have never experienced sheer fright before.

His toes cramped inside his boots, his feet were cold, sweating. The little hairs on his legs stood up, goosebumps littering the entirety of his body. If he held his breath, he’s sure he could hear his heart hammering out of his chest. The blood rushes past his ears and onto the base of his skull—he’s gonna be sick.

“What,” he gulped back the saliva pooling in his mouth, “what did you do?”

You’re irritatingly calm, “well, I mean… We’re already together, what do you need those for, right?”

Putting a warm hand over his forehead, you cooed, “poor thing, you look sick.”

—

Bucky thinks it’s well past midnight when the anesthetic wore off.

His limbs were heavy, he had to lean on the wall every couple of steps to regain his balance. Helpless. He’s helpless and you both know it. As if it’s a bear trap, Bucky carefully took his phone from the coffee table.

Why would you leave it unattended?

The screen lights up as soon as he picked up, his lock screen littered with ‘fuck yous’, ‘sicko’, and his personal favorite, ‘motherfucker.’

Ignoring the glaring messages, he went straight for the emergency dialler and—you took out his SIM card, snapping it into two neat pieces, placing it beside the phone.

Bitch.

The golden surface of the card was scratched too, he can’t do anything, use it as a toothpick, maybe? His phone was just as good as a paperweight.

He looks out of the window, limping towards it. Even if he could climb over, it would take him forever to get onto the street. Your neighbors would probably think that he’s just on a bad trip.

“It’s bolted shut. Perks of living alone as a single female.” Your voice made him flinch back, like a kid whose hand was halfway down the cookie jar.

Bucky plays it off with a cough, he can’t be weak now, “no, babe, I was checking out a noise. You ready for bed?”

You smiled softly, taking his hand and draping his arm on your shoulders as you prop him against you, “almost, big guy. Gotta get you settled in bed first. Are you tired?”

Nodding, Bucky kisses your temple, “yeah.” He just needs to play with your sick little games until he regains his strength.

Where would he go? His reputation and his job are besmirched, his apartment is probably crawling with forensics too.

“You fell down and banged your head earlier. Nasty cut on your head too. I told you to not tire yourself much.”

You hit and drugged me but I digress, “Yes, darling. ‘M sorry.”

“You scared me, Buck. I thought you were dead.” Are these tears forming in your eyes?

“I’m not leaving you, not by any chance. I promise.”

He promises a fourth time.

—

Your bedroom was bigger than he thought. But of course, he only saw your desk and your bed through the webcam.

Save from the Ted Bundy-esque corkboard you have in front of your workspace, he feels weirdly at home. You tucked him in, reminding him to wake up every two hours for the painkillers.

“You’re not going to bed?” He muses from behind you, all cocooned in your blankets.

“Just need to take this phone call real quick, babe.” Your back was turned from him as you work on your company laptop. He noticed that the webcam is covered with white tape.

The sound of an incoming call filled the room before you quickly answer it, your voice turning hoarse and raspy as if you’ve been crying.

Hi, Mr. Wilson. I’m so sorry for the late call. Do I- do I need to come in tomorrow? I just... I don’t feel comfortable facing everyone—I used all my home hours this week and—

Miss L/N, I’m glad you reached out to me. Is it okay if I record this call for security purposes? It’s just for you, me, and the HR department.

You turned to Bucky, your face is stone-cold but your voice belonged to someone so utterly helpless.

No, you don’t have to call into work tomorrow… Or any other day.

A dainty gasp and a fucking sob comes out of your mouth, your eyes were telling a different story.

Am I fired?

God, no. Please, Miss L/N, don’t worry about that. We want you with us through this entire debacle. We want you to take some time off—paid. We’ll also grant you… a grievance package.

You could almost hear what he would say next.

As long as you don’t talk to any members of the press or any journalists until our friends in the PR department can clean this up.

A triumphant smile creeps on your bare features, putting a finger in front of your lips, you mimic a ‘shh’ gesture to Bucky.

You round up another mirthless sob as the CEO drones on about the bureaucracy of this whole thing.

He was really nice to me, you know? He took me out on dinners and lunches. He even brought me to his place and I– nothing happened but I can’t stop thinking about it.

I’m really sorry, Miss L/N. I thought he was…

A good guy? I really thought so too.

Please stay offline for a bit, just for the weekend, alright? Someone from the HR department will be in touch with you for the process. We don’t wanna be a hassle more than what Barnes is. On our behalf, please accept our deepest apologies.

Jesus, this guy had the PR department cook up an apology letter.

Thank you—thank you so much, Mr. Wilson. I’ll keep in touch.

You burst out in laughter a second after the call ended. Hearty laughter, the one where you can feel your belly tightening.

“Did you hear how good I was, baby? Oh my god, we had them fooled.”

We? Fuck your ‘we.’

You slide over the covers, propping up yourself with your elbow as you turn to face Bucky, “don’t worry, you don’t need them anymore. You have me, yeah? We have each other.”

—

Out of the most bizarre things that happened to him last week, finding dismembered fingers in the fridge was the least of his concerns.

“Honey!” Bucky calls out, holding the ziplock bag with a pair of tongs.

You bound down the stairs, your laptop in hand as you squint, “what am I looking at?”

Bucky hesitated, maybe he’s going insane too, “fingers. Dismembered fingers—are these yours?”

Setting down the laptop onto the table, you peck him on the cheek, smiling as if him holding a baggie with human remains is just your Sunday normal, “god, I hope not. I need my hands to do things.”

As soon as you look back at him, you dropped the facade: “those are Steve’s. Well, used to be.”

Bucky’s afraid to ask the question where’s the rest of him?

“You know the term pinky promise, right? Well, it has a dark origin.”

Just as fast as a bustling train, Bucky rakes his brain for all the times he promised you something. Hoping that he won’t end up with a stump for a hand.

One vividly bright memory is seared into his brain though, the days blurred together with sharp edges and mismatched colors: we love how we were taught to love.

So, who taught you how to love like this?

[aynanasstuff]

White is a Strange Colour//Sam Wilson x Desi!Reader

Summary: Sam Wilson is a liar. Sam Wilson is your soulmate. You'd give him an earful if he were here.

warnings: character death

a/n: this one is sad y'all, I had a sad couple of days and needed to put it somewhere so here it is. it's not my best one, but I had to write this. hope you enjoy, I guess?

_____________________________________________

You accepted it. That's what happened when you lost someone. Your brain would rationalize it, it would think about the logistics. The cost of the flowers, the colour of the casket, the fact that the white kurta you already had was too flashy for your husband's funeral so you'd have to get a new one- Sam wouldn't mind you all dressed up, he'd actually prefer it; the others, however, would mind and the less bullshit you have to deal with, the better. New plain one it is.

_______________________

Being a superhero has fatality written all over it. Sam knew it, you knew it. Especially since Sam didn't have the advantage of the super serum, you had to expect it to an extent. It didn't mean you were willing to accept it.

You lost your idealism young. You can't pinpoint the exact moment when you lost your innocence. Sam was always the optimistic one. You loved that about him. You realize now that he rubbed off on you a little, he had you looking at things in a more positive light. Your cynicism was still a defining trait but a new voice started popping in your head after spending some time with Sam. Maybe it was a new found belief that everything happens for the best, maybe it was Sam's voice.

You hated him for doing that to you in this moment. He gave you hope, hope for a forever with your husband. Turns out, he lied. For a man with more integrity in his little finger than most people have in their entire body, he was a goddamn liar. You didn't have a forever with Sam Wilson. You might as well be with him, wherever he is. Right, the casket. You kind of want to laugh to yourself.

__________________________

The funeral was a blur. A lot of empty condolences by big shots who claimed to know him. A lot of genuine support from people who actually truly loved him - everyone who knew him in Louisiana, common civilians who saw him as a beacon of justice and light, the remaining avengers. A lot of questions about why you were wearing white while everyone else wore black. You didn't answer that. Why the fuck do they care? You could do whatever the fuck you wanted, Sam was your fucking soulmate and he wouldn't have given two shits about you wearing white. God Bless America, you thought.

Sarah cried, her kids did as well. You tried your best to console them. You didn't shed a single tear there. You didn't speak for him. The ones who did said all there was to say. What you knew about Sam, you were selfish with. You didn't want to share rhe purest parts of him with a tainted world. The world didn't deserve it. It took him away, it didn't deserve any other part of him.

________________________

You went home as soon as the last of the people paid their respects. You had half a mind to go yell at Sam about leaving you to deal with his funeral alone. Then again you were too exhausted. You knew it didn't make sense but everything stopped making sense the second he died.

Sam died.

A guttural sob left you as you leaned against the door. You slid down to the floor, your face in your hands. Your throat hurt, your hands were shaking, your white top had some clear spots as your tears hit it.

Your eyes landed on the journal on the coffee table. Sam gifted it to you on your birthday last year. Oh yeah, no more birthdays with him anymore. Asshat. Sam Wilson is an asshat.

You walked over to the coffee table and opened up the journal, a new page ready to take all your rage and confusion. Pen in your hand, you began writing to him-

"Hi Sam. I'm mad. Really mad. You know why I'm mad? Because you died on me! You promised me forever and then died on me! But because I'm a good person, I planned the funeral the way you'd like it. Your favorite flowers, your favorite food at the wake, some of your favorite people were there. You'd have loved it. While getting ready in the morning, I put on Trouble Man. I never understood the hype, I wish you were here so you could explain it to me. I wore white. Like I was supposed to. People stared at me like I walked in naked. Maybe I should've, I could've played the grieving widow card and gotten away with it. White is a strange colour. We started our life together with me in white, we're ending it with me in it.

I hate this. So much. I don't know what to do now. I always know what to do and now I don't have a fucking clue. Tell me what to do, baby? Please? You always know the right thing to say. Haunt me if you have to but please just tell me what to do, my love.

I'm sorry this makes no sense. I'm so sorry. Fuck, my tears are wetting the paper. I'm pathetic. I'm so pathetic. But you still loved me. You chose me of all people to love, you found me to be worthy of your love and I'll always be grateful that you did, darling. You gave me forever in the little moments, in the morning chai, in the songs we danced to in the kitchen, in the tears you chose to shed in front of me, in the tears you wiped off my face. Who's gonna do that for me now?

I love you, baby. I'll always love you. I hope I stop being mad, it's already exhausting. I hope I see you again, I'm only gonna live to see you again. I hope you're flying high."

----------------------------------------------------------

yeah. i hope that was a good read! please reblog, comment and like if you want to support me, it helps a lot! don't plagiarise, for the love of god. see you later!

Tags: @lil-stark @sexysamosa @janetsnakehole02 @blueberrynonnie ❣

[andie-cake]

Tag! You're It

Second DT Drabble, y'all! Just a heads up, this takes place in between chapters 18 and 19 of DTfiles, though I still recommend that you read chapter 19 before reading this.

Emma turned off the sink of the Watcher World's women's restroom, pumping out two sheets of paper towels from the dispenser. God, this place really was old-fashioned, wasn't it? If they couldn't afford an air-dryer or two, couldn't they have at least gotten one of those motion-activated towel dispenser things?

As Emma finished drying her hands, she couldn't help but feel like she was being... well, watched. Undoubtedly due to some chucklefuck's brilliant idea to have eye designs plastered throughout the restroom. Seriously, she could understand wanting to adhere to the park's theming, but this was just too much.

Still, she forced herself to disregard the weirdness of it all. She had a boyfriend waiting outside the Drowsy Town Theater who was probably worried sick about her. Maybe she should've asked Paul to walk with her to the restroom, might've quelled their worries a bit. Again, Emma shoved the thought aside. She was here for business. Business she wasn't getting paid for, mind you, but business nonetheless.

But as Emma stepped out of the restroom and into the balmy 70° air, she was met with a sight she wasn't expecting. The Blinky mascot she and Paul had encountered in the gift shop, standing mere feet away from the entrance to the women's restroom. Staring directly at her.

"Hello again~" Blinky greeted her in that familiar childlike voice. "Did you miss Blinky?"

"Not particularly, no," Emma replied in a deadpan tone, not willing to deal with more bullshit from this creep who threw Paul into a panic attack earlier. She attempted to walk around the stout purple cyclops, only for him to sidestep into her path. "Mind getting out of my way? I've got places to be."

Blinky didn't respond, simply choosing to stay frozen to his spot and wordlessly peer down at her. Emma could've sworn she heard him breathing heavily.

"Fucking move, dude!" she groaned irritably, attempting to step around him once more. Once again, Blinky shuffled into her path. "I don't have time for this!"

"Hehehehehe~" Blinky giggled. Did... did his lower eyelid just twitch? "Little Emma's getting grumpy~"

Emma froze. How did he know her name? She hadn't mentioned it during their first encounter, had she?

"Still afraid of what daddy told you~?" Blinky continued. "Still think that Blinky likes to hang around little girls?"

