#shit like wrong name or wrong school or wrong email

[direwolfblackrose]

I once had a person cc the boss in the email where I was going ''I'm not supposed to do this, it's against the rules, but do [action for solution]'' to complain why I couldn't do it every time.

I almost throttled her. I JUST told you I'm not supposed to do that why would you specifically tell my boss I did.

Luckily for me the boss' instructions actually were ''whatever solves the initial problem as an easy solution multiplied by thousands of people is a pain in the ass for us'' but I was PISSED. Why the fuck did she have to go and say ''she broke the rules once why can't you let her do it every time''.

If a worker who isn't the owner says ANYTHING similar to "I'm not really supposed to do this but-" and then does something that helps you, under no circumstances inform the business, including through reviews. You tell them that the worker was polite, professional, the very model of customer service and why you like to go there. You do not breathe a word of the rulebreaking.

[swappedandtrapped]

Swapping Research - Part 2

Read part 1 here Read part 3 here

The first shower was the worst. Marcus stood frozen in Tyler's bathroom, avoiding the mirror, peeling off unfamiliar workout clothes from an unfamiliar sweaty body. The smell, a mix of cheap deodorant and Tyler's sweat, was inescapable. He kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling as he stepped under the water, trying to ignore the strange dimensions of his new form. Longer legs, broader shoulders, muscles that shifted differently beneath the skin.

Impossible not to touch, though. Impossible not to feel. Every movement reminded him he was piloting someone else's flesh. Soaping Tyler's body almost felt like touching someone else with all that thick hair and unfamiliar mass.

After, he studied Tyler's face in the mirror (the slight chip in the front tooth, the stubble that grew…). He tried a smile and flinched at how wrong it looked, how the expressions didn't match the musculature.

He wanted to believe that from looking behind Tyler's eyes you could still tell it was Marcus in the pilot seat. But those eye resembled nothing other than Tyler's Brown eyes.

His phone, Tyler's phone, buzzed with notifications. Basketball practice in an hour. A text from someone named Jas with just a winky face. Three missed calls from "Dad."

"Shit," Marcus muttered, the curse sounding natural in Tyler's voice. His own parents emailed weekly for updates. Tyler's father seemed to be calling multiple times daily.

The phone rang again. Dad.

"Hey," Marcus answered cautiously.

"You watch the Gonzaga vid I sent? Their defense has that weak spot on the baseline when they double-team. You need to exploit that tomorrow."

"Uh, yeah. I saw that."

"Don't 'uh yeah' me. This is your future, Tyler. Those scouts won't come back if you play like you did last time."

Marcus held the phone away from his ear, understanding blooming about Tyler's desperate academic measures.

"I'll work on it," Marcus said.

A heavy sigh. "Just don't throw away everything we've built."

---

In Organic Chemistry, Marcus was caught off-guard when he saw Tyler sitting at his desk. Realizing what he needs to do, he sat at Tyler's assigned desk, hyperaware of how differently people treated this body. Girls smiled, guys nodded in recognition. The professor barely glanced at him. The invisibility Marcus had as a serious student was replaced by a strange social spotlight that felt simultaneously flattering and exhausting.

The professor started the exam. Marcus began working through complex molecular mechanisms with ease. Tyler's hand felt clumsy gripping the pencil, but the knowledge remained intact, for now. He finished early and noticed people glancing at him with surprise.

Outside after the test, a teammate clapped him on the shoulder. "Yo, Reeves, we're grabbing lunch before practice. You coming?"

The old Marcus would have declined, retreated to the library. But something in Tyler's body responded differently. A pull toward social connection, a need for movement and interaction rather than quiet study.

"Yeah," he heard himself say. "I'll come."

---

Later on, Tyler sat in Marcus's Advanced Physiology class, experiencing an entirely different reality. For the first time in his life, the professor's words didn't scramble in his mind. He took notes, each letter staying exactly where he placed it on the page. He raised his hand to answer questions, the information flowing effortlessly.

The professor stopped him after class. "Excellent contributions today, Marcus. That connection was insightful."

Tyler felt a rush of pleasure he never knew he could have. "Thank you, sir."

In the library afterward, Tyler opened Marcus's planner and studied the color-coded schedule. Med school interview prep sessions. Study blocks. A family video call on Sunday. He ran his fingers over the neat handwriting, experiencing the peculiar sensation of being organized from the outside in, rather than constantly fighting his own brain.

He took out his phone, Marcus's phone, and called Alex.

"Any adverse effects?" she answered without greeting.

"It's incredible," Tyler whispered. "I can read anything. First try. No reversals, no swimming words. Alex, I never knew it could be like this."

"The transfer is temporary," she reminded him. "Don't get too attached."

Tyler touched the textbook in front of him, the words remaining stable on the page. "Yeah," he said. "Temporary."

He hung up and noticed Marcus had scheduled a meeting with his academic advisor for tomorrow. Tyler had his own advisor meeting—one that would determine his academic probation status.

After a moment's hesitation, he rescheduled both to a later date.

---

Basketball practice was a nightmare. Marcus had played casually in high school, but navigating a collegiate practice in Tyler's body was like being thrown into a professional orchestration with no knowledge of the music.

"Reeves! Where's your head today?" Coach Barrett shouted when Marcus missed an obvious pass. "Run it again!"

The team's offensive sequence required multiple cuts and screens that Marcus couldn't anticipate. Tyler's body knew where to go. He could feel the muscle memory trying to take over. But his conscious mind couldn't surrender control.

Most disturbing was the pain in Tyler's right knee, a persistent ache that worsened with each cut and jump. In the locker room afterward, Marcus discovered a carefully hidden brace and prescription anti-inflammatories in Tyler's bag.

Tyler had never mentioned any injury.

---

Three days had passed. Marcus paced Tyler's apartment, anxiety building. The 24-hour deadline had come and gone with Tyler making excuses: Alex needed more data, one more day would help their understanding, the neural pathways needed to stabilize.

Worse than the delay was how Marcus's sense of self had begun to blur. He'd catch himself speaking with Tyler's inflections, laughing at jokes he normally wouldn't understand, craving foods Tyler's body was accustomed to. Last night he'd dreamed in Tyler's memories—fractured images of a childhood basketball court and a father shouting at him.

His phone buzzed. A text from Alex: Meet at lab at 7.

When Marcus arrived, Tyler was already there, wearing Marcus's body like he'd been born to it. The sight still caused a visceral wrongness, watching his body move with someone else's mannerisms.

"You missed another check-in," Marcus said. "And you canceled my medical school interview prep session."

"Rescheduled," Tyler corrected, sitting with a straight-backed posture Marcus recognized as his own. "This was more important. Alex is seeing unprecedented neural adaptation. Our minds are actually reshaping our borrowed brains."

"That's not comforting," Marcus snapped. "We had an agreement. Twenty-four hours."

"I needed more time," Tyler said quietly. "You don't understand what this is like for me."

"And my interview? It's in four days."

"I'll handle it."

"You'll—" Marcus stared. "No. Absolutely not. We're switching back. Now."

Tyler exchanged a look with Alex. Something passed between them that sent a chill through Marcus.

"What did you do?" Marcus demanded.

Tyler sighed. "I asked Alex to modify the procedure."

"Modify how?"

"The reversal process is more complex than anticipated," Alex interjected, not meeting his eyes. "The neural pathways have begun permanent adaptation."

"Permanent?" Panic surged through Marcus, his heart—Tyler's heart—hammering. "That wasn't the deal. You promised twenty-four hours!"

"I was drowning," Tyler said, Marcus's voice cracking with emotion. "Every day. Words jumbling, professors thinking I'm stupid or lazy. Do you know what it's like to have the answers trapped in your head while everyone looks at you like you're worthless?"

"So you're stealing my life? My future?"

"I'm borrowing it," Tyler insisted. "Just until after the semester. Then we'll figure something out."

Marcus looked between them, realization dawning. "You never intended to switch back, did you?"

The silence was his answer.

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Reply All (H.S. Fic) | Chapter 2

General Masterlist uni!harry x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N and Harry were childhood best friends, inseparable through every laugh, secret, and growing pain. But high school brought unspoken feelings and decisions that tore them apart, leaving both with unanswered questions. Years later, a class project challenges them to face their shared past and uncover the truths they’ve both been running from. And a wrong click unveils the past and what will be the future.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst, mentions of betrayal.

Your hands hovered over the keyboard, still staring at the email, torn between slamming the laptop shut or throwing it out the window entirely. The room was too quiet—that kind of quiet that made your thoughts unbearable, every line of Harry’s email replaying over and over in your mind.

You read it once, twice, at least ten times, blinking and rubbing your eyes, hoping it was some weird dream that would disappear if you looked away.

But it didn’t.

There it was: the email, glaring at you, with everyone’s email address in the recipient field.

The furious sound of the door bursting open snapped you out of your daze. Your eyes darted to Juliet, standing in the doorway, phone clutched in her hand, her face mirroring your shock and disbelief.

“Holy—” she started.

“Shit,” you finished.

Juliet rushed over, peering at your laptop, her jaw dropping as she confirmed what she’d already seen on her phone. “Oh my god. It’s real. The whole class—the entire 22 students—got this?”

You nodded numbly, closing the laptop with a sharp snap. “What’s happening? What is this? Is he... mocking me or something?” Your voice cracked as your thoughts spiraled a thousand miles a second.

Juliet stared at you “Mocking you? Y/N, he didn’t even mean to send it to you! Or anyone! This was a huge, accidental, disastrous mistake.” She paused “And that’s the thing—it’s raw. It’s real. It’s...” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s tragic and romantic and messy, just like the two of you.” She was too dramatic for her own good, maybe that’s why she chose literature and just maybe that’s why her name suited her so well.

“It’s mortifying!” you shot back, standing up abruptly and pacing the room. “It’s embarrassing! It’s—” Your hands gestured wildly in the air. “It’s a lie! That’s what it is!”

Juliet folded her arms, watching you wear a path into the carpet. “You think it’s a lie? After that email? Y/N, come on. No one writes something that vulnerable if it isn’t true. And they definitely don’t send it to the entire class by accident if they’re not losing their mind over it.”

You stopped mid-pace, running a hand through your hair, your emotions a swirling mix of anger, confusion, and something you weren’t quite ready to name.

Juliet watched you pace, her expression softening. “Y/N, it’s not a lie. Come on, you read the same thing I did. That wasn’t just some random excuse or a joke. That was real. Like... the kind of real people don’t just write down unless they mean it.”

“How can you be so sure? He’s barely spoken to me in years, Juliet. He’s ignored me, avoided me—he doesn’t get to just... just drop something like this and expect me to believe it.”

Juliet sighed, crossing her arms and leaning against your desk. “Maybe he doesn’t expect you to believe it. Maybe he doesn’t even expect you to read it. Hell, he probably wishes the ground would swallow him whole right now. But, Y/N... he wrote it. And that’s gotta count for something.”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “What am I supposed to do? Ask why he thinks writing about me like I’m his tragic love story is okay?”

Juliet’s lips twitched into a small smile. “I mean, that’s one option. Or, you know, you could just talk to him. Like two grown adults. Maybe figure out why he felt the need to pour his heart out in the middle of a class project.”

You shook your head, resuming your pacing. “It’s not that simple. If I talk to him, it’s like... I’m acknowledging it. Acknowledging him. And after everything, I don’t think I can do that.”

Juliet walked over and placed a hand on your shoulder, forcing you to stop moving and look at her. “You don’t have to figure this out right now. But, Y/N, don’t let this sit and fester. You owe it to yourself to at least try to understand what’s going on here. Whether you believe it or not, Harry just handed you a piece of himself”

Her words lingered in the air as she stepped back, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. The email, now closed behind the laptop, felt like it was still burning into your mind. You weren’t sure what your next move would be, but one thing was certain—you couldn’t pretend it didn’t exist.

🌷

The week was quiet. Too quiet.

You barely saw Harry around campus, and when you did, he seemed to be actively avoiding your gaze. His usual confident stride looked hesitant, shoulders slumped, as though the weight of his email disaster had physically manifested on his back.

Not that you cared.

At least that’s what you told yourself every time Juliet glanced at you with an arched brow, her unspoken words hanging in the air.

You, on the other hand, were drowning in your own thoughts. The email replayed in your head in snippets—his words, the tone, the rawness. It was like a broken record you couldn’t stop, even when you desperately wanted to. The anger in you simmered, hot and unrelenting, blocking out any other emotion trying to creep in.

Friday arrived, and so did the storytelling class.

You had spent the entire week doing everything possible to avoid Harry.  But as the day approached, the dread of sitting in the same room as him grew too overwhelming to ignore. You told yourself you weren’t going—not because you were scared or unsure, but because you simply weren’t ready.

But Juliet had other plans.

“Y/N, get up. You’re going,” Juliet said firmly, standing in front of your bed with her arms crossed.

You groaned, pulling the blanket over your head. “I’m not going, Juliet. I don’t have a story ready, and I’m not ready to deal with…him.”

“That’s exactly why you need to go,” she replied, yanking the blanket off with zero remorse. “You can’t avoid him forever, and skipping class isn’t going to solve anything.”

“Watch me,” you muttered, curling into a ball.

Juliet rolled her eyes “Listen, Y/N. Do you think he’s going to magically disappear? Or that ignoring this will make it less messy? No. What you need is closure. And maybe... maybe you’ll find it in that classroom. Or at least you’ll hear what he has to say. He’s probably dying to explain himsel”

She was right, ignoring it wouldn’t make it less messy, but maybe you wanted to believe he was going to dissapear

“Look, just come with me,” Juliet said, softening her tone. “You don’t even have to talk to him. Just sit in the back, pretend he doesn’t exist. But please, don’t let him take this class—or your peace of mind—from you.”

She got a point.

With a sigh you got out of bed. “Fine”

Juliet grinned, tossing you your bag.

🌷

The classroom was unusually loud when you arrived, but the moment you stepped in, the noise died down, replaced by the tension of stares. You didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what they were thinking. Of course, they still remembered the email—how could they not? It was the freshest gossip on campus, a dramatic story for everyone but you. For you, it was a mess.

Juliet gave you a reassuring nudge as you walked past rows of desks, guiding you toward an empty seat in the middle. "Ignore them," she whispered.

You tried to focus on her words and not on him. But there he was, sitting in the back corner of the room besides Noah. At least Noah accepted his offer. His face was unreadable as his eyes followed your every move. You could feel his gaze burning into the side of your head as you slid into the seat next to Juliet.

"Just breathe," Juliet murmured, pulling out her notebook. You mirrored her movements, pretending to organize your things as if your heart wasn’t racing out of control.

The minutes dragged on. Conversations around the room resumed, but you couldn’t hear them over the rush of blood in your ears. The weight of his gaze never wavered, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

And then, his voice broke through the noise.

“Juliet, can we switch seats for a minute?”

Your entire body froze. Juliet looked at you, then back at Harry, her expression shifting between surprise and excitement.

“Um...” Juliet hesitated, glancing at you for guidance.

You swallowed hard, staring straight ahead, willing her not to move. But Juliet, being Juliet, wasn’t one to back down from a dramatic moment.

“Why?” she asked bluntly, raising an eyebrow.

Harry sighed “Please?”

You couldn’t move, you couldn’t even look at Juliet, but why? you swore you didn’t want to talk to him, hell you were avoiding him all week, so why weren’t you running away, why did your legs decide to stay still, Why?

“Fine. Take it,” she said, stepping aside and shooting you a look.

Harry slid into the seat beside you, his presence immediately overwhelming. He didn’t say anything at first, and neither did you. The silence stretched between you, filled with unspoken words and years of unresolved tension.

Harry took a deep breath, his voice shaking slightly as he started speaking. "Look, I know you don’t want to hear anything I have to say"

Then why are you here? you thought.

You kept your eyes fixed on the notebook in front of you, your hand frozen mid-scribble.

"I didn’t mean for the email to happen like that," he continued "I was trying to send it to Noah—just Noah—and I don’t even know how I messed it up so badly. But I know that doesn’t matter. It’s out there now, and... and I’m sorry."

He hesitated, waiting for a response. You didn’t give him one.

"I know it probably made you feel a million things—angry, embarrassed, hurt... and you have every right to feel all of that. I would, too."

Your grip on the pen tightened, but you didn’t look at him.

"I wasn’t trying to drag you into this, Y/N. I swear I wasn’t. I just—" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I was selfish. I was trying to make sense of something I’ve been too much of a coward to deal with for years. And now... now I’ve made it even worse."

You stayed silent, your pen hovering over the page, unmoving.

"And I know you probably hate me for it," he said quietly, almost to himself. "For everything I did back then, for the way I acted... and for now. I get it. I’d hate me too."

Still, you didn’t speak.

Harry exhaled slowly, as if trying to release some of the weight pressing on him. "I just wanted you to know I’m sorry, okay? For all of it. Even if you never talk to me again, even if this ruins everything even more than it already is... I needed you to know that."

He sat back in his chair, letting the silence between you stretch. But you still didn’t move, didn’t speak. And eventually, he stopped trying.

“Or maybe even if you want an explanation for everything, your friend Juliet probably knows where to find me,” he said, standing up and leaving again for his seat.

No, I know where to find you, you thought again.

🌷

After Harry's words echoed in your mind, you couldn't shake the way he had spoken to you—so raw, so regretful, yet so distant. The days following his apology felt like an eternity of silence, and yet your mind wouldn't stop replaying that moment over and over. The way he had stood there, the vulnerability in his eyes, and the quiet weight of his apology that lingered in the air. The words themselves had been heavy, but the silence afterward was even worse. You didn’t talk to Juliet about it. Instead, you spent hours lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything that had happened—what you had said, what he had said, and where everything had gone so terribly wrong. Was he really sorry? Did it even matter? You had asked yourself all the same questions a thousand times, but nothing seemed to have an answer.

That’s when it hit you: If you were ever going to move on, if you were ever going to understand anything, you had to do something about it. You had to go to him. Not for closure, not for anything grand or meaningful—but for yourself. Maybe Tragic Juliet was right all along.

So, when Friday arrived, you decided to go.

The campus was busy, students chatting and hurrying to their next destinations, but you weren’t really seeing any of it. You only had one destination in mind. You found yourself walking toward a secluded spot near his dorm. It was tucked away between the larger buildings, a quiet little hall filled with nature—a place you had seen him before, reading, writing, or drinking something late at night. Even if you didn’t want to, your mind couldn’t help but remember that.

And there he was, sitting at the only table there, his head down, focused on something—his phone, a textbook, you couldn’t tell. But he was there. Just like you knew he would be.

For a moment, everything felt suspended in time.

Harry didn’t look up at first, but when he did, his eyes widened slightly. The moment your gazes locked, everything about the past few days seemed to crash together in an overwhelming rush.

“Y/N, I…” he began, standing up immediately.

You crossed the room, your pulse racing, and stopped just a few feet in front of him, interrupting him. “Five minutes, and that’s all I’m g….”

“No,” he said, cutting you off. He sounded brave. “I can’t say what I want to say in five minutes, and you know it. Look, if you really want to hear me out, if you’re really willing to give me a chance to talk, I’m starting by telling you the truth. I need more than five minutes.”

And he was right. almost half a life of mess needed more than ten minutes.

“Fine…” you said, taking the seat in front of him, but he stood still “aren’t you going to sit down?”

“I was about to” he said faking he wasn’t just there stupidly shocked that this was actually happening

For a brief moment, that small exchange felt oddly normal, as if everything between you was okay again. Maybe, just maybe, the spark hadn’t completely disappeared.

He took a deep breath, bracing himself.

“We were in Year 10 when I decided to... screw everything up, basically. But this started way back in Year 8 or 9. Something like that.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t know what I was feeling, but every time I saw you walking through the school doors, it felt like I was the luckiest guy alive. And this isn’t some cheesy love confession—it’s the truth. I was confused. I was excited. But I was also terrified.”

He took a sip of water, his hands trembling slightly. You didn’t say a word, just kept looking at him, trying to process every sentence as it came.

“And yeah, it’s so fucking cliché. Best friends falling in love. Good job, Harry,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “I had the best years of school with you, and I didn’t want to ruin it over... a crush. I thought I could just shove it down, bury it, and stay your best friend. But the longer I stayed close to you, the harder it became to pretend. I thought I could get rid of those feelings if I just... distanced myself. But that backfired. Completely.”

He exhaled shakily and continued, his voice softer now. “The more I pulled away, the more I wanted you. And by the time I realized how much I’d messed up, it was too late. I wasn’t there when Zack broke up with you. I wasn’t there when you had that breakdown during P.E. I wasn’t there when we threw our graduation caps in the air—like we promised we’d do together. I missed everything, Y/N. Everything.”

His words twisted in your chest, each one hitting harder than the last. He knew exactly where he had been absent—every moment you had felt his absence, even the ones you hadn’t consciously remembered.

“And it sounds so childish, so immature,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But I promised you the truth, and there it is. I swear, I didn’t look at your applications. I didn’t even try to end up in the same class as you. But somehow, it happened. And I told myself that if we crossed paths again, I’d let you feel whatever you needed to feel. If you wanted to yell at me, hit me, hate me—I’d take it. I deserved it.”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “And then I screwed that up too. Who even invented the ‘Reply All’ button? Why the hell would anyone need to reply to everyone?!” His voice grew more frustrated, and for a moment, it felt like he was arguing with himself, replaying the past week in his head.

“I’ve messed up more times than I can count,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “Even when I picked you for the project. I thought I could be subtle, keep it under the radar so no one would notice. But instead, I did the complete opposite...And th..”

It wasn’t just an apology anymore—it felt like he was punishing himself, listing every mistake, every failure, every regret.

“Stop,” you said firmly, not out of anger but concern.

He froze, his breathing heavy. 

“Sorry,” he said, exhaling like the weight of the last few days had finally caught up to him.

“I think that’s enough,” you said, standing up.

“No, it’s not enough,” he said quickly, following your movement. “I still need to—”

“It’s enough, Harry.” Your tone was calm but resolute. The seriousness in your eyes made him stop.

He held up his hands in surrender, letting out a heavy sigh. “Okay,” he said quietly, almost defeated. Harry had never pushed—not back then, and not now.

PART 3

Taglist: @hermionelove @mads3502 @cherryloveshs @harrystyleshotwife @familyshow-orisit @fadingcherryblossomblaze @lunaharrygurl @gem1712 @millsadoresyou

[sugurusdiscordmoderator]

Sukuna one shot

inspired by @rinhaler’s plug sukuna that has been living in my brain rent free

mdni 18+

cw: age gap, oral (f and m), face fucking, hickeys, daddy kink, praise kink (way too many ‘princess’s) , hint of possessiveness at the end

Everyone when they’re first on their new college campus feels like hot shit. And you’re no exception. You graduated high school with a 4.0 moved away from your home town and broke up with your boyfriend so you could have fun.

You show up to your first day of astronomy class, a stupid course you have to take as a liberal arts college even though you’re a business major. You thought it would just be freshmen in your introductory core classes, but oh you couldn’t have been more wrong.

You sit towards the back of the class, not too far back that you won’t seem like you’re not paying attention, but not close enough for you to seem like you’re trying too hard. You got there about 5 minutes before class started to be punctual but a lot of the seats were taken. You took out your notebook, pen, and the syllabus the professor emailed you ahead of time to have printed out.