Emma's heart leapt into her throat, her eyes widening. "Wh-what!?" she sputtered in shock. How the fuck did he know about that!? Dad had always said it out of earshot! Not to mention that it'd been almost two decades since her last visit to Watcher World. Emma swallowed, attempting to hide her unease. "L-look, what do you want with me, man!?"

"You said to stay away from Paul," Blinky recalled, raising his arms up. "So Blinky wants to play with you instead~"

Blinky swung his arms out to grab her, and Emma narrowly dodged out of the way, stumbling to the ground. She looked around at the passing park-goers, who all appeared blissfully unaware. Had nobody seen that!? Emma looked back up at Blinky, who was slowly approaching her.

"Hehehehehehe~ Little Emmy Doll wants to play tag~" he chortled gleefully.

As Blinky came closer, Emma began to consider her options, trying to remain calm. Blinky was blocking her way back to the Drowsy Town Theater, and he'd probably grab her if she tried to charge past him. Not to mention, Paul was most likely still there, and Emma feared what would happen if she led Blinky back to him. She had no choice. She had to run in the opposite direction and hope Blinky lost track of her.

Not willing to let the cyclops come any closer, Emma rushed to her feet and sprinted off. As the distance between her and Blinky grew longer and longer, she could hear him burst into another giggle fit. She chanced a glance over her shoulder, and saw that Blinky was now giving chase, running after her on all fours like an animal. He appeared to be gaining on her, which gave her a jolt of adrenaline that allowed her to speed up a bit. God, of all the days to be chased, why'd it have to be the one where she chose to wear sandals?

Emma continued to run through the park, the sound of Blinky's ecstatic giggling growing closer by the second. She could still see the other park-goers in the corners of her vision, but they weren't doing anything to help her escape from this... thing that was clearly chasing her! If anything, they were just watching the chase play out!

Up ahead, Emma saw an opportunity to take a sharp right turn. An arrow-shaped sign pointing in that direction that read "This way to the Eye-Drop!". Emma continued to run straight for as long as she could before suddenly bolting to the right. When she glanced over her shoulder again, she saw her plan had worked. Blinky had anticipated that she would keep running straight, only to realize he had to force himself to turn at the last second, causing him to awkwardly skid to a halt. She could just barely see him tumble over as she turned back around. Emma took the opportunity to hide, ducking behind a wall and nestling herself between a vendor cart selling purple lemonade (whether it was actual grape-lemonade or just regular lemonade with purple food coloring is not something Emma was particularly concerned with at the moment) and an overflowing trash can.

Catching her breath, Emma cautiously peeked out from her hiding spot, surveying the area in case she had to start running again. The Eye-Drop, apparently a log flume ride, looked to be at the edge of the park. So unless she wanted to try her luck at climbing over the chain-link fence and escaping into the Witchwood surrounding the park, Emma was stuck in a dead end. The best case scenario was that Blinky walked into the center of the clearing without seeing her, so Emma could carefully sneak back out the way she came to go get help.

But when Emma glanced back towards the entrance, she saw that Blinky was just standing there, blocking her only way out as he scanned the area with his massive yellow eye. Emma wanted to scream. She was trapped, she was terrified, and her lungs felt like they were on fire from running. She had an idea. An idea she didn't wanna go through with lest it put Paul in danger, but an idea nonetheless.

Pulling her phone from her pocket (thank fuck she wore shorts with real pockets today), Emma tapped on Paul's contact, marked with his name and a pair of blue heart emojis. She considered calling him, but quickly banished the thought. If she called, Blinky would hear her. She just had to send Paul a quick message to let him know something was wrong, where she was, and that he needed to get to her ASAP. Thinking quickly, Emma typed up a message.

"PAUL SOS IN FRONT OF EYE-DROP"

Emma sent the message and put her phone away, praying that Paul didn't leave his phone on silent again. But just when she thought she could take a moment to breathe, the massive yellow eye of Blinky came into view, and Emma let out an instinctual scream of terror.

"Peekaboo, Emmy Doll~!" the cyclops exclaimed mockingly.

Before Emma could protest, Blinky lurched forward and grabbed her, lifting her from the ground with ease. He wrapped his bulky purple arms around her waist, pressing her back against his belly and pinning her arms to her sides. Despite how his tight grip was quickly squeezing the air from her lungs, Emma screamed as loudly as she could muster, kicking her legs out wildly as Blinky carried her out to the center of the clearing.

"No! No!" she cried, tears of fear stinging her eyes. "Put me down, please!"

"Hehehehehehe-HAAAAH~" Blinky giggled, punctuating it with a disgusting croak. "You're a squirmy little wormy, Emmy Doll~"

As Blinky stopped in the center of the clearing, he lowered Emma back down. He didn't release his grip on her, but her feet were touching solid ground again. Emma continued to scream, begging the people around her for help. But they didn't come to her aid. They just watched, with wide smiles and hungry purple eyes. Had they always been that color? Anyone who wasn't in line for the Eye-Drop or operating the ride had crowded around, presumably to watch Blinky do... whatever he was planning to do to her. Torture her, most likely. The reality of the situation began to sink in, and Emma's screams devolved into desperate cries.

"Please, just let me go!" she pleaded, hating how vulnerable and weak she sounded. She continued to try and thrash out of Blinky's grip, to no avail.

"We'll have none of that, miss!" an unfamiliar voice spoke up. "Here at Watcher World, we have a strict 'No crying' policy!"

Emma opened her tear-filled eyes to see three purple-outfitted people standing in front of her. A smiling man in a barker's outfit, a little old woman wrapped in a starry robe and shawl, and a stone-faced man in an usher's uniform.

"Wha...?" Emma huffed out tearfully. "Who-?"

"We're here to bring you to your big star turn at the Drowsy Town Theater, miss!" the Barker cut her off. "You've got a knack for this acting thing, don't you, miss? After all, you were in Brigadoon in highschool, and you fucking killed it, correct?"

Emma could only err and stammer in confusion as the Barker rambled on. She didn't even bother to ask herself how this random stranger knew about her 2003 portrayal of Bonnie Jean in Hatchetfield High's production of Brigadoon.

"Look at the poor dear!" the old woman spoke up, her voice pitying and condescending. "She's all shaken up!"

"Must be having stage fright," the Usher man said, his voice as flat as his appearance. He looked to the white-haired old woman. "Why don't you do your thing, Madame Iris?"

"Gladly, my boy!"

The old woman- Madame Iris apparently, stepped forward and raised her wrinkled, bony hands. The tips of her long, talon-like nails grazed Emma's face, sending a shiver of repulsion down her spine. The robe-clad old woman muttered a string of nonsense under her breath, and her appearance began to change. Her withered skin became smooth and youthful, her frizzy gray hair turned brown and silky, clean white teeth began to sprout out of her gums where they hadn't been before, and her robes and shawl morphed into a yellow tank top and jean shorts. Soon enough, where the old woman once stood, was a mirror replica of Emma herself.

The crowd around Emma cheered and clapped. Blinky- who still had Emma trapped in his arms, giggled in delight. Emma herself looked down at her legs, relieved to see that she hadn't somehow shifted into the haggard old woman. The woman wearing Emma's skin laughed, with Emma's laugh.

"Ah, look at me!" she cried happily, relishing her new look. "I'm a knockout! I'm as spry as a bird!"

Emma could've vomited watching this batshit old crone dancing around in her skin, running her hands over the skin of her arms and laughing in her voice. Though Emma did notice one thing off about her little spell.

"Nice try, dumbass," she spat bitterly. "My eyes are brown, not purple."

The not-Emma merely shrugged in reply. "We can't get rid of Lord Blinky's mark on us, no matter how drastically we change our appearance," she explained casually. "I'm sure it'll still be enough to fool your little boy toy, my dear~"

Emma's heart nearly stopped. "Wh-what're you going to do with Paul!?"

"That's not important, miss!" the Barker chimed in, stepping back up. "What's important is that we get you ready for your big debut at 5!"

"What the fuck does that mean!?" Emma demanded, trying once more to futilely worm her way out of Blinky's iron grip. "What're you going to do to me!?"

The Barker stepped aside, allowing the Usher to take his place. The Usher stooped down so he was at eye level with Emma, gently took her chin in his hand, and locked eyes with her.

"Aren't you tired, sweetheart~?" the Usher asked in a soft, strangely familiar voice. "Don't you want to sleep~?"

Emma felt her eyelids begin to droop, and her heart rate slow. "Puh-Paul...?" she asked drowsily.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart~" Paul- no, the Usher, no... Paul... told her gently. "Come to Drowsy Town with me~"

Emma fought to stay awake, but Paul... God, his voice was so soothing... And his hand felt so gentle on her face... So familiar, so reassuring...

She couldn't help but drift off.

[the-daily-multi-fandom-post]

Hurt and love:

Request Link here : (______)

2404 words Warnings; Cussing, getting hurt, a hint of the fear of needles. IDK what else.

t was an easy job. Cut the heads off of the stupid blood suckers. Easy peasy, but when one pushes you  through a fucking window that shit hurts. 

You've know the Winchesters for as long as you can remember. Being best friends with John growing up and then being there for him and his kids after his wife had died. You took care of the boys, but always made sure they knew Mary was their mom. You would tell them stories about their mom and Dad or just about their mom. Weather it was about their mom fixing the best apple pie, which always made Dean smile, or how their mom was so nice, but knew how to handle herself. 

Back when Mary was alive you never had thought of John more then a friend. He was strictly a friend, no more and no less. Mary was your best friend, they both were. But after Mary had died and you took in John and the boys with open arms feelings started to change. At first you thought that maybe he was just lonely from the lost of his wife. -Which was true since he took on hunting to find the demon who killed Mary. But five years or so after her death John started hinting to You about how he felt. 

At first you paid no mind to it. He was always a flirt, even when Y'all were kids. But that one night while on a hunt something changed between the two of you. That night stirred feelings nobody knew were there. 

You sat in between Sam and Dean in the full size bed, telling them a story to get them to fall asleep. Something you saw put them to sleep and would keep nightmares clear from their dreams. You were in the middle of the story when John had walked into the motel room. You smiled, just softly talking to the boys to have them calm enough to go to sleep. John came into the motel room dressed in his FBI suit. He had just came back from getting information from the police station for the case. 

He smiled looking at the imagine in front of him. He missed his wife, but this was something he couldn't ever dreamed of. You with your arms wrapped around the boys telling them a bedtime story. It seemed like something so little. But to him, it looked like you were protecting the boys from anything  and everything that could hurt them. 

He smiled at you while grabbing a change of clothes. He went in the bathroom, to get a shower.  By the time he got out of the shower you had finished the bedtime story and were fixing to leave the room to go get your own. 

"You don’t have to get another motel room. You can take the bed, I'll sleep on the sofa bed." John offered you. His voice soft and quiet so the boys wouldn't wake up. "If your comfortable with that." He added quickly, You chuckled looking down at your bag and then to John. "I'll take the sofa bed. You shouldn't have to sleep there for me." Your voice was soft as you placed your duffel bag on the ground beside the table. 

"I can't have you sleeping on the sofa bed. It's no big deal I'll take it." John grabbed an extra pillow and blanket from the closet and threw it onto the couch. Y/n shook her head as she grabbed a oversize t-shirt and a pair of shorts. You went into the bathroom to change.

After you changed into some comfortable sleeping clothes, John was lying down on the sofa bed. He had a pillow behind his head and the blanket thrown out on top of him. You shook your head while walking out. Putting the clothes you just changed out of into your bag. Then you climbed into the full size bed. Turning off the lamp before laying down. 

"Good night, John." You whispered, not quite sure if he was awake or not. "Goodnight, Y/n." His deep voice startled you after thinking he was asleep. That whole night you tossed and turned unable to fall asleep. Your mind just wouldn't shut off. That and you kept hearing John toss and turn unable to get comfortable on the uncomfortable pull out bed. 

Looking at the clock bedside the bed you seen it was quarter after two in the morning. You huffed and tried to fall asleep, but sleep just wouldn't come.

"John." You whispered, just trying to see if he was awake or not. "Yeah?" He answered back. You were quiet for a second when you heard him shuffling  in the bed. "Will you come lay beside me?" You cringed at your voice that sounded so tired. He didn't answer, but when you hear him moving on the bed he answered you question. "Shit." He cursed silently as he kicked the coffee table at the side of the couch. You giggled which made John roll his brown eyes. "Are you okay?" You snicker.  "Peachy." He grumbled as he moved the blanket on the bed. 

Sliding over to give him some room on the bed. "I told you, you weren't going to be sleeping on the couch." You whispered, the moon reflecting through the window showing his Chocolate brown eyes. He chuckled as he slowly moved closer to you. 

That night, was the night things started changing between the two of you. Feelings that were stirring a pot that never seemed to be there. That moment led them to this one. 

"John, I got this. It's just a vamp nest. I've done hundreds of these. We both have." You told him while driving down the road. John was sitting beside you. The two boys were having a weekend at Bobby’s. (Bobby was willing to take them.) 

"I know that, but the thing is you could get hurt. From what I've seen this is the biggest nest we've ever taken on." You huffed as you turned into the motel parking lot. "John, I've been doing this longer than you have. Weather you want to believe it or not, I have. I also have taken on just as many Vampires as you." You stared daggers into his eyes. He knew you were not staying back on this case. You never did, you could take care of yourself. You grew up in a hunting family. Your parents made you hunt. That's all you've ever known was hunting. And weather John liked it or not you were going with him. "Fine." He huffed getting out of the Impala. You smiled while getting out the drivers seat. "Thank you." you kissed his cheek while he handed you your duffel bag. "Your not welcome." He sassed you making you roll your y/e/c eyes. "You know you love me." You teased him while y'all walked towards the room. "Yeah yeah."

‘john, is this place a little too.. I don't know clean to be abandon?" You asked in a whisper as the two of you walked into an abandon farmhouse. John nodded, looking around the farmhouse. There wasn’t a speck of blood or anything. You tighten your grip on your machete. Opening a door you shined your flashlight inside as you walked through. Blood was everywhere. Walking further into the room three bodies stuffed inside of the closet..

You covered your nose at the smell. "Oh, god." You groaned. Hearing quick footsteps followed by a groan. You ran towards the  sound. "John?" You called out looking for john in the quiet farmhouse. 

"Watch out!" You jerked around as you heard a hiss. Quickly cutting the head off of the Green eyed vampire. Then turning as you heard more hissing. John was fighting two vampires himself as you fought yours. The vampire hissed, trying to bite you with all of its might. "Get back, bitch." You hissed as you swiftly chopped his head off. 

Everything seemed to be calmed down. The house was quiet, the only thing you could hear was you and Johns heavy breathing. You walked over towards John when something grabbed you arm. 

Turning a woman vampire with brown eyes and black hair. She grabbed you by your Y/h/c hair, jerking you backwards onto the floor. Well what you thought was going to be the floor turns out to the window. "Y/n!" John calls your name as he runs towards the blood sucker, cutting his head off then running outside to check on you. 

Your ass was lucky that you were pushed out of the  first floor window rather then the second or third one. 

When John reached you, you were knocked out cold. Your face, arms and hands were a bit cut up. But what made John really worry was you being out cold. "Y/n." He lightly shook you try to get you to come to. "Y/n, baby." He could see you were breathing which relieved him a bit. "Y/n." He called.  You groaned as you came to. Holding your head as you tried to sit up.  "Hey, hey, easy there. You just came falling out of a window." He looked you over. All the bleeding kinda worried him. Your Y/e/c eyes were drooping, your Y/s/t skin was a bit pale. "I gotta get you to the motel room. Gotta stitch  you up, darling." He didn't even give you a chance to say anything. He wrapped your arms around his neck picking you up bridal styles as he carried you to the Impala. "What about the bodies?" You asked him while he opened the door and sat you in the front seat. "We'll worry about that later." He told you with a smile. 

The drive was mostly John talking trying too keep you awake. What scared him most was the blood covering your body. It scared him, he wasn't sure if it was your blood or the blood of the vamps. Once y'all got to the motel room the two of you got out and went inside the room. You hissed as you sat on the bed and stripped from your t-shirt and leaving on the tank top you had on under it. You whole body was sore; your head was pounding and you were almost positive you had somewhat of a concussion. 

Grabbing the first aid kit and a little bit of the whiskey you and John had in the room, you tried to start working on yourself. "Stop, let me do it." John spoke as he walked into the motel room with the hunting bag. "I can do it. I'm the reason I'm all cut up." You spoke as you avoided his glaze. "Why do you say that?" He asked as he took a rag putting a bit of whiskey on it to clean your wounds. He tried to make conversation, making sure that you were conscious and not passing out on him.

"Well, for one, you told me I should just stay home because I could get hurt. But my hard headed-self didn’t even listen to you when I should have." You hissed as he patted the wounds on your right arm first.

"Sorry." He whispered right before he continued talking, "Honey, if it wasn't for you.. I probably couldn't have done that nest. I know as cocky as I can be. I couldn't have done that nest by myself." You looked at him, searching his eyes to see if he was telling you the truth or just trying to get you to feel better. "I mean it." He promised looking into your Y/e/c eyes. You blushed lightly as you looked back to the motels ugly green carpet floor.  

"You are very lucky. I think most of the blood is the vampires not yours." He told you with a smile on his face. You chuckled as you shook your head. "Well, luckily these aren't too deep. I think I only have to stitch up two of them." He gave you a smile as he spoke. You nodded as he got stitching thread and a needle. "I can stitch it up, John." You told him as you tried to avoid him stitching you up. Its not that you didn't trust him. It's just you didn't like people coming at you with needles. It was weird, but just the thought of someone with a needle stitching you up, gave you the heebie-jeebies . "It's fine, I can do it." He gave you a reassuring smile and you nodded. "Okay." You took a deep breath in as he started to stitch up a wound on  your shoulder. 

"Thank you." You thanked as finished up the stitch. "It's no problem. I'm sure you'd do the same for me." He looked into your y/e/c eyes and slowly looked down at your lips and back to your eyes. You nodded softly as he seemed to be asking for permission with his eyes. He slowly leaned in, your lips meeting with passion. Your lips met and fireworks exploded in your heart. The butterflies in your stomach were going wild. You were so nerves, but as the kiss continued they slowly went away. John wrapped an arm around your waist as you wrapped your arm around his neck. He pulled you to sit on his lap, not once breaking the passionate kiss. 

Your hand was tangled up in his brown hair, his strong hands were around your waist holding you close to him. He slowly leaned back to lay down on the bed when your phone rang. At first the two of you ignored it, but it rang a couple more times you pulled back. A bit out of breath you answered the phone. "Hello?" "Hey, yeah, were fine why?" "Oh, well tell Sammy, he has nothing to worry about were on the way home. We should be  home by the time he wakes up in the morning." "Alright, see you soon Bobby. Alright, bye." "Sam, had a bad dream and he misses us. So I think we should get going." You spoke the tension in the room was high. "Yeah, yeah." He agreed. The two of you grabbed the bags and started making y'alls way to the car. Putting the bags in the trunk of the car, then getting in speeding off heading to Bobby’s.

[scarluxia]

Let's talk about some Adventures I had in Phoenix, AZ in 2015. It came up in my FB Memories and even though I determined to let everything from last decade go, this one still rankles. I got "in trouble" with these people for being open about my experiences on my Facebook because, even though I hadn't mentioned names, they didn't like me "putting their business out there".

CW for ableism, depression, rejection sensitive dysphoria, and I'll try to put all that in the tags.

My partner, Loki (yes real name), and I had been urban camping in Portland, OR for about a month. It had gotten cold and rainy to the point where we couldn't safely stay living outdoors, and Loki's father (who didn't approve of me) had demanded he come back to California and live with Loki's uncle. He made it quite clear I was not welcome, so I ended up going to Arizona because I had a friend who was willing to put me up. She and I had known each other since 2008 and I figured I would be safe with her. At the time, Loki was much more easily influenced by what his family wanted, and we ended up having kind of a nasty set of conversations over whether he was abandoning me.

While in Portland, my wallet had been stolen so I had no ID or SS card. I had reported it stolen of course, but had received no response until I was leaving Arizona.

My friend in Arizona had two young sons, a husband, and a boyfriend. Now, I have some sensory issues that make it so I have a hard time being around children. High pitched noises hurt me to my bones, like, even now I have to leave the room if my son gets overly excited and starts shrieking.

I was sleeping on the couch in the living room, which was where the kids would go when they woke up and where the TVs and entertainment consoles were.

Anyway, they wanted me to contribute to the household and whatnot but I was severely depressed and I think I've provided all the context I can remember? If the rest of this doesn't make sense, please know that there was a part 1 but it came up in my Memories on a different day and i didn't think I would be rehashing it.

So I couldn't do work, couldn't do anything anyone had asked me to do to satisfaction because various things that did not, in fact, depend on me. Maybe I wasn't being enough of a ~team player~, I don't know. But anyway, I did my best with what I had. Sometimes, because of THE EXTREME FUCKING SENSORY ISSUES THAT COME WITH AUTISM, I would get overwhelmed by the kids screaming. Two little boys, barely school age, and their parents sat them in front of a TV and gave them controllers. That's it. They had toys in their room, sure, but they weren't getting outside. I suggested taking them out a couple times, but firstly, I didn't know the area and wasn't about to go out alone, and secondly, I can't split in half and I'm not in good shape, so even if I had known the area, I wouldn't have taken TWO small children outside to run around where they could run out of the designated area. I'm kind of anal that way, I guess. But Woman A (mum) and Man B ("uncle") never got off their arses to help me take them outside, and Man A was at work.

Oh, yes, parental interaction with the kids. Woman A loved her sons very much. But at their age (3 and 5), they both should have been toilet trained. They should have gotten at least two hours outside every day. They threw fits when they weren't allowed to play video games because, instead of games being a special treat that was earned with good behavior, they were toys carelessly tossed at the kids to keep them out of everyone's hair. Conversely, and bizarrely, reading to them WAS a special treat. The father woke up, played games, basically brushed off his kids, and went to work. Same when he got home for lunch, and he *ordered* us to have them in bed by the time he got home for good. The mum did somewhat interact with them, but mostly just wanted them out of her hair. I wasn't so nice because I'm not good with kids in general and also loud screeching HURTS, IT HURTS IT HURTS MAKE IT STOP. (Same with snoring, or any noise made when I want to sleep.) This isn't me being a ~diva~, it is an actual manifestation of a mental disability.

Woman A was of the opinion that "everyone who lives in a house with kids automatically becomes a coparent", maybe because she wasn't willing to actually parent her kids herself.

Note from the future: I still disagree with the idea that "anyone who lives in a house with kids is automatically a co-parent". Parent your own kids. I don't expect my dad to parent my son when we go visit him and he made it quite clear when I was pregnant that he would not take on a co-parenting role (because his wives 30-50 years ago had handled the babies and he doesn't really know how to calm them down beyond entertaining them)

She got a really bitchy look on her face whenever I (who have been around children, especially TROUBLED children, all my life) made any sort of suggestion. Well sorry, lady, but it's not like you're doing such a great job with them. Y'all act like you barely want anything to do with them. Like they're cute and little and fun to snuggle, but actually teaching them anything? Forget about it, just toss em a controller and hope they don't kill each other in the game or real life. Meanwhile, they have no outlet for their natural physical energy, no real outlet for their curiosity. They're going to grow up stupid and sedentary, with "no one paid attention to me during childhood except when it was convenient for THEM" to deal with. The older kid recently got on meds for a condition that, from what I observed, was likely much more nurture than nature. And what everyone ate, my God, those kids were the only non-overweight people in the house, and it's little wonder! I bought ACTUAL NUTRITIONAL food for everyone, and the adults look at me like I'm from some demon dimension. I made a light comment about how I'd never eaten anything like what they had growing up. You know, boxed potatoes, veggies out of a can, white bread, sugary peanut butter. And Woman A was like, "well YOU don't have kids."

Um, no, but my father did.

I have a kid now, am working part time at min. wage because my boss sees my performance as so-so (plus she's been forced to give me a raise every time the County of Where I Live raises the minimum), in a single-income household, on as much Family With Kids welfare as My County will allow, and I still wouldn't feed my kid that crap LOL

Spoiler alert: they made me use all my food stamps on their household and then kicked me out later that month so... When I bought food I bought HEALTHY food, like, I've been on food stamps my entire life... Also, WIC specifically pays for WHEAT bread, fruits & veggies, and they do let you get peanut butter without sugar so idk what was going on there with them.

My father was a SINGLE PARENT raising a daughter in America after 20 years of living in Europe and raising kids with his previous wives. Well, up until the divorces, anyway. I was the only kid he ever got to keep. He told me things about how the others had been raised compared to how I was raised, and I saw the outcomes of different parenting styles in my peers as well. My father was a very poor man whose trade had been outsourced and who struggled to support us for years. And yet, we never went hungry, and he never fed me boxed potatoes. Never fed me sugary peanut butter, white bread, or veggies out of a can.

Ok I understand canned veggies are better than no veggies, and not everyone can get fresh, but you CAN get frozen in AZ. I always had fresh or frozen growing up.

It wasn't because we were living in the lap of luxury. It's because...

HE FUCKING VALUED OUR HEALTH OVER CONVENIENT, CRAPPY, NUTRIENT-FREE FOOD!!!! This is not a difficult concept. He ALSO read to me every night, despite having what I now realise was a very grueling day at work just to put said healthy food on the table. I didn't get to watch TV or play computer games (edu-tainment, the only kind I was allowed) until after all my homework was done. I can't remember if I was a particularly active child, but I'm sure I had the OPTION!!!! TO GO OUT.