Within the last 60 seconds before class started one particular student walked in. He had to have been a senior, or even a fifth year, with tattoos, pink hair, and a not-too-excited to be there expression. Just your luck, the last seat available was to your left which was like awkwardly close between the wall and your seat. He looks at you and raises his eyebrows as if saying “hey” in a fuck boy way. You can’t help but look at the way his red tshirt hugs his biceps as he pulls out the chair and sits down. He doesn’t attempt to take anything out of his book bag, and you think to yourself ‘there’s no way this man is a freshman’.

The attendance sheet gets passed around and you sign your name and pass the paper over to him. Of course he doesn’t have a pen or pencil so you clear your throat to offer yours to him. He says “thanks,” under his breath not making eye contact but taking special consideration to look at your name written above his.

This professor is pretty annoying and asking people questions off the syllabus so you decide to be nice and place yours between the two of you. He finally makes eye contact with you and you smile, like a little naive freshman that you are. God, dressed all nice for your first day of class wearing that cute little dress he would love to just ruin you. You watch his eyes go up and down your body and you just sit there and take it. Watching his Adams apple bob as he swallows. The sexual tension is thick, and you don’t even know his name. But you know that you want him, regardless of his age or grade or how little he cares about school.

Class was soon over and you found yourself looking forward to the next time you had class with him, as it was a Monday Wednesday Friday class.

Wednesday you get there just a little bit earlier and grab the same seat but you don’t get your hopes up that pink hair-big bicep-mystery man will sit next to you again. As you’re unloading your things out of your book bag you hear someone sit down next to you. You look up to see the same guy from the first day of class with a book bag this time, sitting down in the same spot.

“Hey!” You decide to speak up with a blush on your cheeks.

“Hi,” he says quietly wondering why you are talking to him.

“I’m y/n, I just wanted to introduce myself if were going to sit next to each other!” You say a little to enthusiastically.

“Are you a freshman? Most people don’t do this kinda shit.” He says smirking at you and you can’t tell if he’s being a dick or flirting.

“Uhh yeah. I just wanted to make a friend in this class, sorry for bothering.”

“Not bothering me Princess, just giving you a hard time. I’m Sukuna.” You blush at the pet name he calls you and he makes a mental note to call you that when he fucks you over the desk eventually.

“Nice to meet you, maybe we can study together some time once we actually learn new materials?”

He raises his eyebrows at you smirking, “Sure. How about I get your number then?” You write your phone number on a corner of your notebook paper and rip it off and hand it to him.

“Cute handwriting.” He says as he slips it into his pocket. And that was all for your interaction the second day.

On Friday you both happen to walk into class together and smile at each other.

“You didn’t text me.”

“So needy,” he smirks at you as you settle into your regular seats. “My frat is having a party tonight, do you and your friends want to come?”

Oh god your first college party and you’re getting invited by this guy?

“Yeah that sounds great, will you actually text me the details though?” Pulling out your best flirty-ness.

“Sure princess.” He says pulling out his phone. You see your name saved as “ y/n - astronomy 🥵” and pretend you didn’t. He sends a text with the address of the party and class gets started for the day. You decide to walk out of class together and small talk about how boring the professor is. He suddenly interrupts you -

“Hey would you be interested in showing up early to my house to pregame for the party? Ya know just cause you probably don’t have a fake ID yet and don’t have any alcohol.. and stuff.” He scratches the back of his neck.. is he.. nervous?!

“That sounds fun yeah sure.”

“My little brother will be there. He’s also a freshman so maybe you guys can be friends.”

“Yeah I haven’t really made a ton of friends yet so that would be sick.”

—

Later that evening you head out of your dorm around 8 o’clock. You’re wearing a frilly crop top and a tight light denim skirt with cute platform white sneakers. You shaved your whole body in anticipation and decided you’re going to walk the few blocks to Sukunas house. You show up around 8:30 and sweetly knock on the door. A smaller more kind looking version of Sukuna opens the door. The same pink hair but no tattoos, less muscle, and a friendlier smile. Almost the exact opposite.

“Hi! Are you Sukuna’s friend?”

“Yeah I guess that’s one way to put it, yeah,” you laugh nervously, “I’m y/n”

“Welcome in I’m Yuji. He’s in his room if you want to go up. It’s the first door on the right.”

You thank Yuji and start going up the stair. You feel so nervous like a little high schooler as you get closer to the door. Like there are a thousand butterflies between your stomach and your pussy that can’t wait to see him. You knock gently on the door and hear a muffled “come in” and turn the door knob.

You see Sukuna sitting on his futon shirtless rolling up a joint on his little coffee table. “Hey princess,” he mumbles not looking up from his work in progress as you walk in and sit on his bed adjacent to his futon. As he finishes rolling he smiles up at you. You feel a little awkward sitting here as you’ve only seen him a few times and know nothing about him.

“Do you smoke?” He asks knocking you out of your thoughts.

“I haven’t ever tried but I’m willing to” you say all too innocently back.

“Hmm okay we’ll I guess you came to the right guy.” He motions for you to come sit next to him on the little futon couch he has and lights up. He hits the joint a few times and passes it to you once you look confident enough. You hold it in between your pointer finger and thumb and inhale and exhale just like sukuna did. “That’a girl” he says as his hand finds a home resting on your exposed thigh. You squint your eyes and smile at him.

Sukuna calls for Yuji to come upstairs and a few seconds later the cute brother opens the door to the bedroom. “You wan some of this?” He asks the younger brother and sticks out his hand with the joint in it. “I don’t want to finish it all and sweetheart here has never smoked so I don’t want her to do too much.” Yuji sits where you were on the bed taking a huge rip of the joint and your eyes widen at his lung capacity.

“I’ve done it too much. Maybe some day you’ll have a tolerance like us.” Yugi says with kind eyes. You notice him look down to where his brothers hand rests on your thigh.

“So how’d you guys meet?” Yuji asks smiling only looking at you.

“We have astronomy together,” you smile back before Sukuna could retort some smart ass answer.

“Hey Yuji, can you go get stuff ready downstairs for the party? Mhm thanks” Sukuna says and shoos his younger brother out of the room before he can get another word in.

He smoothly walks back over to the couch you’re sitting on, putting a piece of hair behind your ear. “Princess will you let me try something with you?”

“Mmhmm sure what is it?” you bat your eyelashes at him.

There’s only a little bit of the joint left and Sukuna takes a large rip of it, as he sits back down next to you. His left hand moves to your jaw, his thumb i opening your mouth as he leans in to kiss you. Oh god you’ve seen this at parties before but never done it. As he opens his mouth against yours you inhale, trying your best to impress him. He backs his lips off yours just enough for you to exhale the remaining smoke.

“Gooood girl,” he mutters looking into your red eyes. His lips collide with yours again, passionately. You can hardly even think straight he is dominating you even just kissing. His tongue slips past your lips and makes it way through your mouth. You hear people talking downstairs now as it’s about 9 pm but neither of you could care. His lips continue their assault on your jaw to your ear, down your neck. Pecking, licking, assaulting your tanned skin that smells like innocent girl perfume and a cute little necklace that you probably got from a high school boyfriend, sukuna thinks.

Without warning he pulls down your top, exposing your bare chest without a bra. “Hm a little risqué? Maybe not quite the good girl that you act like?” He smirks up at you before taking one of your hardened nipples in his mouth. He uses his other hand to run the other, twisting and twirling it in between his thumb and pointer finger, the same ones he was just holding the joint with. You can’t help but let out a little moan and roll your eyes back at the feeling. You run a hand through his hair, spreading your legs with your skirt on so we can see your panties. There’s a little wet patch that’s growing on the white lace that he so desperately wants to tear to shreds. He starts trailing down kisses from your cute nipples down your still covered stomach.

You try to reach down to rub the growing bulge in his pants, being so greedy and horny. “No,” he responds grabbing your wrist and moving your arm back up by your head. You’re confused but don’t care as long as you get touched soon. Just then sukuna tugs your soft lace panties down your legs, admiring them before stuffing them in his pocket. You produce a slight gasp at his actions but try to be patient for what he’ll do next. You feel the cold air of Sukunas bedroom against your newly exposed delicate cunt. He bends down to start leaving messy kisses around your inner thighs and pubic area. He teases you getting close to licking up your folds but ultimately enjoys watching you writhe in how turned on you are.

“Please” you whimper looking down at him, trying to give your best puppy eyes

“Please what?” He asks before placing a gentle kiss on your clit.

“Please S’kuna” your voice cracks you are begging and whining for him so much, looking like you are about to cry.

He latches his mouth around your clit, sticking his thumb inside your warm hole. “fine” he mumbles as if he isn’t about to give you the most life changing head you’ve ever had. Sukuna thinks you look like a portrait of a goddess, your cute skirt bunched up at your hips, pussy out, and shirt pulled down exposing your tits, the way your mouth makes a perfect “O” while your eyes scrunch shut.

You let out something between a deep breath and a moan a few times before Sukuna stops licking your cute button. He waits for you to open your eyes to look at him “louder f’r me”. He takes his thumb out of you, holding it up to your face for you to lick clean. You use your tongue to swirl around his thumb, sucking on it like your life depends on it. He pulls away once he is satisfied and hears you whimper “thank you” quietly.

“Pretty girl, did you just thank me for tasting your juices on my finger?” Your face heats up getting redder each word he says. “I didn’t know you were so obedient…good to know” he says almost to himself instead of you. He switches to use his ring and middle finger inside you, lapping around your hole and clit fucking his hand into so quickly you can’t help but let out a loud moan. At your reaction he moves his free hand down to palm his erection through his pants.

By this time the music is bumping pretty loud downstairs and you assume no one can hear you. Sukuna seems to enjoy eating your pussy just as much as you’re liking it, muttering to himself while licking at you things like “pretty little freshman pussy” and “begging for me since the first day of class”. Your legs start to close as you feel yourself getting closer to your high, but his pumping into you doesn’t slow. He now uses one hand to finger you and the thumb of the other hand to rub your clit, spitting on it. He wants to watch you cum for him. He wants to see every second and can’t risk getting carried away tasting your cunt.

You reach to grab some of his pink hair, begging for release. “C’mon princess you can do it”, “cum for me”, and “goood girl” he groans as you begin arching your back off the sofa. His fingers are reaching a place yours never could and you begin seeing spots and close your eyes again. Your ab muscles flex and you start pulsing on his fingers. He slows down his pace once you start your orgasm, rolling his eyes back and groaning when he hears you moan “Sukunaaaaa” loud enough that anyone on the upstairs floor could hear it.

He stands up and cleans his fingers off in his mouth and wipes them off on a tshirt that was on his bed which he proceeds to now put on (yeah he was shirtless that whole time). He walks back over to help you up, pulling your top up to cover your tits, just barely, and pulling your skirt down to where it belongs but he still kept your panties.

As you regain your senses you ask “Is that it? What about you ‘kuna?”

He chuckles a bit mocking you “‘is that it?!’ Was that not enough? Sorry but you have to earn more.”

“No” you groan walking up to him, “I meant ‘is that it’ as in ‘are you going to let me take care of your massive bulge?’”

He kisses your forehead then responds, “hmm sure princess were already late for the party night as well.

You willingly get down on your knees right in front of him like he is your king. Maybe that’s why he calls you princess so much. He uses his clean thumb to wipe off a little bit of smudged makeup under your eye “so pretty on your knees…” he starts unbuttoning and zippering his pants, “might actually have to keep you around.”

You don’t even react to what he’s saying as he pulls his pants and underwear down revealing a massive cock. Larger than the average man for sure, but also a pretty color and the perfect number of veins. You can’t believe he wasn’t in pain keeping an erection that big in his pants. It was going to stretch you out for sureee. Your pupils grow at the sight of him gripping the base of his manhood and and putting one hand behind your head.

You know what this means, you’ve deep throated before but god you’ve never gotten facefucked. Let alone a dick this huge?

He lets you make the first move, opening your mouth and letting his tip fall on your tongue. You taste a tiny bead of his precum and become insatiable for more. Sukuna watches the lust in your eyes grow as you begin licking up and down his shaft.