Meanwhile, when I was at various stages of my life, I met kids whose parents shunted them from guardian to guardian because they didn't want to deal with them, kids whose parents were kind and supportive but rubbish at enforcing discipline, kids whose parents were abusive in every kind of way, and kids whose parents did their best.

You know, I wasn't raised perfectly. My upbringing lacked social grace and included some toxic ideas about womanhood that I've only been learning to overcome recently in my adulthood. But DON'T FUCKING ACT LIKE I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT RAISING KIDS JUST BECAUSE I DON'T CURRENTLY HAVE ANY. I have my own life, the lives of my peers, and a wonderful online community of new parents raising children in kind and socially aware ways, to draw inspiration from. I can go to any one of them, and to my own parents, and ask "hey does X seem weird to you?" And they'll give me their honest opinion, which *is valuable*. I have even mapped out a general idea of how to get through some parts of my children's lives, and I'm not even planning to have kids for at least another few years. I mean, honestly, it used to be "I don't want kids ever", but dear gosh, if I can have any part of raising someone in a manner that defies procrastination culture, entitlement culture, and everything wrong with the way my husband and I were raised, maybe it wouldn't be a complete horror. If I can ensure that not all hope for the next generation is lost, hey.

Anyway, I've gone off topic...

I also had some issues with the men. Man B just didn't seem to like anything ever. I had no idea what Woman A saw in him. I remember one time he tried to tell me, a Christian, that I can't tell people what a "real Christian" is because it ~invalidates their identity~. Excuse me, no. It doesn't work that way. There are things that Christ taught, and anyone who blatantly goes against them IN THE NAME OF CHRISTIANITY, IS NOT A REAL CHRISTIAN. And yes, I realise this entire rant has been very judgey and technically I'm not supposed to do that either, but it's not like I'm saying they're going to Hell. Just that their kids are going to be sluggish and stupid, and I can't understand how these people have the gumption to try to lecture anyone else about life when they're not even TRYING to get their own lives together.

Yeah so they tried to lecture me about how I was "letting" Loki mistreat me and how I cared more about "socializing" with my estranged husband (I have separation anxiety) than helping around the house e_e They also implied I used depression as an excuse to be lazy.

Man B was supposedly "super employable." Well, okay, even though his "job hunt" seemed to consist more of sitting around playing video games, he was larger than my father (who is 6 ft tall with a protruding gut and weighs 240 lbs at last count) (My father and I are both 60 lbs above our ideal weights. But we're working on it!), and never seemed to get past the phone-screening process.

Now, Woman A told me that Man B was looking for work and that her family and some friends looked down on him for being a freeloader. Probably because she was anxious about me thinking the same. But here's the thing: I wouldn't have cared. Honestly. If you want to sit around playing games all day in your married girlfriend's apartment with her and her husband playing video games all day, go right ahead. If you want to bake three potatoes at a time and take them back to your room for a snack, hey, more power to you. But don't piss out the window and call it rain.

I don't care how employable you are, where you live, who you're living with, or what your lifestyle is like. It doesn't affect me in any way. But don't act like you're doing something you're not just to appease someone's judgmental family. That doesn't ever end well.

Now, see, I clearly have a problem with people who do that. I don't hide many aspects of myself, though I will refuse to answer a question if I feel it's none of someone's business or if they're just asking it to be a judgmental asshole. I refuse to compromise myself or my safe space to accommodate someone who can't make peace with who they are. Hell, you know me! You know my show!

Wait, this is Tumblr, so you might not know my show. It's a YouTube storyboard dedicated to processing and mocking some spiritual and psychological abuse I've undergone in my life. On Facebook, it was one of the things I was known for at the time because I was constantly posting clips and art, and trying to recruit voice actors.

I sell anyone out who I catch lying to me about anything! That's nothing new! And these people knew that about me. For SEVEN. FUCKING. YEARS.

So anyway. Woman A has a lot of great short term goals but no actual follow through because "I'm just not in the mood right now." No judgment there. I've totally been there. The only problem is when it gets ME in trouble.

"Let's walk the dog." "I'm not in the mood." Okay, then the dog doesn't get walked because I can't figure out my way around the place alone.

"Let's do the dishes." Woman A doesn't let me know when the washer stopped. Okay. Then the rest of the dishes don't get washed.

"Let's take the kids outside." "No I'm too tired." Okay, then they're going to be RUNNING AROUND THE APARTMENT SCREAMING WHICH MY EARS CANNOT FUCKING HANDLE so bye I'm just gonna borrow your room and isolate myself for a bit.

"Let's go to the gym!" "Maybe later." But later never comes.

Do you see where I'm going here? As for the men, they BOTH complain that they're "doing too much" around the house. Okay, probably fair for Man A, who works full time and deserves to come home to a clean house. But Man B. Wtf. You literally do nothing, except when you do, and when you do, we're meant to throw you a parade? That's not how adulthood works, or so I've heard.

Note: All three of these people are older than me. I was 24? at the time, fresh out of trade school, on my own for the first time in my life. (Maybe 2nd? I ran away when I was 17 but ended up with my grandparents so idk if that counts.) Woman A was 26 at the time and had been married since 2008, had experience with office work and parenthood, etc. Both men were older than her. I was a chronological adult with the life experience of a teenager, so I felt comfortable saying that.

So did I mention that I'm sleeping in the living room during this stay? And the adults don't go to bed until like 2 AM, which means, because of my disability, wherein I cannot sleep if there's any sort of non-ambient noise, *I* don't get to sleep until AFTER 2 AM. And the kids? They come in the living room screaming at 6 AM. Yep. Okay. Living on 4 hours of sleep, for the mathematically challenged. That and dealing with the emotional turmoil of being separated from my husband when I've got high separation anxiety in the first place. All my pain, everything, it's up to 11. and I'm supposed to contribute but there's not really anything that allows me to contribute.

So what do they do? They ambush me. Call a "family meeting" to tell me absolutely everything that's wrong with me, after WEEKS of telling me what a big help I am and how grateful they are to have me around. Tell me I'm letting my "social life" get in the way of me helping around the house. Hmm. Social life. You mean, VENTING IN MY SAFE SPACE (Facebook, no names named) AND TRYING TO MEND THINGS WITH MY HUSBAND??????????????? Okay. Well since you guys treat your woman like shit, you clearly don't understand or appreciate devotion to one's spouse. Seriously. Woman A told me she used to have extreme separation anxiety with Man A, and that he would brush off her emotions as irrelevant. Her solution was to make it a poly relationship and take a lover WHO TREATS HER THE EXACT SAME WAY. I'm serious. She got no emotional support from either of them. They basically just threw pills at her and trained her to lie down until her feelings went away.

And she had the gall to lecture me (24 at the time) about how Loki (19 at the time & from a pretty horrific family) treated me. LOL ok. Log. Splinter.

As she knew, I'm monogamous. I do have some opinions on polyamoury based on individuals I've gotten to know who are in those types of relationships, but those opinions are irrelevant to this series of rants. Except one, which is pertinent: if you're going to take another lover, they should provide something that your existing lover(s) don't. If you're suffering from low emotional support and you just find someone else who doesn't emotionally support you and who treats you like a child who can't be trusted??? What are you even DOING? Like, she told me NEITHER of her men trust her judgment. What the fuck is a relationship without trust? And don't even try "dick too bomb" as an excuse when you tell me you haven't gotten laid in months and your husband is using your condoms on Woman B.

They don't support you. They don't trust you. And yet YOU'RE telling ME that things with my husband won't get better unless I follow your lead and take another lover? HELL TO THE NO. My husband has his faults, but if I tell him Person X can be trusted, he believes me.

Except for his ex-girlfriend whom he tried to add to our relationship when he tried to be poly, months later. That went Badly.

Or maybe he just knows I'll deal with them myself, with my hot, hot temper, if they turn out not to be trustworthy. He also doesn't treat me LIKE A CHILD. And while I sometimes point at things and make small motions when I can't physically talk, or sometimes even use baby talk when I'm feeling cutesy, I DON'T POINT AT A PIECE OF PAPER AND GO "THE CARRRRRR!!!!" IN AN INCREASINGLY HIGHER PITCH BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW HOW TO SAY, "Honey, I think we missed the car payment this month. Can you double check while the agent has you on hold, please?"

Okay, being a dick about losing words due to stress was not my finest moment, but at the time, I was just so appalled by how they treated her and how she allowed them to treat me.

So basically these adults who are nowhere near having their lives together, and aren't even really trying, put me on blast for not having everything running perfectly when THEY expected it to.

Let's reiterate. I couldn't get a job because I had no ID or social security card. I was waiting for them to be returned to me. I couldn't walk the kids or the dog, go to the gym, or complete all the household chores because no one would guide me. I need that guidance because of various components of my disability, which I really hate admitting to because I'm super fucking prideful, but I figured hey, she's not neurotypical either. These people will understand.

Their response when I brought this up? "You're an adult. You should know better." Sure, okay. But you should know that a child ought to be potty trained before he turns 5, or even 3; that kids need to run around, are entitled to their parents' attention and consistent discipline, and need!!! healthy!!!! food!!!!

Oh, discipline! So, she would send Older Boy to his room over misbehaving. But rather than enforce time-out, she'd go, "oh, I think I'm being too haaaard on him," and just... Relinquish. He's not about to learn anything that way, ma'am.

They called me trying to reconnect with the person I love more than almost anyone on this earth "obsessing over your social life". Well again, you treat your woman like shit, so MAYBE my undying devotion to the person I love goes a LITTLE bit over your head.

They told me that the household should be my first priority. Except no, because I am an autonomous person and my FIRST PRIORITY is, was, and ever has been the love of my life, whomever that may be at the time. That is 70% of my personality. I'm pretty sure anyone who had ever met me can vouch for my extreme devotion, and this woman had known me for SEVEN. YEARS. I'm not going to throw away 70% of myself to do an impossible task that no one will help me with.

They told me a lot of things I wasn't doing right, and for those of you who also struggle with anxiety and depression, you know that being told for weeks that everything is okay and you're so great and so helpful, and then being told that you're rubbish at everything... You know that that is hurtful. Devastating, even. I wanted to kill myself. I said that. I said that and expressed my feelings about some other things, in my safe space, without naming any names.

And even though I was posting in my safe space, I was polite about it. I was as gentle and rational as possible. I wasn't calling anyone out. Not like I am now. I wasn't trying to lead a witch hunt. I was just overwhelmed and trying to express my feelings. Trying to get myself not to kill myself. I had to tell myself over and over again that it's not what Loki would want for me.

In the morning, they woke me up and kicked me out. Said it was rude for me to say I don't care about their household. I never, NEVER said that. I said "Loki is my first priority." Something along the lines of "that's just how I am and I shouldn't be vilified for it." That doesn't mean I DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE. IT JUST MEANS THAT MY PRIORITIES WILL *NEVER* BE WHAT SOMEONE ELSE WANTS THEM TO BE. I AM A PERSON. I HAVE THE RIGHT TO DECIDE WHAT TO PRIORITISE, AND I HAVE THE RIGHT TO LOVE MY HUSBAND!!!

I MEAN, FOR FUCK'S SAKE. MY NAME IS *SIGYN*. WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU IGNORANT ASSHOLES EXPECT?! WHY THE HELL SHOULD YOU HAVE FELT THREATENED BY ME SAYING ANYTHING IF I DIDN'T NAME NAMES AND WAS ACTUALLY RATIONAL? IF YOU SAW THIS, *MAYBE* YOU WOULD HAVE THE RIGHT TO BE PISSY, BUT NOT THEN!

They kicked me out after having asked me to buy them all food. I had used up all my food stamps. Because I hadn't anticipated this at all. I hadn't known they would take such offence to my existence, to my ways. To the fact that I value the man I married more than I value... Whatever they wanted me to value, I guess.

Fun fact: I ended up in a women's shelter after this, and one woman told me to actually kill myself because she was tired of hearing me cry at night.

They said I hadn't made any effort to get my life on track. Because I can just snap my fingers and make my ID appear. Because I can just manifest the money for a replacement. They said all these things that left me almost unable to breathe, in retaliation for me posting that I was suicidal.

Later, Woman A told me that this had been a long time coming and that they were trying to make room for Woman B and Woman C, both of whom were willing to have sex with the men, which is something that I would not. I feel the first woman I met at the shelter was accurate when she said they basically kicked me out because I wouldn't sleep with them.

I also later found out that my ID and SS card had been returned to sender. The Portland PD called me and told me. So my father came to the conclusion that the people I had been staying with sabotaged me from the start. For a while, I didn't feel it, but last night I dreamed about it, and the dream made me angry. I didn't deserve to be treated that way. And I really had to get all this off my chest, so for those of you who didn't immediately whip out your tiny violins, thank you.