You then begin to bob up and down, hoping that your head is good enough for him. You can only reach about half of his dick before it starts to go down your throat, but you’re desperately trying to take as much as you can. His hand still gently resting on the back of your head, not testing you yet.

You remove your mouth and look up to the handsome man asking, “daddy, can you help me?”

Sukuna can hardly believe his ears and is taking everything in him not to cum on the spot from hearing your sweet voice call him that. As soon as he realizes what you were asking he responds “sure, princess.” His grip tightening on the back of your neck, using the free hand to slap his cock on your tongue and face. He still doesn’t want to be too rough with you, delicate little freshman. But you did just call him daddy … so …

He begins to use your mouth to fuck his cock, slowly at first making sure you adjust, pushing himself down your throat until you tap his leg for air “mmm good girl you’re mouth is great” he says as you replied your air. As he sticks himself back in again he goes faster this time. Hitting the back of your throat with each stroke but not forcing himself down like the last time. He moves his free hand to grab the front of your throat squeezing so even less air can come through.

Fuck this is turning you on so much you can feel your slick dripping down your leg. Your vision goes a little blurry from lack of oxygen before he releases his hand, still continuing his praise and moans. He lets you breath again for a minute, making you jerk him off while you catch your breath as his head is thrown back “fuck y/n, pretty face, pretty pussy, and a pretty mouth” followed by a grunt/moan. You are determined to make this man cum on your tongue and begin sucking at a faster pace. You feel the tip going down your throat and just let it keep going until you find your nose touching his well trimmed hairs against his pubic bone. You stay there and wiggle your tongue around the part you couldn’t reach before as he looks down at your pretty eyes tearing up. You come back for breath and decide to suck the top and jerk the bottom because you were pretty sure guys liked that too? Sukuna looks down at you moaning “fuck, fuck, fuck” and you watch his hips twitch knowing he is getting close. He pulls your hair a little harder than he means to while you’re finishing him off, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he lets out a last “shit y/n” and releases on your tongue.

He recovers rather quickly compared to you, putting his now soft penis back in his boxers and jeans. He looks up to see you sticking out your tongue with his cum on it. Without warning he pulls his phone out of his back pocket and takes a picture of you with the flash on. “Swallow princess” he tells you after he groans at how sexy the picture turned out.

You both get ready to finally attend the party now around 9:30 with what sounds like lots of people downstairs. Sukunas tries to get you from looking in the mirror so you don’t see the 4 not-so-subtle hickies he gave you. He runs his hands through your hair because it looks like… well it looks like you just had sex. Grabbing your ass under your skirt, still panty-less he opens his bedroom door.

“Be a good girl and I’ll let you come back up here after the party is over” he whispers seductively in your ear.

He lets you go down the stairs first, keeping his hand on your shoulder as you go.

He’s not letting you leave his sight tonight.

—

A/N it took everything in me not to have someone barge in on them like yuji or someone looking for the bathroom. Happy to write a part two or series of these if anyone likes them. Also feel free to leave requests in my inbox. Thank you sweet cheeks 🫶

[izzy120]

Cute but dangerous

Part 2

First chapter, the meeting

Pairing: Melissa scemmenti x fem y/n

Summary: you just came from your old school to Abbott Elementary to be Melissa’s co-teacher. But she has been being a total bitch for not even half the day to y/n making her angry. So y/n may or may not have pepper sprayed Melissa in the eyes!

Warnings: cussing, more than usual mean Melissa, I think that’s it, tell me if I missed something!

Italian sayings in English

I’m going to kill that kid: “Sto per uccidere quel bambino”

Idiot: Idiota

Kid: Bimbo

Fucking piece of shit: Cazzo di pezzo di merda

Y/n isn’t quite sure how she ended up here. One moment, she was talking to the principal of her old school, and the next, she’s somehow in the halls of Abbott Elementary. Apparently, one of the teachers needed a teaching assistant—or as some like to call it, a “co-teacher.” But let’s be real, that title felt like a stretch. With a resigned sigh, Y/n adjusted the strap of her small bag, which held all the “essentials”: chapstick, makeup wipes, extra shirts (for inevitable kid-related messes), pepper spray, and a pocket knife. You know, the basics.

Pushing through the school doors, she approached the front desk with a polite smile and a flicker of nervousness in her eyes. “Hi, my name’s Y/n, N/y/n. I’m here to see Principal uh, Ava…I think that’s her name?” Y/n giggled awkwardly, already feeling out of place. Forgetting the principal’s name on day one? Great fucking start. She glanced at the two women behind the desk, who were now staring at her like she’d sprouted a second head.

The silence made Y/n shift uncomfortably, her nerves creeping higher. “Did I say something wrong?” she asked, glancing between them. One of the women, dressed head to toe in maroon—a cardigan over a floral blouse, matching slacks, and perfectly styled hair—looked like she could be Y/n’s mom. Well, if her mom exuded the perfect balance of warmth and authority. The second woman, though… oh boy. Strict, sharp, and undeniably intimidating. Y/n felt her cheeks heat up. Oh, this was going to be fun.

“Dear,” the maroon-clad woman said with a motherly smile, snapping Y/n out of her spiral. “I’m guessing you’re the new co-teacher?”

Y/n blinked a few times before nodding quickly. “Yes, ma’am! That’s me!” She accepted the woman’s outstretched hand, shaking it politely.

“I’m Barbara Howard,” the woman introduced herself warmly. “I’m the kindergarten teacher here. And this,” she said, motioning to her work wife, “is Meli—”

“Ms. Schemmenti,” the second woman cut in, crossing her arms and giving Y/n a once-over with a sharp glare.

Barbara sighed and placed a calming hand on her work wife’s shoulder. “Her name is Melissa, dear.”

Y/n nodded, trying not to let the intensity of Melissa’s stare rattle her. “Oh! Wait—are you the person I’m co-teaching with? I got an email about who I’d be assisting, and I think it mentioned you…”

Melissa scoffed and looked away. “Yeah, that’s me. Ava stuck me with two classes this year, so she figured I’d need a little help managing the little eagles.”

Y/n’s face lit up at the nickname. “That’s adorable! Do you give each second-grade class a nickname every year?”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “No, Idiota….Now, come on, let’s get moving, Maddie.”

“That’s not my name… it’s Y/n!” Y/n called after her, rushing to keep up.

Melissa groaned, clearly unimpressed. “If you last more than a month, maybe I’ll remember your name. Until then, Rick.”

Y/n gasped, trailing after her. “That’s not even close! That’s a guy’s name!”

Inside Melissa’s classroom, Y/n was hunched over, panting heavily as she tried to catch her breath. “Wow…hah…you’re a…hah…really fast walker!” she wheezed, still recovering. Melissa shot her a half-smirk, half-frown, clearly trying not to laugh. “Maybe don’t be so slow Bimbo,” Melissa replied dryly before heading to her desk to grab some papers.

Y/n’s exhaustion vanished in an instant as she squealed and rushed over to Melissa. “Is this your desk? Do I get a desk? At my old school, I had the cutest little desk, and I absolutely loved it!” she gushed, smiling proudly. Melissa raised an eyebrow at her. “Yeah, you’ve got a desk.” She walked to the back of the classroom, nudged one of the kids’ desks with her foot, and smirked. “Right here. Happy?”

Y/n wrinkled her nose in disapproval. “Well, I was kind of expecting more of a—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, kid,” Melissa interrupted, walking up to Y/n and pressing a firm finger to her chest. “I’m not your friend. You’ve gotta earn the right to be friendly with me. I won’t remember your name, you’ll call me Ms. Schemmenti, and you’ll sit at that desk with no complaints. This is my classroom, which means my rules. Got it? Capeesh?”

Y/n blinked in shock, a little hurt by the sudden harshness. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it again, unsure of how to respond.

Melissa gave her a quick once-over and added, “Also, you might wanna change before the kids get here. You look like a pink unicorn shit on you.” She turned back to her desk as if the conversation was over.

Y/n glanced at the small desk Melissa had pointed out and dropped her bag onto it with a huff. “I don’t have anything else to wear that isn’t… my style.” She glanced down at her outfit: a light pink, fluffy dress with ruffles on the shoulders and hem, paired with knee-high white socks, pink ballet flats, and a white bag with a gold heart. Sure, it was a lot of pink, but who cared?

Clenching her fists, Y/n huffed. “You know what? I’m not changing.”

Melissa turned back with an arched brow. “What did you just say

Y/n crossed her arms and glared. “I’m not changing! The girls are gonna love this outfit anyway! And you clearly don’t understand fashion styles if you’re judging me for it.”

To drive her point home, Y/n flipped Melissa off. “Fuck you!” she shouted before storming out of the room in a dramatic exit.

Melissa stood there, stunned. But seconds later, Y/n came rushing back in, grabbed her bag with a sheepish look, and bolted out again, leaving Melissa shaking her head in disbelief.

When the second graders finally arrived, Y/n begrudgingly returned to the classroom to help, though she stayed at the back with her arms crossed, clearly sulking. Her glare was locked on Melissa throughout the lesson, earning her the occasional glance from the older woman.

When lunchtime finally rolled around, Y/n eagerly led the kids to the cafeteria and made her way to the teacher’s lounge. She realized too late that she’d forgotten to put her salad in the fridge that morning, thanks to the fight with Melissa. As she opened the door, she spotted Barbara and Melissa already there.

Y/n immediately perked up at the sight of Barbara, grateful for her warmth and kindness—so unlike Melissa, who seemed determined to make her life miserable. Sliding into the seat next to Barbara, Y/n beamed. “Good afternoon, Barbara!”

Barbara smiled warmly. “Good afternoon, Y/n, dear. Have you met the rest of the staff yet?”

Y/n shook her head. “Not really,” she admitted with a small smile.

Barbara chuckled and began pointing out the other teachers. “That’s Janine,” she said, gesturing to a petite woman with a questionable sense of fashion—not that Y/n could judge right now. “And over there are Gregory and Jacob. Oh, and that’s Mr. Johnson. He’s not a teacher; he’s our janitor.”

Barbara continued introducing the rest of the staff as Y/n nodded along, chuckling. “They all seem so nice. Thanks for telling me their names—I would’ve felt so awkward not knowing them.”

Y/n giggled, but her amusement was cut short when Melissa muttered something under her breath. Turning to glare at her, Y/n pouted. “What did you just say?”

Melissa raised an eyebrow, her expression indifferent. “Hmm?”

Y/n scowled and stood up abruptly. “Ugh! You’ve been a total bitch to me since I got here!”

Janine gasped and immediately rushed over, her hands raised nervously. “L-let’s all calm down, please!” she stammered, clearly more anxious than Y/n had been that morning.

Melissa’s glare hardened. “The fuck did you just say to me?”

“I said you’ve been acting like a TOTAL BITCH!” Y/n shot back, her voice rising.

Melissa stood up so fast her chair scraped against the floor. “That’s it!” she snapped, looking like she was about to lunge at Y/n before Barbara quickly intervened, grabbing Melissa by the arm.

“Melissa, do not!” Barbara scolded, forcing her back into her seat. She turned to address Y/n, only to find the younger woman had already stormed out of the lounge.

Barbara sighed heavily and looked back at Melissa, her expression stern. “What have you been doing to that poor girl?”

Melissa scoffed, crossing her arms defensively. “Okay, maybe I’ve been a little bitchy, but why should I be nice? She’s not gonna last a week here anyway!”

Barbara sat down beside her, rubbing the bridge of her nose in frustration. “And she’ll leave even faster if you keep acting like this.”

“Good riddance,” Melissa muttered under her breath, earning a sharp slap on the shoulder from Barbara.

“Apologize to her. Right now.”

Melissa’s arms remained crossed, her glare unwavering. “I’m not fucking doing tha—”

“Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti!” Barbara snapped, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Melissa flinched and immediately stood up. “Fine! You didn’t have to use my whole name… sto per uccidere quel bambino,” she grumbled as she stomped out of the room.

Melissa searched the school for Y/n, eventually finding her sitting in the classroom. Rolling her eyes, Melissa walked over quietly, not wanting to make a scene. Without thinking, she placed a hand on Y/n’s shoulder.

Y/n jumped with a startled scream and instinctively sprayed pepper spray directly into Melissa’s face.

Melissa let out a pained yell, clutching at her eyes. “I know I pissed you off, but what the hell is wrong with you?! Why would you do that?!”

Y/n froze, horrified by her own reaction. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

Melissa, still blinded and livid, groaned through gritted teeth. “Cazzo di pezzo di merda!”

It’s not that good, her personality isn’t exact and this is definitely not the best I’ve ever done. But I hope that you guys liked it!

[xsweetcatastrophe]

You Broke Me First

part 38

Author note: there’s no cillian in this chapter again (frown) but i had fun writing it so im not entirely sorry but im sorry

also while we’re here this man has no business sitting like this and that’s all i’ll say about THAT

“See, and THIS one he writes ‘nbd’. If he doesn’t know what OMG stands for from the interview we just watched, how would he know what nbd stands for?” Zoe said, pulling up the text.

Zoe was in full FBI mode. She unblocked Cillian’s name from her phone, but the texts were still gone. After some research on her cell phone provider’s online portal, she was able to download a receipt of text messages according to phone number. Some of the texts were hard to relive, but she knew something was wrong.

This couldn’t be Cillian.

“Who would it be?” Jen said, still not entirely convinced. “This is some true high school shit.”

“I honestly think it’s Hannah…” Zoe said, deep in thought. “She didn’t like me from the start. She wasn’t happy when she started dating after the contract was over.”

Jen sat up straight. “Do you have any info on her? Any of her social media accounts, anything?”

“Let me check…” Zoe pulled up the PR company official instagram, and found a headshot of her pinned. No tag. “Damn. I thought it would be on her company’s page. Let me type her name into the followers and see if she’s following them….. damn. nope. nothing.” Zoe sighed, defeated. “And of course, she has a common name. If we type her name into the general search-“

“Hannah Woods?” Jen interrupted, looking up from her own phone.

“Yes… how did you find it so fast??” Zoe said, confused.

“Zoe.. she’s tagged. I went to the PR Company’s official instagram page. This headshot, right? she’s tagged right there…look,” Jen said, showing her the photo with the tag. Zoe held up her phone, still on her headshot.

no tag.

“Why does my phone show the tag and not yours?” Jen said.

“SHE BLOCKED ME.” Zoe exclaimed, wide-eyed. “Why the fuck would she block me?!?”

“Alright,” Jen said, in an authoritative tone, as she gathered her hair and put it in a messy bun on top of her head. “You get the wine, I’m digging into this.”

Zoe grabbed a bottle of wine from the coffee table and started pouring. She had faith they would get to the bottom of this.

The girls were on either end of the couch, busy in their phones. Zoe was trying to figure out how to get in touch with Cillian, She went through her email and found an old email with Joseph’s cell phone. She sent him an email asking him to call her. She hoped he would.

“Okay, here’s what I have so far,” Jen said, sitting up.

“I looked up the journalist who wrote those Daily Mail articles about Cillian going out with the cast and Miss Long Legs or whoever the hell she is,” Jen continued, standing up as if she was presenting a sales pitch in a boardroom. “Well, Hoebag Hannah follows her, Tara Russo. Tara posts articles on her feed, and Hannah likes all of them. When Tara posted the article she wrote of Cillian, not only did Hannah like them, but she commented the handshake emoji underneath. Now why would she do that?” Jen said, fanning out her hands for dramatic effect. “Well, I did some googling regarding the relationship between rag mag journalists and PR people.. turns out they work together a lot of the time to get their clients publicity, good OR bad,” Jen paused for dramatic effect. “I, based on the evidence bestowed upon me, am led to believe that Hannah called Tara and tipped off that Cillian would be out and about.”

“This bitch…” Zoe said, in shock.

“Now, why would she do that?” Jen said, puffing her hands on her hips. “While we believe that Hannah is conniving and heartless, she is still, at the end of the day, a woman. And she knows the reaction these photos would pull out of you when you saw them, on top of the subject material being Cillian getting back to dating after he broke up with… i believe the direct quote from the article is, ‘Zoe Parker, journalist’” Jen concluded.

“But that doesn’t explain the texts messages,” Zoe said. “That part all makes sense Jen, but -“

“Zoe, Hannah’s younger than us. There is reason to believe that this was actually her on his phone.”

“That’s ridiculous… I thought that too, but I have no evidence of that.”

Jen sighed. “I know. That, I can’t give you concrete evidence on. But my gut feeling tells me it’s true. Call it intuition.”

Zoe sighed. “I can’t believe this is my life. Hannah never liked me. I think she felt i wasn’t glitzy or glamourus luck for Cillian. Which really made me feel like shit.”

“I know. She’s a mean girl and this is mean girl behavior. No other way to put it.”

“I have some choice words to describe it, believe me,” Zoe muttered.

“….You know what I was thinking about?” Jen said, plopping back on the couch next to Zoe. “Remember all those Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen tapes we used to watch, when they were detectives?”

“Olsen and Olsen detective agency,” Zoe replied. She turned to look at her sister.

“We’ll solve any crime by dinner time!” they said in unison, followed by a laugh.

“We used to run around with our magnifying glasses mom got us at the Dollar Store and try and solve cases, and Dad used to make some up… he’d sprinkle dirt on the floor and call us and say we need to figure out who came into the house with their shoes on, and he’d leave clues around the house for us….” Zoe said, thinking fondly of those memories.

“And we said we would be detectives when we grew up,” Jen laughed.

It was silent for a moment.

Zoe looked at her older sister, who was already looking at her. She grabbed her hand.

“Thanks for being here, Jen,” Zoe whispered.

“Hey, look at it this way, we’re just living out our childhood dream. it’s an honor to have YOU as our first case.”

Before Zoe could react, her phone rang. They both jumped up. “Who is it??” Jen whispered.

“I don’t know,” Zoe whispered back. “Do I answer? why are we whispering??”

“Yes, answer and put it in speakerphone!”

Zoe clicked the green “accept” button and put it on speakerphone.

“Hello?”

“Hello Miss Zoe, it’s Joseph. You asked for me to call?”

Zoe spun to her sister and threw her first in the air, signaling a VICTORY pose. Jen smiled but motioned for her to keep going.

“Hey Joseph! Ohmigod, thank you so much for calling, i’m so sorry to bother you, it’s been such a crazy day, I actually just got out of the hospital, well not just got out, i got out a couple weeks ago -”

Zoe was interrupted by a slap on her arm. She turned and Jen had written on a piece of paper “word vomit, shut the fuck up” and was motioning a “zip it” motion with her hand.

“Uh, anyway, sorry. So good to hear from you! How are you?”

“Joseph chuckled. “I’m okay, thank you. I’m sorry to hear about you and Mr Murphy, and i’m sorry to hear you were in the hospital. I hope you’re feeling better. What can I do for you? Did you leave something at Cillian’s? I'd be happy to drop it off if you’d like.”

Zoe had to think fast. What would the Olsen and Olsen detective agency do?

“I was actually calling because I reached out to Cillian, he got back but now I can’t get a hold of him again. Have you heard from him? Does he have another phone or something? Like a business phone and then a personal phone?”

“No, not that I know of. But if you can’t get in touch with him, I’d check with Hannah.”

“Yea, I don’t have her number…” Zoe said, starting to feel defeated. She didn’t need HER number.

“No, I mean just send another text and let Hannah know it’s urgent,” Joseph continued.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I found out a couple weeks ago, when I reached out to Mr Murphy myself regarding a scheduling conflict, I thought you knew.”

Zoe’s heart stopped. Jen’s eyes were wide.

“Knew what, Joseph?”

“Hannah has been in possession of Cillian’s phone ever since he landed in England.”

can i just say i love writing Jen? lmao she’s so fun. Also, did anyone else watch The Olsen and Olsen Detecvive Agency tapes when they were younger?! I was obsessed!

tags: @lau219 @shopgirl6us @cillianmurphyvevo @bleakmidwinter00 @amelyyyyyyy @teawonderfultea-blog1 @lavender-haze-01 @cillianinlove @supershadowymiraclestudent @allie131313 @borntodiemp3 @kikimurphys

[driaswrld]

ultraviolence — gojo satoru and geto suguru.

wc : 3k

summary : suguru coming home was supposed to make things better. but, it's as if everything is going wrong again.

part of : the star paradox collection.

notes : pls read this and this first ty!! LORE DUMP 🤭 mostly from sugu n toru's pov dealing with their new life and the twins along with jujutsu society. reader is trying to be the mediator as always and shoko is the best ofc. just the one where everyone has an existential crisis. (part one of two hopefully)

other : I PROMISE YOU'LL GET FLUFF SOON 😭 mentions of alcohol, blood, smoking obvi, idk why i named this ultraviolence lmao (shit hits the fan in the next tsr im js trying to be kind i promise!)

comment to be added to the tsr taglist!

current cassette : pretty when you cry - lana del rey

You come home to a house colder than you left it.

There’s a small comfort in the droplets of water that splatter against the wooden floor when you hang your jacket up, having remembered the way the girls beamed up at you only an hour ago as you walked them to school.

The twins were adamant to hold your hands, Mimiko blushing the whole time and Nanako poking fun at it, promising to hold your hand everyday until they became big girls.

Big girls that would only need you to hold their hand halfway — the same way Suguru only walks you and Satoru halfway to the school before heading back.

But the sliver of a chill that reverberates through your bones doesn’t resemble the comfort of a morning’s soft rain drizzle.

“You can’t just dismiss the issue like this, Satoru!”

“Where’s my own will, huh? Can’t I just do this?”

“This isn’t about you.”

You hear everything for a moment, muffled shouts and grumbles from the bathroom.

“Yeah, you’ve made that pretty clear, haven't you?”

Then you hear nothing at all.

The investigation launched on the ninth day in December.

Suguru had all but been home for a week and then some, settling into the shoddy apartment you and Satoru called home between missions and meetings with Yaga and the higher ups.

It took half a day to move his old things out of the dormitory building, most of what really mattered was already sitting in the hall closet untouched, kept the way Suguru would’ve wanted it.

It was after he rifled through the closet in search of a fresh set of clothes did he realize, he had been mourned.

You and Satoru had mourned him like a mother would a child, like a womb stretched to make space, only to bleed.

His clothes smelled more like the both of you than it did him.

The fourth day, Suguru spent the night hunched over the balcony, smoking a silver blue parliament with Shoko while you and Satoru attended a hearing with the higher ups.

A necessary audience, they defined over the cryptic email.

Shoko described it as a means to an end, Satoru was still the strongest and you were his voice. The meeting was all but a farce to keep you two in check — but Suguru read it clearly for what it was.

A threat.

“He’ll be clan head,” Suguru murmured between plumes of smoke. “They won’t let him turn it down any longer, especially with me around.”

At this, Shoko chuckled, sucking in a sharp breath.

“You think he’ll do it this time?” She asked, somewhere between knowing and not knowing.

The higher ups want Satoru under their thumbs — not that you’d so much as let them come close — that much is evident. But it’s become a lose to win situation.

The guarantee that Suguru and the girls would remain untouched and hidden under the condition that he follows their rules, does it their way, doesn’t ask, doesn’t so much as breathe a word or commit an action using his own strength outside their command—

“Satoru as a lap dog?” Suguru laughs a little.

He just can’t picture it.

What he can picture though is the Six Eyes user backed into a corner, with no other choice but to concede. Then again, Satoru’s never been submissive to authority, no matter the setting.