[ceaderblocks]

The Devil’s in the Details Ch. 6

Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four // Chapter Five //

Read on A03

Created alongside @thematrixmutual

Join the discord here!

Cub knew it was wrong. He <em>knew</em> helping Scar carry the AFK Xisuma to the End was wrong (was he really AFK?), and he knew Scar shooing him away to hide Xisuma screamed bad. But he did it anyways, because Scar was his best friend.

Except Xisuma had been missing for three days now, and Scar was adamant he didn’t remember helping with the prank. Scar was also avoiding everyone, working at night and skipping social activities to work on the strange black tower in the shopping district.

He was still working on the large black pillar in the shopping district when Cub flew by, determined to catch him in person. It looked almost finished, imposing and dark against the other shops. Scar was at the base, humming as he dug through some chests. The sun was setting, and the torches began to let off some light.

“Scar,” Cub said, and the other builder jumped, smacking his head against the chest lid.

“Oh! Cub!” Scar said nervously, rubbing his head. He avoided eye contact, choosing to look at his scuffed shoes instead.

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” Cub said softly, placing a hand on Scar’s shoulder. He wasn’t wearing his jacket. “How’re you?”

“Busy as always,” Scar said, gesturing vaguely to the tower and still avoiding looking Cub in the eyes. Cub frowned.

“Are you okay, though?” Cub asked, concerned. Scar’s behavior was off.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Scar said, tugging on a pigtail nervously.

“You aren’t, though.” Cub said softly. “Scar, you’ve been acting strange lately.”

“Have I?” Scar frowned, looking concerned. “Guess I’m just tired.”

“Grian and False found both their bases aggressively terraformed, and they both said they hadn’t requested or paid for it. Black pillars have popped up all over the map. Jellie’s been sleeping at ConCorp. With me.” Cub said. Scar looked surprised at that final note, and finally looked at Cub.

Green eyes. Cub thought. Not blue.

“Is that where she’s been?” He asked, ignoring all the other points. “I was worried, I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Jellie never sleeps with me.” Cub continued. “Please Scar, tell me what’s wrong.”

Scar looked away again. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Cub.”

“Three days ago, you and I moved an AFK Xisuma from here to the End. He hasn’t returned, and you refused to let me know where you put him.” Cub said, and watched Scar turn from sadness to confusion to horror.

“Scar, something has been seriously wrong for a while, hasn’t it? Since we both fell into the Void a week ago?”

Scar bit his lip, on the verge of tears. He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and nodded.

No jacket. Green eyes. Pigtails. Cub noted to himself.

“I’m really sorry Cub. Once I finish this build it’ll all go back to normal, I swear!” He said, and turned away, kneeling on the ground and re-opening the chest.

“Scar! Please!” Cub begged. He was so damn worried.

“Cub, I can’t-“ Scar suddenly fell quiet, doubling over and clutching his head for a moment before blinking rapidly and jerking upright, slamming the chest lid shut.

“Scar?” Cub asked, concerned. Scar turned to him, looking forlorn.

“Can we not talk about this?” He asked, an annoyed tone to his voice. He put a hand on Cub’s shoulder, leading him away from the tower. “Let’s do something else. Golf, maybe? We haven’t played golf in a while.”

“Scar-“ The grip on his shoulder tightened, and Cub fell silent, looking at his friend, panic leaping in his chest.

Blue eyes? Scar just had green eyes. What is going on?

“… Golf sounds great.” Cub finished, and Scar (this isn’t Scar) smiled, pulling his pigtails from his hair and re-arranging it into a ponytail.

“Super,” Scar said enthusiastically, pulling a rocket from his inventory. “Race you there?”

“Sure.” Cub said, hesitantly grabbing his own. “Should we invite some people to join us?”

“I think it’ll be a fun game between just you and I,” Scar said. “Besides, we haven’t gotten to have some quality time together in a while.”

“Right,” Cub said. “Of course.”

He needed to find out what was going on, and if he had to do it by being close to the enemy, so be it.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The End was cold, as it usually was. Xisuma could usually spend lots of time in it just fine, but extended periods would even make the most well weathered Hermit a little chilly.

Xisuma was freezing.

Oscar had put him in Adventure mode, able to survive but not interact with most things. Xisuma had paced around the small cell, trying to get warm before realizing he was getting hungry and the Oscar hadn’t left him with food. He had then taken a few moments to figure out where he was. Xisuma came to the conclusion he was under an End Island, iron bars confining him to the small seven by seven block area. Oscar hadn’t left any food or water. Just Xisuma, his helmet and the emptiness of the Void. The doppelgänger had even taken his comm box.

“Bastard.” Xisuma had snarled, kicking an end stone through the bars and retreating to a corner to try and huddle and save body warmth.

That was a few days ago, now. Well, Xisuma thought it was a few days ago. Keeping track of time had never been a strong suit of his, and it was harder when there were no day cycles. It was also hard to focus when you were starving and freezing to death. He had stopped being nauseous from hunger a while back, the gnawing at the inside of his stomach taking second place to the violent shivers that wracked his body. He was exhausted but refused to fall asleep. Death had never bothered the Hermits before, but Xisuma was confident he wouldn’t wake up if he let his eyes shut.

A bright flash of white made Xisuma wince and weakly covered his eyes. Great. He was having hallucinations now. That’s cool.

“Finally.” A familiar voice said, and Xisuma uncovered his eyes, struggling to sit up. “It was terrible being banned. Nice of you to let me back.”

“Evil Xisuma?” Xisuma whispered, not willing to believe his eyes. There was his counterpart, dressed in red and stretching, seeming to not have taken notice of Xisuma quite yet.

“The one and only. Hey, where the fuck are we? The End??? God, you really didn’t want me to destroy the server if we’re all the way out here, huh.” EX said, touching his toes.

Xisuma was speechless. Evil X was banned. He shouldn’t be able to come back, let alone be summoned to him in this prison cell. This was definitely a hallucination. It had to be.

“Speechless, Xisuma?  I know, it’s cause- oh shit,” EX said, finally looking at his counterpart. “Dude, you look terrible.”

Rushing to his side, EX helped Xisuma sit up and lean against him. Xisuma shut his eyes, dizzy from the lack of food and water.

“Fuck, Xisuma.” EX said. “You didn’t unban me, did you?”

“No,” Xisuma said. Evil X dug through his inventory for a moment before pulling out a water bottle and some bread.

“Here, start with this. Slowly.” EX cautioned. Xisuma tore a small chunk off the bread and nibbled on it. His stomach growled. He felt sick from eating.

“If you didn’t bring me here, who did?” EX frowned, looking around. “Are we in a prison cell?”

“I don’t know who brought you,” Xisuma admitted, swallowing some water. “And we are. Scar’s evil counterpart put me here.”

“Hey, he’s stealing my style.” EX said. “I’m supposed to be the only evil twin here.”

“He’s dangerous.” Xisuma cautioned.

“And I’m not?” EX said. Xisuma chose to take another bite of bread instead of answering.

“If you’re here, you’re probably stuck in adventure mode with me.” Xisuma said.

EX frowned, opening his inventory. “Uh, no. I’m in survival. I have some stuff from last time and- holy shit Xisuma!”

“What?”

“I have admin controls!” EX said, thrilled. Xisuma perked up.

“You do?”

“Yeah, look!”

Evil Xisuma threw open a command screen. Xisuma was shocked. How was this happening?

“I haven’t been able to access this shit since season one.” EX said, typing in some commands. /give <Xisuma> golden carrots [64].

Xisuma gaped in surprise as 64 golden carrots popped into his otherwise empty inventory.

“Hell yeah,” EX said. “Now I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

“You need to help me,” Xisuma pleaded, grabbing onto Evil Xisuma’s arms. “Please, EX, the whole server is in danger.”

“You always say that when I’m around too,” EX snarled, looking unhappy.

“This is different.”

“How so?” EX asked.

“This evil version of Scar-“

“Oscar.” EX said.

“- right, Oscar, he's taking over the server by replacing Scar. He’s building towers everywhere and forcing the land in unnatural ways. You didn’t replace me, so- wait.” Xisuma stopped his explanation and struggled backwards, EX cocking an eyebrow.

“How do you know his name?”

“Because he spoke to me in the Void? Dude, we’re both results of Void death mis-happenings. He promised me admin powers if I came and helped him.”

Xisuma clenched his jaw. “And here you are with admin powers.”

“Yeah,” EX agreed, but he looked confused. “But I told him no. I thought you brought me back to help fuck him over or something. I’m not sure why I have admin abilities.”

“You gave that up?” Xisuma was rendered speechless for the second time.

“Hm?”

“You gave up being an admin and getting revenge on the server?”

“I’m not a dick,” EX snorted. “I just want a bit of mischief. Y'all are to uptight for your own good. Oscar’s a full-blown asshole. He wanted to ‘ruin everyones lives’ and ‘replace everything with death’ or whatever. Not my style. Anyways,” EX pulled up his command screens again.

/set gamemode creative <Xisuma> /give cheats <Xisuma>

Xisuma felt better instantly. The cold that had frozen his limbs dissipated, and the hunger gnawing at his insides left. He felt energized and alive for the first time in many days.

“Thank you,” Xisuma said. “Really, I mean it.”

“Can I ask a favour from you?” EX asked, suddenly looking very serious. Xisuma nodded, unsure once more.

“Let me live with you all- peacefully. And also let me kick Oscar’s ass.”

Xisuma snorted in laughter and smiled, sticking out his hand. Evil Xisuma took it, shaking it.

“Deal.”

[neuropathicgypsy]

I pick my battles wisely

Like tonight at a restaurant they totally ignored me for an hour and it was irritating.

The owner brought us drinks and i had told him we were ready to order but he never took our order.

The kitchen was a mess and other people had waited an hour for food, So i was chill as it wasn't just us...

As i Sat i found out they fired a waitress because they thought she wasn't any good..,, but turns out she was fine the kitchen was messing up when it was busy.

So i told him, you need to hire that girl back and hire another cook in addition to what you have...

This is after i already got attitude, walked up to the counter, asked the waitress to take my order, was told to wait... She waited on a table waiting longer than me and then finally she told the owner, "go take their order! Do something! Help me!"

So finally after he got his emotions under himself he did.... And After i yelled at him from across the restaurant because he told the waitress my order had been taken.

No way dude. She's not fucked up sir

The waitress wasn't that great I'll say... She was as good as me... And she had said more than once (to the kitchen) she was ready to quit.

I think she could had done more orders while waiting on the kitchen to fix their fuck ups rather than standing over them. Yet at the same time... Its like having a kid that colors on the walls... You cant just run around leaving a box of Crayolas next to them, unattended.

The owner brought our drinks, wrote it down and then instead of taking my order was literally running around literally running, doing drinks... And he weirdly poured lemonade into a glass then back into the pitcher then took the pitcher... Idk what that was about... I thought it was janky.

We could had left and got some other food elsewhere but i wanted the food from that particular restaurant. And we could even had left my unopened can of coke and paid for her bottle drink with cash on the table.

But i wanted to wait.

So instead of just being aggravated and bitchy, I listened. And I found the solution.

So to say i pick my battles wisely isn't so much a thing as i wisely battle battles.

Sometimes I do stupid shit and sometimes i mess things up. But when i do, i try to fix it.

We didn't ever get served our free chips and salsa but I did leave a tip of $2.84 as our food was $17 and i told her to keep the change from our $20.

Because I didn't feel sorry for her. I know she did the best she could, i could hear her from our table, right next to her station, complaining and trying to get every one their food. By the time we got there "timely" wasn't an option and they rudely didn't even offer free beverages although they could had, easily.

But because she did the best she could do under the circumstances. When we went in she was bitchy and nearly just flat out rude to us, clearly showing no interest in waiting on us (or actually being able to).

And as the problems got solved; She was like a whole new person. Clearly happier and less stressed. And by then not so much wanting to quit but willing to settle for a cigarette.

Sometimes we Don't get what we want. I knew she would be at least an hour before she smoked... If not longer.

We had to wait an hour for our order to be taken but then just a few minutes for our food to cook, like 15 or so.

Then we were done in like 10

Sometimes success isn't what you think it is, sometimes success is just really what it is. Making it through an hour of a day alive and well.

I also noticed on the table next to us, an order ticket book, with a pen shoved in it to keep the page on top of a cell phone.

Obviously someone had stopped what they were doing to take care of something.

Tonight I was one of those things.

And so while I yelled at the owner with an attitude only i can have all straight outta Brooklyn, I did appreciate what was done for us to have dinner.

That's one thing i hate about blogging. That i rarely put that across. Usually I only say something at the end of bitching someone out or not at all.

That's because I don't feel valued as a human. And so i don't write often. And its actually why i had quit when i began memories of Matthew Hagan. I had been wanting to quit for a long time. So i did.

Maybe it didn't suit Matt well. Idk. But in the end i found out it was safer for us that i didn't.