A beat of silence passes over him and Shoko, and she knows what he’s thinking before he says it, yet she doesn’t caution him otherwise nor does she blame the nicotine.

“He could kill them.” Suguru says, “It wouldn’t take him long.”

The seventh day, Suguru stands in the middle of one of the many engawa corridors of Jujutsu High, dressed like a teenage dropout, teeth sinking into the inside of his cheeks until crimson stains his tongue.

You told him last night while cuddled into his side, Satoru’s head on his chest, “Walk away from it the right way, Suguru.”

And admittedly, he was going to laugh a little, kiss your cheek and maybe lull you back to sleep and ease your worries.

I don’t resent you,

for the path you chose.

As long as you swear,

yours and ours will converge.

“Geto, what is this?”

Suguru looks down at the sealed envelope he passed to Yaga seconds ago, the word resignation printed in bold atop the sealed flaps.

If he intends to kill himself, he should at least do it the way you asked him to.

He owes you that much.

Suguru never thought of himself to have been in a position where he could live past twenty ; he thought he was lucky Satoru even let him live to see the first snow, even if it was from the bittersweet solitude of the bed you three shared.

“I’ll graduate first,” Suguru says, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets.

For the sake of saving face he took a total of ten missions after his sentence was pardoned.

Five to prove he wasn't a liability to the Jujutsu world, two to hover by your side – he hadn't realized post traumatic stress could manifest in the need for more physical attachment – and three to see up close just how much Satoru had on his shoulders now.

To see just how different Satoru had become because of him.

“And then?” Yaga asks it like a cruel joke that only he and Suguru know.

People are talking. People have been talking.

Suguru Geto the defect. Suguru Geto the cancer of the strongest. Suguru Geto the curse. Suguru Geto—

“Maybe I’ll die of old age.”

I pray death finds me

under you two

in our bed.

If not,

kill me yourselves.

There’s meaning in that too.

That same afternoon, brandished with what should be newfound freedom – Suguru Geto. Not the sorcerer, not the curse, not the man – he drinks himself sick until he blacks out on the sofa.

Alcohol is cheap at Shinanoya, it’s been that way since he was sixteen and idle in the summer of ‘06, coaxed by Satoru into printing fake IDs, blacking out on the floor of your dorm room and waking up to throw up, just to blackout again.

Suguru took the train back and passed his stop two times.

Two times he thought of two different outcomes and two different destinations.

First, he’d go back to Jujutsu High and take the resignation back from Yaga before he signed it.

He’d call your cellphone, tell you how he's had a change of heart, whisper into the line : “We should celebrate. Me, you and Satoru.”

But you’d know it was a lie.

He still has twisted dreams of waking up in a gas station bathroom in a pool of blood that isn't his own.

Dreams that don't frighten him at all.

Second, it came to him the moment he considered actually getting off at his stop and going back to the apartment.

He’d let the train take him to Shibuya, stand in the middle of the crossing and scream.

People would look at him weird, others would walk by.

And the first monkey to reach out and offer him help, he’d—

“Suguru?”

He wakes with a startle, eyes bloodshot and half lidded.

“Name—” he opens his mouth, half empty vodka bottle tilted over and soaking the carpet. Satoru comes through the door a moment later, leading the twins to the kitchen to set their half eaten bentos down.

A shiver runs down his spine when he glances at the clock above the mantle. 12:53pm.

“School ended half day,” you say to him. Satoru doesn't so much as glance at Suguru when he steps back in to take the plastic bags of takeout from your hands. “They called but you didn't—”

Suguru's already sitting up, fishing through his pockets for his phone and clicking at the buttons.

Two missed calls from Mimiko and Nanako’s school.

Two missed calls from their homeroom teacher, Ms. Aiko.

Four missed calls from you.

One voicemail from Satoru.

“I'm so— shit,” Suguru sets the bottle of alcohol upright, pressing a palm to the carpet to find it damp.

His skin is hot, he feels like a mess, no doubt he looks like a mess with the way you're already kneeling beside him to screw the bottle shut. “I’m so sorry, I didn't— everything with the letter and then the train got delayed—”

“Suguru.” Satoru speaks for the first time, looks at him for the first time – behind bandaged eyes. “Sober up by tomorrow, yeah?”

Your head flits around to give Satoru a stare, as if to ask if that's all he has to say right now. But Suguru’s fingers enclose around your wrist, it’s okay, I was the one at fault.

“Satoru—”

“Just do this one thing right, please.”

The twins’ school dismissed half day due to heavy snow this early in the month. Suguru, listed as the girls’ primary guardian, gets the calls first.

He doesn't pick up.

Your work line rings next, and it goes to voicemail.

In between exorcising a special grade in Shinjuku, you don't hear it ring.

As the devil would have it made and done, Satoru’s line rings while he's at the school. Loud.

“Gojo-san!” The lady from the admin office knocks on the door twice, and is met with silence. The phone rings again, but this time it's the main line. The office extension.

The one he’s been using since he put in his teaching application.

The phone clatters against the desk in robust vibrations, Limitless almost bending the coily cord to nothingness.

The meeting room of four higher ups and two members of the Gojo clan watch him intently, scrutinizing him, waiting.

Beyond his better judgment, Satoru tells himself it's just you, calling to ask if you should bring back kikufuku or just the udon.

Or it's Suguru, who’s confused and can't find one of his things in the apartment and needs some guidance.

Satoru's not a pious person. But he wishes he’d have prayed the moment the call went to the answer machine.

“Good day, Mr. Gojo! I’m calling regarding the girls. School’s been dismissed half day today on account of the weather but Mr. Geto nor Ms. Name are picking up.”

“I’m hoping this reaches you soon so the girls can have a ride home. Thankyou! Stay warm!”

The eighth day, you wake to the smell of jasmine and hot oil. Four messages from Yaga, one email attached, forwarded to Satoru : Adoption fraud.

“—he hates me.” Suguru mumbles, shirtless and damn near cowering from your gaze, flipping the omelet in the frying pan, two steps away to avoid the oil splatter.

“Don't say that so casually,” you shake your head, shutting the fridge door, setting a carton of milk on the counter. “It's not like you believe that.”

Suguru flips the omelet with one hand on the pan handle, the other flicking the carton open and turning it to his head in a quick gulp.

He doesn't confirm it.

“Suguru—” you smack his arm and take the milk, turning away to rummage through the pantry for the pancake mix.

“I know.”

No, Suguru.

You don't know.

"I try to be patient," Suguru says quietly, shaking his head. "I know we're not sixteen and that this and then are two different things—” He turns the flame down, refusing to look over at you.

“Nobody's asking you to be perfect,” you cut him off, pancake mix forgotten on the counter. “You made a mistake, it happens—”

The higher ups are already breathing down Satoru’s neck about the twins now that they've been found out. It's an uphill battle in the Jujutsu world, your phone won't stop ringing.

Whether it's Yaga proposing damage control to have you and Satoru set apart on missions or another higher up waiting for you to slip up and beg for help, beg to be in their debt.

“I owe you better,” Suguru whispers, more to himself than to you.

He’s never been the type to ask for help or beg for forgiveness or cower at someone's heels. But you saved him — by putting your life on the line and in turn making Satoru cover it up — and he hates himself for it.

I wish

you would've

just let me stay dead.

“Because that's what I deserve? Better?”

Suguru gets the call from Shoko the next day.

December 9, 2007.

A formal investigation is announced into the involvement of [name] [name] in the case of Suguru Geto’s defection and pardon — alleged charge : fabrication of evidence.

Satoru makes his mind up the same day, sends the twins to stay at the dorms with Shoko for the weekend and brings you and Suguru with him to the Gojo estate.

“I can feel your eyes,” you whisper, seated cross legged on the tatami floor, nursing a cup of tea in your cupped palm.

You've never liked the Gojo estate. Not in winter at least, not when it's like this.

Satoru has his back turned to you, fingering the loose cloth of white bandages covering his eyes, almost hesitant. He recalls his mother's words to him from a few hours ago.

You look tired, Satoru. You're never tired.

There’s an unspoken thing residing here between both your energies and it becomes unbearably evident.

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs, slipping the baby blue haori off his shoulders, draping it over the edge of the bed. “Just the cold getting to me 's all.”

Loose and darkened strands of hair lay on the silk sheets where Suguru sat moments ago. Satoru holds his breath.

My lover’s hair is splitting at the ends, tearing apart at the seams just like me.

I pray you don’t notice.

“Is he okay?”

You set the ceramic cup down on the table, turning your head to glance over at Satoru, who despite himself, wears his emotions like a cardigan knit tight between his brows.

“Why won’t you just ask him, ‘toru?”

He thinks he hates you. He hates not being more like you.

With the way you say these things so easily.

Maybe it’s the deep rooted thrum of Suguru’s cursed energy in his veins, or the bitter taste on his tongue when he wakes in the middle of the night just to see if he’s still here—

Maybe it’s that voice in the back of his head, the instinct pounding on the walls of his heart, telling him this is only for a while, it won’t last.

“You can’t lie to me.” Satoru reasons, bending his knees and folding his body next to yours, wrapping and unwrapping the length of cloth around his fingers over and over again. “But he can.”

Or maybe it’s the way he knows even if Suguru lied to him again, said it was okay, said that he’d stay, said that he’d let you and Satoru be selfish for once and keep him here, keep him tethered to this existence he loathes so much—

“Satoru…”

��he’d believe him.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” He sighs, near breathless.

You lift your hands to cup either side of his face, hooking your thumbs under the pale cloth, unraveling and unraveling and unraveling.

How many more layers?

How many more walls?

How many—

“His energy is restless.” Satoru could find other words to describe it, the aura, the shape of Suguru’s soul, his scent, his being, his whole existence. Something only you could understand.

“It’s pouring into me, and I can’t— I pretend I don’t feel it, that I don’t know that he’s…”

Different.

Suguru is different now, he wants to say.

Suguru’s unhappy with me, unhappy with us.

I can’t give him what he needs.

I was too selfish to have asked him to stay. You were too selfish in saving him.

We were too selfish. Do you think he hates me for it? Do you think he wishes he were—

“He loves you.” You tug on the cloth, let it fall and pool in endless strands around his neck. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

Satoru’s eyes are dim, bleaky sapphire and cerulean staring back at you.

Don’t look at them, look at me, look inside me, my eyes are lying, that’s not how I feel—

“He loves you too,” he says it like a confession, a secret. Love can’t be enough, can it?

Love never stopped Suguru from leaving the first two times.

Love never stopped Satoru from waking up so many nights with tears running down his neck, from where you cried for Suguru in your dreams.

Love never stopped Satoru from not being strong enough to bend the world and stretch it to fit Suguru inside.

Why should you love him whom hates the world so?

Satoru lets his head fall into the crook of your neck, body slumped over yours and breath shaky.

Loving Suguru came as easy as breathing if not easier.

He’d spend nights curled in his bed at the dorms, clicking through photos he’d taken of you three, back then, when it wasn’t anything yet but still everything to him.

“Yaga-sensei, please pair me with someone else!”

“Hah!? We not good enough for you anymore, name?”

“Satoru, name, don’t yell so early in the morning…”

And even from the first mission, when Suguru’s hair was shorter and you hadn’t quite figured out how to control your technique.

When Satoru had to save you from plummeting to your death after you sliced a curse open just for grabbing Suguru and yanking him by his hair.

Satoru thinks, maybe, he came into this world loving you two.

Because he loves me more than all the world.

“I’ll protect you,” he whispers into your neck, full of conviction.

He’s never not the strongest, except maybe when he’s here, in these moments. “I’ll protect the both of you.”

Let me do this one thing,

just this once.

Let me be the one

who holds us together.

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

tsr taglist :

@wishmemel @draecys @pearlvalley @cookielovesbook-akie @astral-hydromancy @celestair @/midnightbluehorizons @plaggi @blue-blossomss

[impala-dreamer]

Meet Me At The Beach

A Supernatural Story

~ Texting and emails can feel so impersonal. There's nothing quite like exchanging tangible, handwritten letters with someone you love...~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader, Sam Winchester

4,025 Words

Warnings: Bittersweet Angst. SFW. 

A/N: This is for @jacklesversebingo "Writing Letters To Each Other" was the prompt. I hope you enjoy...

June 2

Dear Dean, 

This feels so weird. Do people really write letters anymore? Am I going to get strange looks at the post office when I go to buy a stamp? Will they even know what to do with this tiny envelope and folded piece of loose-leaf paper? I almost don’t know how to write anymore. My script looks kinda like chicken scratch, huh? Hopefully it’ll get better. It is weird not typing though. But emails just seem like work. Impersonal, ya know? Besides, it gives us something to look forward to when we hit the mailbox. Nice to open something that’s not a delinquent credit card bill, huh? 

Speaking of which- how the fuck do you do it? I just got another card canceled. My credit is non-existent. Fuck, I need to get a job. Could you imagine me in an office? High heels and panty hose and my hair tucked into a neat, matronly bun? I shudder to think! 

OK, this is weird. I just wanted to write “LOL” but it’s not an email. Or a text. Why are we doing this again? Oh, yeah, see above. 

Anyhoo- - - - I don’t even know what to say! Umm… I’m in New Orleans for a bit. Not working, just hanging out. My friend Emily from high school tracked me down online and we’ve been chatty. She’s in a band. They’re not bad. Not great, but not bad. So yeah, I took a drive down to see a show and I’m just lingering. Drinking too much, sleeping past noon. It’s fun. Nice little vacation. 

Which - ahem - you should be taking. When are you gonna get your ass out of that dusty old bunker and stick your toes in the sand? I already told you I’d meet you in Pensacola with sunscreen and a cooler of beer. You know you want to. Or are you just scared to show off your ugly toes in flip flops? Your boots might actually cry if you ever took them off, so I guess it’s just as well. 

Hey, do you remember that night in Richmond when it started pouring and your boots sank into the mud puddle? God, that was a mess. We were soaked to the bone. Nice way to warm up, though - cuddled in the back of the Impala. I miss that car. Sometimes, I think I can hear it at night when the world is quiet and the wind is still. It’s like the engine roars in the back of my mind and I start thinking about all our adventures, all the time we spent driving into the sunset. 

I miss you. Is that wrong? I probably shouldn’t. Or at least, I shouldn’t tell you that I do. But I do. I miss you so bad sometimes that it hurts. Like someone has punched me right in the chest. Maybe we can end up in the same town soon. Grab some tacos and sit on the hood. Make a mess. I’d like that. 

OK, before I get too emotional and start asking you to run away with me, I think I’ll end this ranting scribble of horrid handwriting. 

Write me back soon.

Love, Y/N

June 21 

Y/N- 

Your handwriting does not look like chicken scratch. I like it. Mine is like some toddler just learning his letters. Whatever. I never learned that fancy shit. I can sign my name and make a grocery list. That’s all I need. 

This is weird, yeah. But it’s kinda nice. Feels more… like you’re here. Does that make sense? Like seeing your handwriting, the dents in the paper- I don’t know. Just feels more real. Like you’re not just some computer talking back at me. Also there’s something strange about answering questions weeks later. I meant to write this sooner, but I got a little distracted. There was a Kung Fu marathon on and I just lost track of time. Too much pizza, not enough Carradine. Ya know? You know. 

Remember that horrible motel in Raleigh when we both caught that nasty stomach bug and stayed up all night watching old tv shows? Saltines and Little House. I’ll never forget it. You were so sick that day. Shit, I was sure I was gonna end up taking you to the hospital. Sure, I was puking too, but you looked like death. I hated that. Hated that I couldn’t help you, make you feel better. I did cook up a mean chicken noodle soup though, didn’t I? Not that it stayed down for long. 

Thank god for that yellow Gatorade. And yes- it’s fucking yellow. Not green. 

Anyway- I miss you too. I try not to, I really do. Not all the time, no offense, but sometimes I’m just fucking insane with shit going on. But at night, especially, I miss having you beside me. I miss rolling over and seeing you there, or hearing you snore. I miss feeling your freezing feet under the blanket. I don’t know, I just- 

What can I say? I’m sorry. I’m an asshole. I’m the biggest piece of shit in the universe. I shouldn’t have pushed you away. 

Can’t change the past. Just gotta move on. 

Maybe someday you’ll forgive me. I hope so anyway. 

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t dump that all out in a letter. I almost ripped this all up and started over. I actually let it sit for a day before I came back to it. But, fuck it- we said we were gonna write to each other and be honest, and here I am, being honest. 

Fuck, I’m so tired. That kinda tired when sleeping for ten days wouldn’t even put a dent in it. Yeah, OK, so things are getting a little better. Chuck’s gone for good this time. Jack’s got things back in place, even made a few improvements. Sam’s- well, he’s Sam. He’s fine, doing his thing. The dog is- did I tell you we have a dog now? Yeah, I know. Me and a dog- yeah right. But we do. Miracle. He’s a good boy. I’ll send you a picture soon. 

Never thought I could slow down like this. Feels like for the first time we can just - work. I mean, I’m never gonna give up hunting, not totally, but- feels like I could just ease back a bit. Been looking at some jobs in town- nothing crazy, fixing engines and stuff like that. Don’t know if you remember, but I’m pretty good with my hands. 

Did you blush? 

You did. 

OK. I guess- that’s it for now. I have no fucking idea how to end this so - bye?

~ Dean

P.S.  I’ll meet you at the beach soon. I promise.

Fifteenth of July 

To Whom It May Concern:

Re: Beach Vacation

Dear Mr. Winchester, 

I am very pleased to hear that you are agreeable to meeting me at the beach. It should be delightful fun to run through the surf and hunt for sea glass with you.

Oh shit! Do you remember that new age shop in… where the fuck was that? With the sea glass necklaces in the window that I said were so pretty and the witch inside said they were blessed to give the wearer riches or some shit like that. Where was that? Who knows.

Feels like we’ve been all over the world together. Well, this country at least. Lord knows I could never get you on an airplane. If only you could drive to Paris. Did I ever tell you about my trip to France? God, it was beautiful. Rained the whole time, but it was this beautiful, warm spring rain that made everything smell like dust and petals. Not rose petals, but those little white ones that grow on trees, ya know? It was so beautiful. Fuck it. I’m taking you one day. You need to see more than the dash of your car and the backroads of America. Time to travel!

Speaking of- I’m glad you’re slowing down a bit. I know that won’t be easy for you but if you think about it, you’ve spent the last forty years running from problem to problem like a damned bomb-sniffing dog. 

A DOG?! Dean Winchester, I never thought the day would come. I can’t wait to see a picture. Don’t forget it next time. 

I think you’d be a great mechanic. It was always very hot seeing you covered in sweat and grease especially if you had those damned coveralls on. I mean… what? I don’t think about you like that anymore, you know. It’s over and done with and we’re just friends. We are friends, aren’t we? Maybe something more than friends, I guess. Ex lovers? Ew. I hate that word. Lovers. So gross. Well, then what are we? Just two souls swimming in a fish bowl…

Year after year. Day after day. Do you know that I put nearly a hundred thousand miles on my poor truck this year? Back and forth, up and down the country. I don’t have to tell you how exhausting it is. Fun, but exhausting. Rewarding, but not. I wonder how many people remember me after I leave? Does that family in New Haven think about me whenever they go into the basement and it’s no longer haunted? Is there a photo of me on a fridge in Wilmington where I saved that guy’s fiance from the vamp nest? Probably not. I’m sure people remember you - The Great Dean Winchester. The sexy hunter with the green eyes and the giant black car. You’re hard to forget. Also, you hang out with a giant. Tell Sam I said hi. 

I do remember that puke fest! And it’s green. It’s literally neon green. Fight me. 

We could probably write a book, you and me. ‘Winchester & Y/L/N Do America’. It’s a coffee table book with pictures of random diner signs and gas station bathrooms. Maybe a list of the country’s best french fry places. Shit like that. Let’s do it. I’ll call my literary agent in the morning. Ha!

SPARTA!! That’s where that damned sea glass shop was. It just hit me! Stupid brain. I swear, I’ve been hit in the head way too many times. Broken too many bones. I’m getting too old for this shit. Did you know that my left knee pops whenever I stand up now? Like, how old am I?? I can’t stand it. I need a month at a spa somewhere in the desert. That’d be nice. 

Damnit. I just got a call from Vinnie Alverez. Do you know him? Hunter out of Pittsburg. Anyway- he needs help on a job. Guess I’ll cut this letter short. Hopefully I’ll find a box to drop this in on the way to PA! 

Miss you. 

Sincerely yours, 

Y/N

P.S. - I do forgive you, Dean. Of course I do. Things were just too hard back then. Life didn’t want to cooperate for us. It’s not your fault. Not my fault. It just was. Please don’t carry that guilt in your heart. You deserve better than that. 

August 2

Dear Y/N- 

You’re a real character, you know that? Love the corporate letter. I’m in for the book by the way. Could be awesome. We do need a full chapter on onion rings though. Make a note. 

I heard about your hunt in Pittsburgh. Came through the grapevine that you kicked some serious wolf ass. Nice job, kid. Hope you’re being careful. I know how bullheaded and impulsive you can get when you’re in the zone. Just watch your back, OK? Promise me. Last thing I wanna hear is that you got your heart clawed out or you’re walking around with a demon in your ass. 

Demons. Haven’t seen so many running around lately. Queen Rowena’s been keeping them in check. So fucking weird that she’s in charge now. Not that I’m surprised- she’s a badass bitch. If I had a nickel for every ruler of hell I was friends with, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice. The kids still say that, don’t they? See, I’m not old. I keep up with pop culture and shit. Started watching the tik toks. I still don’t get it, but I like the woodturning stuff. Thinking about taking up whittling. Maybe carve you a keychain so you stop losing them. 

I got a call for a job interview. Chickened out though. I don’t know if I’m ready to start all that, ya know? Start a real life in the real world- just seems- I don’t know, scary. Yeah, I’ve faced every deadly thing on this and other worlds but the idea of getting a 9 to 5 civilian job scares me. I’m some kinda fucked up, huh? 

I think about it a lot though. Getting a job, finding a little house somewhere, settling down. A little fenced in yard so Miracle can run around and dig up dirt. Might put a rocking chair on the porch and watch the clouds, some shit like that. Would you come visit me in my Barbie dream house? I’ll cook you breakfast every morning and you can rub my feet at night. Real cozy couple stuff. 

OK, so maybe I’m thinking about you more and more these days. Maybe I’m regretting leaving. Maybe I’m just an idiot daydreaming about meeting you somewhere in the middle and sweeping you off your feet. One of those running hugs that hurts when you collide but ends in a kiss that makes everything feel better. I’m a real romantic fuck, huh? I was digging through my drawers yesterday and I found a pair of your socks. Those tiny ones that barely covered your ankle. I don’t know why they were stuffed in the back of the dresser, but there they were. Dingy white socks with the pink threads on the toes. I’ll bring them to the beach when we meet up. 

Oh, Sam says hi and he hopes you’re good and he wants you to shoot him a text when you can. You can do what you want, but you better not mail him a letter. That’s just for me. God, my hand is cramping up. I’m not used to this. Oh, and you’re not alone. My knee creaks like a haunted house when I go up stairs now. And my right wrist pops, and my neck makes this weird almost squeaking sound, and my ass- well, I could go on, but just know you’re not alone. Kinda weird to think that we lived long enough to be this old, ain’t it? I never thought I’d live to be thirty and here I am staring down 42. Forty Fucking Two. Can you believe that shit? Goddamnit I got old. Let’s go find a nursing home together. Maybe we can get a double room- or a king sized bed?