(Jesse has a Dick by the way. Cookie was tired of me being nice to him and being ignored so Cookie showed him what he was missing out on. Give him some of that good old media hes used to. Jesse says he looked in the mirror real good 4 times to make sure his eyes worked proper. LMAO. Its pretty fucked up weird how a certain detective started giving him shit after he read that about Jesse. Yet didn't do a thing when Jesse was being victimized)

So my point is that i am who I am and i act the way i act and i don't have a problem with it.

So y'all in my insta DMs all trying to fuck with me, You're obviously needing a solution to your life. And it's gonna be one that I see you need. Not what you think success with me would be.

So heed this as your clearly stated warning or continue trying to steer the Titanic, cause you're gonna sink, no matter who you are or what you want. Because, to me, that is clearly the ending with the way I'm being treated.

[blackrosesfanfic]

Chapter 172

Cammie

I sit down on the couch next to April. She is on her phone like she has something serious going on. I lean back on her pushing the phone into her chest. She couldn't push me off. One because she is but so big and secondly I have Caden in my arms.

"Ma?"

"Get your ass up."

I scoot off of her lap onto the couch. I still had my legs on her. I sit Caden down on my legs so she couldn't take them off of her. She goes back to her phone. Caden has been sleeping too much in the day. I'm trying to get him off of that hospital schedule. They were always poking him and bothering him at night. So I'm bothering him during the day instead of giving him his peace.

"Your son thinks I need to lay Caden down and let him sleep. I'm trying to get him back to the real world. People sleep at night. Only prostitutes and celebrities be up throughout the night. He not going to want to be up every night. Plus he don't have breast and Caden gets to where he only wants the breast, no bottle."

"Who are you talking to?" April asks not looking at me.

I push her shoulder with mine. "I don't think there's nothing wrong with holding my baby all day. We missed so many hours of bonding already. I'm more attached being that he was away from me."

"Cammie, go somewhere else and talk to yourself."

"I'm talking to you."

"Oh please don't whine." she says putting her phone down. "You have Lane spoiled. It's only fair that you spoil the little warrior. He is gaining weight fast."

I smile. "These fat thighs are getting too big for those preemie diapers."

April pulls at his feet. "He is so cute. Do you think he looks more like Lane or his own look?"

"A lot like Lane. They are going to be the perfect Disney siblings."

"Fucking Disney."

I giggle. "Disney."

"Who the fuck do they think they are? Here is when you are going to introduce your baby to the world. Here is how. You have til the end of the day to provide an invite list. You have to RSVP to your own shit."

"Your son doesn't see a problem with any of that. Only rights he wants are the ones to announce it. But Disney is cool with only allowing videos at their back drop. They even offering free photos with a character theme of our choice."

April shakes her head. "I don't give a damn."

I laugh. "Anyway, Ma, I found you something to wear."

"That's usually a joke." She stares at me. I don't smile. "Cammie, you not putting me in nothing that your mother would wear to church."

"I can't with you." I say laughing.

Caden starts whining. I turn him over on his belly then rubs his back. He is too fucking much. He gets quiet immediately. I take out my phone. I seriously took my time and picked this dress out for April. She is going to wear it whether she loves it or not. I took her style into consideration. She takes the phone from me.

"This is more of a dress for you." she says.

"Let me see that." I take it. "Oh that is mine."

She sucks her teeth. "You paid for this already?"

"Yes, I did, April."

"You think you the shit." she rolls her neck. "Better be on point."

"You going to think you the shit in this. I was thinking Disney. Fairy Godmother. Sexy Grandma."

She turns up her lips. "Rose is the grandma. I'm more of the..."

"Grandma." I say giving her the phone.

As I thought she doesn't say nothing. Her way of approving it. She strolls up and down the page.

"You might understand me." she says smiling then giving the phone back.

"Dress size and everything." I snap rolling my neck.

She takes Caden. "Tell your mama I don't like her attitude."

I hug her. "Mama."

"Cammie get off of me. Where is your husband? Go be up his ass."

"You never said you liked the dress." I snap.

"Cammie, I didn't fuss about it."

"Tell me you like it April." I say all up in her face.

She sighs. "Tremaine, get your wife."

I look up. "I thought that was really Trey."

"Cammie."

"No, Ma."

She kisses Caden's head. "Where is my baby Lane? He will get you out of here."

"April." I whisper.

"Did I tell you about my new friend?"

I back up out her face. "No. Spill."

"Imma just tell you that you met him."

"Oh you are no fun at all. How am I supposed to guess?"

"I bring lots of men around, Jayla?"

"Don't try to flip this."

She laughs really hard. "Here I was thinking you knew me and we had this mother/daughter thing going. Don't even know me like that."

"Jayla." Trey says walking into the room. "Lane, here is your mommy and mine."

"That my mommy." Lane says.

Trey makes a face at us. I start laughing really hard as I realize who April's new friend is. The guy with the funny name that she didn't bother introducing anyone to. It was at a party. She was talking about the life of Trey Songz to this guy.

"I know your secret." I say.

"Mommy, Caden right there?"

I focus on Lane. "Yes, this is Caden."

"Caden say hey." Lane raises his eyebrows.

"Caden can only cry. Come back later."

He starts whining. "I go? I leave?"

I kiss his face. "No Big brother. Where would you go if you have car?"

"I go all the way up high."

"Not in a car. Why are you looking for me?"

"Cause." he says touching Caden back. "I looking for you, Caden. Hey, Caden."

Trey comes back into the room. "Who did you send flowers to?"

Damn he mad about it. "What's wrong with sending flowers?"

"Depends on who the f... Who you sent them to."

"I wouldn't be sending a man flowers, Tremaine. You know what they say about jealous people. They usually the ones doing the dirty."

He smacks his teeth. "Be straight up. Who?"

"I sent them to Charleston, Smarty Pants. Who else did I send them to?"

"You act like I know all of that." he says leaving abruptly.

I sigh then whisper to April. "Excuse me, Ma. I have to go pay my jealous oldest some attention. He tripping."

She chuckles. "Please do. That doesn't look cute and y'all sound terrible."

"You not take Caden. Nanma, give mommy back my brother. He want mommy."

"Your mama leaving you." April says pointing. "Drama number two."

 *******************************

 I look at the list of people who RSVP'ed already. I didn't want a lot of people. I mainly invited my wedding guest list. My bridesmaid, Trey's friends, and family. So far 10 out of 55 are coming. I'm expecting about 25. Mostly women. Not many men want to come see a newborn baby.

"Tremaine?"

"Mmh?" he replies. He stands up and walks all the way over to me. "Jayla?"

I rub his chest. "Tremaine, like... I don't want to be rude or nothing. I don't want people touching my baby."

"I understand that."

"I mean, he only what 7 weeks? How did I forget? Anyway, his immune system not that good. Like who knows what people bringing in with them. Then they will be wearing perfume and shit."

Trey steps back so I couldn't touch him. "Perfume?"

"Yes."

He screws up his face. "What the hell perfume has to do with anything?"

"It can break him out."

"Seriously? Why didn't you tell me that? I..."

"You dont put cologne on at home. Plus you put it on your clothes. Only a small amount be on your skin."

He steps back up to me. "You tell me what to do Jayla and I will do it. I'll be as rude as need be. If they can't touch him then they can't touch him."

"I only want our personal photographer in the actual event. Not Disney people. I told them already. People will just have to look at him. Nobody hold him unless they are willing to wear covering."

"You should have only invited a few people then."

I shrug. "I'm figuring only the women will come. Maybe a few guys. Chris most definitely."

"Not true. Drake is coming for sure. Jeremih, Jeezy, Kanye, Frynch, Mario, Khaled, Will, Jackie, Kevin..."

"They are not. They not even on the acceptance list. They all called me asking if it's real. They all told me they are coming. I might have to tell them to respond to the invite. I know Drake assistant is doing his."

"That's... Okay, I was not expecting that."

Trey starts rubbing on my ass. He was deep in thought about something. I hug his torso. He stops blankly rubbing on my ass and hugs me back. It doesn't take long for his mine to go back to my ass.

"Tremaine." I say letting him go.

"What do you think about me going out?"

I shrug. "Go. Just remember if you drink or smoke, sleep it off and don't bring it around my children. The behavior or the scent."

He grabs my ass with both hands. "Jayla?"

"I think that you should get off of me."

"Only if you are physically unable to be touched. Can I bring a female home?"

I start laughing. "You not funny. Get off of me."

"So you get to have two other men in your life but I can't bring home some funky bitch from a party? You got some deep rooted double standards."

"Leave my babies along. I give you so much attention. We have been fucking more than we did that week we spent together."

He smiles. "We not doing nothing right now. You not naked from the waist down."

"Tremaine, I can't believe you still be on me like we don't be doing nothing. Can't let you get a taste of nothing."

"You telling me to taste it." he says pushing his body against mine.

I put my arms around his neck. "Tremaine, I swear I already feel like I been doing squats all week."

"I'm just wondering what kind of conversation this is."

"Mama Rose." I say letting Trey go. He grabs my wrist. I look back at his 'don't go to far' face. "Hey Mama."

She hugs me. "My pretty girl. How are you?"

I smile hugging her. "I'm doing good. I know you already saw Caden."

"I told Lee that we had to go down before that showing party. I'm not going to let a party be the first time I see my baby."

"Isn't he beautiful..."

"Handsome." Trey says hugging Rose.

She kisses him. "He is so handsome. I know how proud you are of this woman, Maine. Two healthy boys."

"What?" Lane yells.

"DayDay." Rose says.

Lane falls out on the floor. He so funny. He kicks around on the floor playing. She yells at him to come hug her. He acts even more silly then he runs to her jumping up. They have a conversation then leave.

"What did he say to her?"

"I don't know." Trey says grabbing me. "I'm okay with being rude. You?"

I look at him funny. He grabs my ass touching my pussy. I understand fully what he is talking about. I smile touching my body.

"I might be walking like I'm bowlegged. But rude is okay."

He laughs really hard pulling me to him. I start kissing on his neck. Fucking Tremaine. He picks me up and starts walking. I bite on his ear. He grunts. I lick his ear. He throws me. I gasp as I hit the bed. I turn over in the bed lying on my stomach.

"Perfect." he says in my ear.

His voice gives me chills. It's like he knew I wanted to hear him in my ear more.

"I love you."

"Mhm." I moan.

He grabs my hips pulling me into him then starts fucking me hard. I press my lips together holding back the urge to let everyone know the amount of excitement I'm feeling. I exhale. He starts fucking me right. Hitting my spot each time. I cover my mouth and let it all go. I still could be heard. I know it. But the feeling... Oh the feeling.

"Acting like you fucking for the first time." Trey says.

"Feels like it." I moan.

He kisses my back. "I feel like singing to this shit." He says poking my pussy with his limp dick.

I turn my upper body over looking at his face. He kisses me so I couldn't see his face. I want to see that look of satisfaction he has right after.

[theofficialcunt]

Simplicité - Chapter 4

Short chapter this time! Happy Saturday y'all! Special thanks to @veronicasanders for being my new beta for this story and helping me make this story 50303178283x better. Clap for that hooker! I hope you enjoy, and I’m gonna try and get back on schedule (Thursdays for those who don’t know). Have a great weekend everyone. ❤️

She walked out of her bedroom, grabbing a wine glass from the kitchen cabinet and poured herself a full glass of white wine. She patted her box of wine lovingly; it wasn’t the most spectacular wine in the world - but fuck she drank so much of it she had to buy the cheap $10 boxes so she constantly had it on tap.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. Bianca raised an eyebrow at the text message before taking a big gulp out of her glass.

Courtney Act: Do you have time to talk tonight?

“Boxed wine? You’re a 40 year old trapped in a 25 year old’s body.” Adore snorted, walking out of her room curiously in a pair of sweats from her high school and an old concert t shirt.

Bianca smirked, still feeling weird about what had happened in the dressing room between the two of them. She had never had that sort of connection with anyone before. Love was a business transaction in her mind. You fuck, you kiss, and sometimes you pay for dinner. There were no overwhelming feelings clouding her judgement. She usually spotted someone attractive, swallowed her pride, and made it a goal to make them hers.

But there was something different with Adore. Something that said their relationship wasn’t fully professional. But she couldn’t put her finger on it. Fuck, and she was feeling this way on only the first week of knowing her.

“When you begin working for real, you’ll understand why I have this crap on tap.” Bianca joked, taking a big swig of her drink.

Courtney Act: Can I come over at 8?

“Who’s that?” Adore asked curiously.

Bianca groaned, looking between Adore and her phone. The last person she wanted to deal with right now was Courtney, especially with how much of a raging cunt she had been to Adore. She really didn’t know what the blonde wanted to talk to her about, but reluctantly she responded.

Bianca : SURE! NO HARASSING MY ASSISTANT WHILE YOU’RE HERE!

“Courtney’s coming over.” Bianca started. “So, if you wanna avoid her like the plague - which I’m sure you do; you can go in your room and lock the door. I’ll get you when she’s gone.”

“Ugh. Can’t she just see you tomorrow?” Adore sighed. She had enough of Courtney for the day. She honestly didn’t know how she was going to work with someone who blatantly hated her as much as she did.

“She’s really not that bad.” Bianca muttered. “Just a bit headstrong.”

“Well, I’ll be in my room if you need me.” Adore said, starting to walk away. “Wait. I came over here to ask you something.” Adore tapped her finger on her lips as she tried to remember. “Oh! Do you have Farrah’s number by chance?”

Bianca narrowed her eyes at her, before scrolling through her phone locating the number. She hastily texted the contact information to Adore, setting her phone down dramatically on the quartz countertop.

“Thanks!” Adore exclaimed as she skipped happily to her room and shut the door.

Bianca drained the remainder of her glass and immediately refilled it.

It was going to be a long night.

—————–

When the doorbell sounded, Bianca groaned as she dragged herself out of her bed and to the front door.

“I thought it was just you coming?” Bianca asked incredulously as Courtney and Bob pushed past her into her living room.

“That’s clearly code for, why the fuck are you here?” Bob smirked.

“Why the fuck ARE you here?” Bianca questioned, raising an eyebrow. She loved Bob to death, but Courtney usually didn’t team up with Bob unless…

“Bitch. You need an intervention. Where’s Adore?” Bob asked peering around the corner.

“In her room, avoiding you buffoons.”

“Smart girl.” Courtney commented, taking Bianca’s wine glass and sipping from it.

“Hey! If you guys are going to force me into an awkward intervention at least give me my goddamn wine.” Bianca scowled, snatching the wine glass. She led the way to her room, Courtney closing the door discreetly.

“Before we start, I just wanna say it’s not Adore I have the problem with. It..it’s you.” Courtney said nervously, biting her lip. Bob sat down at Bianca’s nearby vanity table, and pretended to be enamoured with her collection of makeup.

Bianca sighed, knowing damn well there was no escape from this inevitable conversation. It was a long time coming and she knew where Courtney was going with this.

“I was in a really bad place that night.” Bianca started, sitting down on the edge of her bed and crossing her legs.

“I understand that, and I was willing to forgive you but you never apologized. You never said sorry for just-”

“You were willing to forgive me?” Bianca shot back angrily. “My mom had literally just died when I came to your apartment that night. I was trying to confide in a friend-”

“Confide in a friend?” Courtney snorted. She threw her head back and laughed, letting a long cackle ring through the apartment. “Confiding in a friend is crying on their shoulder and watching ‘ Paris is Burning’ 50 times in a row. Not sucking my clit and destroying my favorite robe! Which, was custom made by the way!”

“Custom made by who bitch, Jo Ann’s?” Bianca sneered, rolling her eyes. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck you want me to say to you. That happened months ago, can we just move on?”

“No, we can’t just ‘move on’,” Courtney hissed, making air quotes with her fingers “God, you’re so fucking dim sometimes Bianca! Don’t you ever think about anyone but yourself?”

“Don’t you think I had the right to be selfish that night?” Bianca argued, standing up as she looked into Courtney’s eyes. “My mom died, I was hammered, and it’s not like you were complaining when it happened.”

“You didn’t have the right to play with my feelings like that Bianca. You knew how much I liked you! Whether or not your mom had just passed, you don’t fucking do that to someone,” Courtney seethed, opening the door. “Fuck you. This was a stupid idea. I’ll just see you at work.”

Adore quickly slid from behind Bianca’s opening door to the kitchen, pretending to look in the pantry for a snack. Courtney stomped out aggressively, with her head surprisingly held high. She made eye contact with Adore for a split second before she stopped in the middle of the hallway.

“Did you hear any of that?” Courtney asked curiously.

“Uh, no.” Adore lied. “I was just getting a snack.”

“Good. Well, since you’re here I might as well tell you now.” Courtney shrugged, “I’m sorry for being a bitch to you-”

“You weren’t a bitch-”

“I was.” Courtney said abruptly, cutting her off. “It had nothing to do with you though Adore. So I’m sorry. Can we be cool at work now?”

“Um, yeah sure.” Adore stammered, taken off guard. “Maybe you can teach me some of your skills. I’m pretty sure my face will never look like yours, but a girl can dream.”

Courtney laughed, “Oh girl, no one’s face will ever look like mine. But sure. I have to prep you anyway for your clients on Saturday.”

“I have clients on Saturday?” Adore asked, eyes wide.

“Yep!” Courtney exclaimed. “Anyway, I better get going. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay, bye.” Adore said perplexed, grabbing a bag of chips from the pantry.

Well, as much as she was confused by that whole interaction - she was happy to have her on her side.

—-

Bianca tried to overhear Adore and Courtney’s conversation in the kitchen, but they were talking too low. She would just have to ask Adore later. Who knows where her and Courtney stand at this point.

“Bitch,” Bob cleared his throat before he continued. “I’m your best friend and I love you so keep that in mind when I say what I’m about to say to you.”

Bianca just shrugged, knowing that whatever Bob was about to say was probably for the best. He always kept it real with her, which she appreciated.

“You knew damn well how much Courtney liked you, and you took advantage of that. Then on top of that, you treated her like a one night stand and pretended the night didn’t even happen when you saw her at work.” Bob sighed, taking a deep breath before he continued. “ Bianca, Courtney is your fucking employee. Not just a hoe you found at a bar near Wrigley field. She’s supposed to be your best friend when I’m not around. Which is never. I’m always around.”

Bianca laughed, thinking about when Bob used to feel threatened by Courtney. My, how things change.

“And now you have doe eyes living with you, and you look at her like she’s a slab of meat. Openly. In front of Courtney!” Bob continued. “ Do you understand how fucked up this whole thing is? You’ve barely known Adore 24 hours B. Get yourself together. That is your personal fucking assistant, not your personal play toy.” Bob got up and stood by Bianca’s bed as he stared down at her.

“Honestly, I love you and I know you’ve been going through a lot. But girl, you need to keep it in your pants. You owe Courtney AND Adore an apology. That’s all I’m going to say. I’ll see myself out.” Bob sympathized, as he walked out of her room.

What a bunch of rude cunts, Bianca thought bitterly as she laid down fully on her bed. They had the fucking audacity to come to her house late at night, stage an intervention - if you could really call it that - it was more like a Courtney-attacking-her fest featuring Bob being awkward in the corner until she left.

Courtney was way out of line for organizing that fiasco. If she thought that she could get under her skin, she was sadly mistaken.

Bianca wanted to resolve things with Courtney, she really did. She just wanted Courtney to be more sympathetic to her situation. Bianca had acted recklessly, and it was her way of crying for help. She didn’t understand why Courtney couldn’t put herself in her position.

No, no. She was not going to let herself fall down the rabbit hole. She could cry and moan and ponder about this all night, it would get her no where fast. If anything, it would get her 6 cups of coffee in the morning since she had such a long day tomorrow. As far as she could tell, she did absolutely nothing wrong and Courtney was the one with the problem.

But yet, Bob’s words were still on repeat in the back of her mind as she closed her eyes to go to sleep.

[divagonzo]

10 years

10 years ago today, it was my 33rd birthday. For reasons stated below, it's one I will never forget.

10 years and 7 days ago, on another Sunday, I was called to my Dad's house. He'd fallen and they needed my help. I rushed over and tried my best to help but due to his size and condition, we needed the brute strength of the fire department guys (whom to this day I still go out of my way to thank profusely) to get him back up off the floor.

I left and went home and was quite anxious that day. I was full of nervous energy, to the point of re-arranging the living room. Maybe I knew something was going to happen. I won’t spend time pondering this incident.

About 5pm, I got a frantic call to come over. I think I broke every single speed limit to get there, and possibly running the occasional red light, too. O_O I don’t recommend it - ever.

I walked into my nightmare. I had seconds to prepare, seeing the faces of the guys from the fire department.

That nightmare was that Dad died. He fell asleep in his chair and didn't wake.

My (former) step-mother was a wreck. There was no one else to help. I had to make snap decisions on what to do and how to go from there. I had to turn off the emotions, put them aside, and be an adult. That give-a-damn stayed broken for about 3 months.

My Sis, God love her, was willing to drive 9 hours to be by my side. I told her I'd need her desperately the next weekend.

I was a complete mess and had to strap on my dragon sized britches and make decisions, some of which were financially crippling for a time.

He had no will, no power of attorney, etc etc etc. 3 weeks before, he'd filed for bankruptcy, because of medical bills. (FYI - having a respiratory arrest when you aren't working will do it. He didn't tell me everything and I only found out these things afterwards. Call that another shock.)

That week, my SM was of little help. Everything fell on my head. So many decisions had to be made, so much to accomplish those days. I couldn’t fall apart. Too many needed me to be strong, accomplish too much, and not take the time to grieve immediately.

I called work and spoke to someone, explained I wouldn't be in for a while, and didn't bother with them again. There were banks to deal with, funeral homes, paying for everything, including the bankruptcy lawyer (caveat - those guys only take cash - not a check. No installment plans there, folks.)

Suffice to say, there wasn't much I really remember now of that week. I was drinking, sometimes heavily. This went on for months. Not at work. Not before 5pm. In the midst of intense grief, I kept some discipline. Go figure. I quit drinking heavily a week before Christmas. My Sis was there those two nights. I don’t remember them in my drunken haze. She can’t remember them either, thankfully.

What I do remember is my husband being my rock that week, including finding a way to pay for the funeral. (that wasn't cheap at all, b/c of SM insisting on some things.) I remember that my husband willingly gave his body to fuck me daily, so I could function with some normalcy. (We didn’t know ‘til years later he was Autistic.) That was the only way I could sleep - and he couldn’t.

I remember crying on my BFF’s shoulder for an hour the next morning.

I remember my Sis coming into town, and doing things that I couldn’t do at the time - grocery shopping, laundry, cooking, and cleaning the house. She saw a need and did it - unasked.

The visitation was on a Sunday night. Dad’s best friend drove 9 hours to be there. Cousins came up. Step-siblings were there. So many lives he touched over the years.

So many were there, including some I didn't expect, like my father's former step-mother. Growing up, he was bounced around between families, because his mother was a Jehovah's Witness and the parents didn't want her to have custody of him, taking him off on her missionary trip with her new husband to South America.

So the second wife of my grandfather abused him - horribly. Granddad was off in Korea, in the Navy. My father rarely spoke of those days but when he would, there was a rage that I didn't fathom or comprehend 'til I was older. Those abuses shaped him in ways I didn't understand 'til these intervening 10 years.

Dad’s former step-mother showed up to the visitation. This elderly woman, probably in her mid 70s, begged my forgiveness because she couldn't do it to my Dad. I could have been an asshole but I wasn't. I took her at her word and thanked her for it, and buried the hatchet on his behalf.

I realized only later that it was cowardice on her part, begging my forgiveness, when I wasn’t the one who was hurt, and wronged.

My grandmother wasn’t there. Alzheimer’s already took hold and she wouldn’t haven’t understood well enough. I made the hard decision that she wasn’t to be told.

It would have upset her greatly, with her not realizing why. I wouldn’t do that to her not in that condition.

My sis was there, along with my BFF. They are amazing, were then and still am.

Thanks to another Aunt... we had bar-b-que from a good place. I dunno how i remember that. There was also a huge birthday cake. There were a slew of birthdays to celebrate the night of the visitation. This included giving my nephew (with his parents permission) his first beer. I also let him cut the cake, reserving the only piece for my Dad, who had his birthday 1 month later. The nephew was turning 18. His younger sister, 11. My favorite Aunt (the following week) - 75.

Dad would have been 59.

The next day, I buried my father - on my 33rd birthday.

He always did make a spectacle of it, one way or another. And the last thing I could do for him, even if it was full of surreal irony - is that he always asked for a posh address.

I gave it to him, as his resting place. It’s nice out there. It was part of a dairy farm. The wildlife out there can roam. The feel safe that Dad doesn’t have a gun in hand, hunting impotently.

It went as best as I could manage things, including getting bent over a financial issue that the institution wouldn't bend on. I had to go back to work - eventually - and it sucked so hard for a week.

Out of his pride, he let others take financial advantage of him. When he did ask for my help, Hubs and I paid for most of their bills for about 8 months - gladly. That's how they kept the house and the lights on, and food on the table.

I tried to make amends with the financial institution, but to no avail. They wouldn't deal with me, only him. They were assholes. I relished fucking them over, like they did to my dad when he was financially bereft.

10 years...

And I've learned that I needed a second baptism in fire. I learned compassion, a little more patience, and that wrath is a poison that only affects you, not the one you are furious at.

He never forgave his abuser. That was his right, including never dealing with her. I still don't blame him for it. I blame her for being a witch to him, when he was a child in need of support and protection. I blame my great-grandparents, who (in their opinion) were protecting him from my grandmother, even if they abdicated raising him, leaving him for his absent father.

The step-family is gone, severed. Things happened in the intervening years. I don't miss them. I do miss my dad, only to have someone to bicker with. I miss his generosity - which he was almost too much with. His giving nature was taken advantage of repeatedly, but he still would open his door and his dining room table for anyone in need. He needed it, the validation of giving.

I still have my Mom - a pain in the ass sometimes but I actually like her. But the ones I cherish are my found family. They are the ones who have been there through the painfully thin, and the best of the thick. The Hubs. The BFF. The Sis.

Y'all ask how I can be so wise, sometimes? Because I lived through my nightmare and while tempered in fire, I survived it and am better for it.

My boggart changed after that moment. I will have other testing moments, which I don’t want to think about. Those boggarts have yet to come.

But ‘til then...

[cutesilyo]

On Love: Anxiety (A Yuuri Katsuki Analysis)

The thing about Yuuri is that he's such a relatable character to me. Even more so now that he's in a relationship with Victor, so I can honestly say that YOI is the anime that I've always needed.

Because:

Yuuri has anxiety.

Yuuri is in a relationship.

Yuuri is in a relationship with someone he thinks is too good for him.

Yuuri has a low opinion of himself.

Yuuri is an unreliable narrator.

Yuuri hates losing.

...and etc.

These are all things that I can relate to! So, forgive me, but I absolutely hate how this anime ended. And although I loathed Episode 12 to death, the ending of Episode 11 was something I didn't expect and yet it was something I didn't know I needed — mainly because Yuuri’s anxiety reared its ugly head in a way that I am all too familiar with.

[Pictured: Yuuri Katsuki clenching his fists in an attempt to gather up the courage to ruin his own life for Victor's sake]

i.e. Cutting your own losses before you lose them.

So from the perspective of someone who also has low self-esteem and is in a relationship with someone who I think deserves much better, here's why I believe Episode 11 was necessary in a way that Episode 12 did not give justice to. Here we go!

You see, I have this tiny theory here about what Yuuri was thinking when he said those words that ultimately broke everybody's hearts. Everybody's been talking about it since the episode aired. But here I am, regardless, because I need to deposit these two cents of mine even though the account is already positively overflowing.

There's this belief I have, and I have no idea if this is just something that I have because I've been raised with an Oriental mindset or something specific to just me, but I'm afraid of being too happy. I believe I can only achieve a particular level of happiness; if I experience more happiness that I deserve, bad things happen. If I have too much, you bet your ass at least some of that will get taken away.

There needs to be balance in this world, or so I and many others believe — there is no shadow without light, and the moon has no meaning if she is not opposite the sun. Suffering and happiness? They go hand in hand. And in the same vein, there is no success without strife —  and that's widely preached. But the opposite is also true; because there is no strife without success, and I'm willing to bet my non-existent balls that Yuuri and Victor are kind of the epitome of the latter.

[Pictured: Victor Nikiforov before he met Yuuri Katsuki, i.e. incredibly lonely and trusting only a dog for providing him constant companionship]

And while Victor's end of the spectrum — his gold medals were the fruits of labor that his loss to life and love bore — were given their high-key focus in Episode 10, Yuuri's end of the spectrum was a low-key theme throughout the entire series. Yuuri's talents were paid with leaving his hometown and family to pursue an incredibly unconventional career choice, having the press hound him for every anxiety attack that he can't control, and bearing that enormous pressure of representing his entire nation on his shoulders — and his poor anxiety-ridden heart can't deal with that most of the time.

[Pictured: Yuuri Katsuki's mouth giving an involuntary wobble before he forces himself to smile for his parents' sake, also known as a frame that deserves more attention]

There's a stereotype for Asian parents: that if their child gets less than an A, it's a failure. It's a joke most of the time; for Yuuri, he applies that to his entire career as a competitive figure skater. Add the fact that he's representing the whole of Japan for one of the highest titles a figure skater can get, and the anxiety he's developed over the years, and you get a bundle of nerves on the best days — complete breakdowns at the worst.

Plus his dog died just days before, or maybe even during, one of the most important competitions in his life.

Oh, and he is an unbelievably sore loser.

[Pictured: Yuuri Katsuki in that infamous shot of him breaking down in the bathroom; note that he only lets himself cry when he thinks that there is nobody around to see him]

And he's probably thinking i could have done better and he's probably thinking i guess i really should retire, but I propose that he's also thinking this is payment for all the other competitions i've won, isn't it? That he's thinking, this is payment for all the hardships i've put on everyone else. That he's thinking, oh well, i guess i deserve this after all.

It's like all the little bad things he's done over the years have finally come back to haunt him in one big smack of karmic retribution, right after the cruelties of fate have already given him a taste of what it felt like to be part of the winning team. Because don't tell me that Yuuri didn't feel this sense of pride, of fulfillment, of complete and utter joy when he was assigned to the GP Series and qualified for the Finals. That he didn't feel happy when he got the chance to train, abroad, with an actual coach and an actual rink despite just coming from small, seaside Hasetsu. That he didn't arrive at Detroit, wide-eyed and nervous but so young and hopeful, knowing that he was the JSF's certified top skater.

Then he lost at the GPF and he probably felt like all of that went moot. That all of a sudden, all his medals and trophies and successes didn't mean anything anymore. There's a reason why Minami was introduced, after all: to bring home the point that while Yuuri thinks he's an average skater, it doesn't mean that it's necessarily true.

It's further cemented by the fact that, when Minami says that his costume was inspired by one of Yuuri's older ones, he's mortified as he shrieks, "That's a costume from my dark past!"

Minami, bless him, talks back and says that Yuuri doesn't have a dark past to speak of. He's the actual cinnamon roll of YOI, guys. Imagine how happy he was when he cheered for Yuuri in the GPF in Yuuri's own house and saw, in person, all the trophies that Yuuri had been keeping in the background — and the fact that Yuuri even keeps them in the background speaks so much of his lack of self-worth that it deserves its own meta.

[Pictured: Kenjiro Minami, tears in his eyes as he screams out at his idol: You don't have a dark past! Don't make fun of me for looking up to you for so long and trying to catch up with you! — breaking our hearts in the process]

So, basically: if Yuuri had given all he had with skating, was rewarded with triumphs and successes only to feel like that had all been taken away when he was dead last at the GPF (and not to mention, he probably feels like all of this was justified); why wouldn't he feel that way about Victor?

Because Victor makes him happy. So happy, in fact, that his skating and confidence levels have reinvented themselves as a response to Victor's presence in Yuuri's personal life. Why wouldn't he think that Victor was too good to be true? Why wouldn't he be scared that the cruelties of fate would, once again, take away his source of happiness in a twisted form of giving balance to the world?

So he comes up with defense mechanisms. He blabbers in metaphor and dabbles in double-meanings (Episodes 1-3) and he feels so relieved that Victor seems to accept that it's just the way he prefers to express himself (Episode 4). But then he keeps falling and falling and he gathers up the courage to be more accepting of his past because of Victor (Episode 5), to be more bold for Victor (Episode 6), to be more couple-y with Victor. (Episode 8)

And ordinarily, that would be a good thing right? He's growing up! There's character development! He has more confidence now!

But YOI, god bless YOI, shows that anxiety doesn't just go away. It comes back to haunt you and when you're at your weakest, it strikes. This is best exemplified in Episodes 7 and 9, where it's glaringly obvious — but in Episode 11, it takes some understanding of the previous episodes to know that the entirety of the drama comes from Yuuri simply being an unreliable narrator again than from any actual basis.

[Pictured: Two similar shots of Yuuri Katsuki from Episode 4 and Episode 11 respectively — the former, a happy blush as he prays give me Victor's time, if only just for now; the latter, horror dawns as Yuuri comes to the conclusion that Victor wants to go back to the ice and that their time together is ending]

Because Yuuri is the epitome of unreliable narrator, and Episode 10 was the ultimate peak of the mountain that YOI has been building from the very first episode — in an anime that opens with the self-deprecating protagonist reading articles about his loss, which is intentionally and deliberately set up to overshadow the fact that despite his loss he's still competing in one of the biggest competitions in the figure skating world.

The other thing that YOI has chosen to keep from us until Episode 10 was that despite the entire world being clamorous for him to go back to the ice, Victor actually . . . doesn't want to do that at all. He literally calls it a shackle on his neck. He waxes poetic about the life and love that Yuuri has given him, that he has neglected for so long. He gets kicked in the back and declared as dead by Yurio, and the most he does is mockingly crouch down and ask, did you want to compete against me?

Having Episode 10 come right before the massive fuck-up in Episode 11 was both an explanation and a warning: yeah, yuuri did all that and victor fell in love with him first. now remember how different things looked back in episode 1. because we're gonna go back to that in the next episode and y'all need to know what's real and what's just what yuuri assumes.

And the thing about Episode 10 is that it triggers this impulse to rewatch the entire series from Victor's perspective and contrast that to how different we saw it when it was just Yuuri's perspective we knew about. Doing that brings more impact to Episode 11, I think — which also highlights that despite Yurio found a friend, he still has some humility to learn and his arc isn't finished yet just because he managed to perfect Agape. While I do think he was being too mean (to a point that I considered it OOC, after Episodes 9 and 10), that's a different post altogether.

[Pictured: Celestino Cialdini comforts a sullen Yuuri Katsuki during the Sochi GPF; comes with Yuuri's monologue of I could never openly say that I'd win gold, but I never skated with the thought in my mind that I'd lose anyway]

I think that the way that Yuuri reflects to himself during his FS in Episode 9 echoes how he feels toward Victor. That despite never really admitting out loud that he wanted a gold, he never actually believed he would ever lose either — Yuuri let himself stay stagnant while tiptoeing between having the potential to be a winner and actually being one. In the same vein, Yuuri found himself walking that same fine line between being Victor's future and being Victor's has-been; someone between everything and something, but never actually nothing.

Yuuri let his anxiety get the better of him and he decided that being Victor's past would be best outcome he could ever hope to get. The events of Episode 11 have led him to believe that he would never be Victor's future; or at least, he would never be the future that Victor actually wants. And in Yuuri's twisted justifications, it would be a good thing that they would end their relationship after the GPF; it gives Victor the freedom to do whatever he wants and it gives the Yuuri the relief of not having delved deeper into the idea of them being an actual concrete relationship.

[Pictured: Victor Nikiforov, part of a newly discovered evolved species of humans called homo superior]

Except Victor, unlike Yuuri, has already considered the prospects of having a relationship without a time stamp and jumped right into it. Victor has already established in Episode 10 that he wants Yuuri, and that he would definitely choose a life without competitive skating specifically because it meant getting the love of a lifetime. Screw the consequences, he's getting what he wants and he will put every fiber of his being into nurturing this relationship that gives him all of the happiness that he never thought he could have.

He just never verbalized it. So while Victor gets the concrete proof that Yuuri wants him in the form of giving him the rings (although he does so in a way that implies he doesn't want to admit it), Yuuri doesn't.

[Pictured: Yuuri Katsuki, in doubt of where Victor's happiness truly lies: in a life with skating or a life without it]

Yuuri gets soft and sweet and cuddly Victor and it's enough to make Yuuri hope but it's not enough to help Yuuri understand that Victor truly wants him — how much Yuuri changed him. He knows the Victor that is, as Minako says in Episode 1, free with his charms and winks at the cameras and is touchy-feely with a man he just met; a Victor who was bored and had an impulse decision to coach him and ended up liking him. But the viewers get more insight into who Victor really was before he met Yuuri, who was sad and lonely and hollow — a Victor that fell in love with the boy with the drunken flamenco dance and was looking for an excuse to meet him again.

Victor, like anyone, wants happiness. Winning doesn't give him that anymore, but Yuuri does . . . even though he doesn't even grasp the true gravitas of the love they share.

[Pictured: Yuuri Katsuki, in tears after an amazing Free Skate and the subsequent roar of triumph thereafter; a perfect representation of what we all felt in this scene]

Ultimately, what pissed me off about Episode 12 was that it seemed to betray its own protagonist. We had all the build-up to Yuuri winning gold and finally getting the concrete proof that Victor loves him back and that he is an incredible skater in his own right — because I wholeheartedly believe that the perfect ending to Yuri On Ice would be Yuuri getting gold and realizing that it doesn't matter. And for one moment he would look at all the people who have supported him endlessly and, instead of pushing them away in shame like he would have at the beginning of the show, he would thank them with a happy smile.

How Yuuri would learn not to equate his worth by his losses or wins was always a theme that I wanted the show to address in the Season 2 that I wanted to have, but for that to happen he had to win first in the S1 finale.

But he didn't, and the finale for one of the most popular animes of 2016 was done so cheap that it actually does render the entire anime into moot. So to say I'm disappointed? Yeah, well, that's kind of an understatement.

[Pictured: Yuuri Katsuki with the wrong medal]