Think about it. We could be cranky old people together. Losing our memories and shuffling around with walkers and shit. You’d look cute with white hair. And fuck, my beard’s already going gray. Should I grow out my beard? 

Write back soon. I really like seeing your letters in the box. 

Dean  x

My dearest Dean Winchester, it is with great happiness that I write this letter to you and I do hope that it finds you well and happy and all good things and I can’t keep this formal shit up. Ha!

Anyway- but yeah, things are good. I know it’s been a while since I’ve written, but I was on a little trip around the continent. Headed up to Montreal for a bit. Killed some nasties, salted some bones, generally fucked around. My beloved truck crapped out in Burlington, Vermont, so I had to hang out there for a while and gather my resources to get a new vehicle. I think you’d like her. Green Ford Explorer from ‘94. OK, she’s not as sexy as the Impala, but she gets me where I need to go. Which, apparently, was Maine! I met up with some friends in Greenville. Cute little town full of witchcraft. So much fun. Also had a lobster roll on a pier… I swear to god, they plucked this thing right out of the water and slapped it on a buttered roll. You’d LOVE it. I’m gonna take you there someday. 

Speaking of- We need to make plans for Florida. I picked up a little bikini on my travels and I think I really need to show it off. Maybe you could be my bodyguard and keep the creeps away while I’m sunbathing? To repay you for your services, I’ll gladly let you take it off me at night…

Oh, and I’ve thought about this extensively, and I believe that you should, in fact, grow your beard out. Like, full on, bushy lumberjack beard. I can’t wait to see all that gray. You know I have a thing for older men… and you’ll always be older than me, Dean Winchester and don’t you forget it!

And for your information, I don’t lose my keys anymore! I got one of those… apple taggy things. Now I know where they are at all times. Can’t find my phone to find them sometimes, but that’s another issue. 

Two weeks later, I’m picking up my pen again. Sorry this is taking forever. Things are stupid busy. I wish I could just… put this fucking gun down and go live with you on a farm somewhere. Not a working farm, we wouldn’t keep pigs or anything because gross, but a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Big white house with a giant tree in the yard and a tire swing and a picket fence and a kid chasing the dog around and - 

Shit. Do you ever think about it? I do. A lot. More than I’d like to and it fucking cuts me up inside every time. I know we could never have kept it, and life- I mean- it just wasn’t meant to be. But I do think about it sometimes. Imagine if we’d just walked away from the life and tried to be a family? Impossible, I know. Maybe in another life. 

Shit, I’m sorry. Fuck. Ignore me. I haven’t slept in a while and I just

I want to see you. Can we meet somewhere? Wherever you want. I’ll come to you. 

~ Y/N 

Dear Dean, 

This is my second attempt at writing this. Crumpled up the first one because I’m an idiot. Am I an idiot? Did I piss you off with the last letter? I honestly didn’t mean to. I just- we said we’d be honest, and you’ve been so open in your letters that I thought it was ok to talk about, but I guess not. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have dug that stuff up. 

I’m so tired and stressed and I miss you so much. Since we’ve been writing back and forth it’s almost like I can’t stop thinking about you. I get so fucking excited to check the mail whenever I roll back into town. It’s like… I don’t know, it’s like Christmas every time I see your handwriting in my box. Remember the time you wrote your name on my thigh in Sharpie? That stayed on for like a week. I shoulda gotten it inked on. That’d be something, huh? Branded by a Winchester. 

Fuck, Dean, I really hope you’re not mad at me. I really want to call you, but we said we wouldn’t. Just write me back, please. 

I’ll be in your neck of the woods next week. Got turned onto a haunting up in Abilene. Maybe we can meet on the road somewhere? Please? 

Hey, did you know there’s a Hunter, Kansas? Wonder why they didn’t build the bunker there. I don’t know, made me laugh when I was looking at the map. 

Anyway- Please write me back. Or call. Or text. Or send a damned pigeon with a tiny letter taped to its foot. I don’t care, how, just do it please. Even if you’re mad at me and don’t want to talk anymore, I get it. But please. Just let me know, OK?

I’m sorry. 

Love, Y/N

Dear Y/N,

I didn’t know you and my brother were writing to each other like this, but I found your last few letters to him in his private P.O. Box. I didn’t even know he had one of his own, but I guess we all keep secrets from those we love. I hope you don’t mind that I read your letters. Not all of them, but the last two that came through. Please know that Dean would have responded if he could have, I know he would have. He talked about you a lot recently. Said you two were in contact and that he was hoping to find some time to meet you for a vacation. I don’t know where you guys were planning on going, but I found a new Hawiian shirt in his closet with the tags still on it. 

I know we spoke on the phone after he passed, but I wanted to send this to you. I was cleaning up his stuff and found his notepad. Looks like he’d started a letter before we left for Canton. I think he’d want you to have it. 

I’m closing up the Bunker soon. I don’t really know where I’ll go, but I can’t be here right now. Not without my brother. 

I’ll always be around if you need anything or want to talk. I’ll always answer the phone for you, Y/N. 

Be well,

Sam Winchester

Y/N/N, 

If I could take it back I would. Every fucking word. I think about it now and I know we made the wrong choice. I know we could have made it work if we tried. But we are both total fuck ups who can’t be normal. We just can’t. 

Forgive me

That’s dog slobber up there, not tears. Just fyi. Definitely not tears. I think I might have been a little drunk when I started writing and then well-

Anyway- Maine sounds awesome. We were there once but no time for lobster rolls. Guess I missed out. 

Not much to report since the last letter. Been kinda quiet here. But… I did apply for a job. Well, I filled out the application. Well, I started filling it out. It’s actually underneath this notepad right now. I’ll get to it. I will. I just need a good kick in the ass. Or maybe a pinch… wink wink

I absolutely think we need to get together. Pick some place stupid like the World’s Largest Frying Pan or South of The Border. I’ll meet you. Just say when. 

Guess this letter will take a little longer to finish. We’re leaving for Ohio in a little bit. There’s a buncha vampire dicks making a mess. Gonna take ‘em to batting practice. Show them my machete swing. I’ll give a full report when we’re back home

Dean Dean, 

I made it to the beach. It’s hot, like stupid hot. Had to stand in the water just to keep my toes from burning. I’ve been sitting here for hours trying to think of something to say, but all I can say is I love you. I miss you. I wish you were here with me. I wish things had been different. I wish and wish and wish. 

If I throw this into the ocean will it get to you somehow or will my words just wash away like the sand? 

I’ll see you again someday. I hope so, anyway. Let’s just pretend I’m destined for Heaven. I know you’re up there. You were too good not to be. You sacrificed so much, cared so much, saved so many people. I know you made it. If there’s any mercy in this universe, I’ll be up there someday too. Just don’t have too much fun without me. 

I love you, Dean. Always. 

Y/N

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lunaroserites @lyarr24 @nancymcl @nix-rose @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @rosecentury @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05  

[ryan-nugenthopkins]

"What electives did you take in your undergrad? I know there's some requirements for English in American -" "I took ballet," Jeremy blurts out. "For my art elective." Dr. Ullmark blinks. Rubs his eyes. "Ballet," he repeats. "I played hockey in undergrad," says Jeremy meekly. "Goalie. The - the ankle flexibility -" "Yes, I can see the value of... dance, for netminding," interrupts Dr. Ullmark, but there's the start of a smile dancing on his lips. "I'm not sure how useful ballet will be for Scandinavian poetry, but I'm sure we can make it work together?" Jeremy's fucked. In more ways than one.

Dr. Linus Ullmark is in… a state of a transition. Being a sessional lecturer at a school better known for its biology programs than its literature research is fine for now. He just needs hear back on that professorship in Ottawa. Or the applications for positions back in Sweden. Or even that research fellowship in Norway, of all places. Until then, he’ll grit his teeth and keep teaching introductory comparative literature at Boston University, because something better is bound to come eventually.

It’s only classic for administration to drop a random TA into his lap after he’s specifically said that he doesn’t need one. It’s even better that this Jeremy Swayman is a PhD candidate from the natural sciences faculty, and likely can’t tell expressionism from surrealism. But making ends meet as a grad student is difficult enough, and if the paycheque isn't coming out of his research grants, Linus really wouldn’t mind an extra body during seminars. All the guy has to do is sit in on lectures and answer student emails. How bad could it be?

Two things go wrong at the very start — Jeremy knows less about literature than Linus could even fathom, and he is painfully earnest about trying his best to be a good TA despite this fact. At least he’s cute, even if Linus would prefer maybe 40% of his current energy.

It's fine. Linus just needs to get through this semester like a professional.

Jeremy Swayman is a PhD student studying Environmental Science at Boston University, and he’s damn good at it. It’s a shame that living in Boston is as expensive as it is, but he’s been able to supplement his scholarships with teaching labs around the department for the past two years of his degree. But when his usual positions fall out from under him, the university presents him a TA position in the Literature department, of all things. Jeremy can’t do anything but lie egregiously about his qualifications and accept it. How hard could an introductory comparative literature course be to bullshit, anyway?

Of course, it then goes to shit almost immediately when Dr. Ullmark clocks him as embarrassingly underqualified. But he hires him anyway, and Dr. Ullmark has a quiet but wicked sense of humour, and is ever so patient when walking through the course assignments with him, and doesn’t laugh meanly at his attempts at pronouncing the author names on the reading list, and —

Jeremy may be falling a little too fast. For an Arts prof, of all people.

As the semester begins, will Linus and Jeremy figure out how to run the course together despite their differences? And is something else brewing on the horizon?

Academia AU Swaymark for @ullybug :3

[allwormdiet]

Tangle 6.9

I don't wanna deal with this parrrrrrrrrt

Taylor. Taylor. I know you're getting desperate but come on. You can't write an email to the hero you and your friends publicly bodied on the same night that you did the bodying.

Nobody's checking her on her shit. Nobody who she should theoretically be able to go to for advice is equipped for this, or even inclined to help her. Danny would try, I'm certain, but he'd be out of his depth. Emma might have been a grounding influence for Taylor once upon a time but, haha, that is no longer an option. School is worthless to her, and her new (only) friends are the ones who are doing the crimes she's involving herself in, not to mention that she became their friend with the intent to backstab them.

...I wish she'd just talk to her dad about this shit. Her refusal to even try and explain it to him feels like it's tangled up in something she can't even name or describe. He's the closest confidant she has at this point, and that's not saying much, but for fuck's sake it should be saying something.

Fuck.

Fucky fucker fucking fuck.

You can't lie to someone you live with for that long about something that can be so easily fact-checked and expect to never get caught out. It's just not feasible.

God this is so hard. She's trying to spare his feelings, she's trying to not pin any of this on him, and it's not working. The fact that she feels like she can't trust him means that he failed to be trustworthy to her, somewhere along the way, and she won't even acknowledge that. She won't even sit across the table from him to talk about this.

Here's where Danny scuffs it, honestly. I'm not going to say he was even wrong to anticipate Taylor's avoidance, but hemming her in like this is only going to rile her up worse. I don't know what the right answer is. Breaks my heart.

I don't think it's fair of Taylor to lump her dad in with the others who've hurt her, in no small part because. This hurt that Danny's feeling, the pain that makes her twist with guilt and frustration, was damage she caused by lying to him, by pushing him away. She's been so lonely for so long and the one person who could've been an ally, even an ineffectual one, is the one she's kept at arm's length throughout all of it.

Even the violence, even the kicking and the breaking, is just a way to avoid telling him anything.

Just pull the bandage off, Taylor, please. Maybe the worst-case scenario happens but then you don't have to keep that poisonous cold lump inside of you. There's other reactions he could have, better ones. I don't think his love for you is conditional. I don't think

Okay so this is almost the right decision she's making, here

Yes! Be with your friends, make bonds that last, admit to yourself what you actually want

God fucking dammit

Straight up crying in the club rn

Tell him! Oh my god please just tell him. Taylor for the love of god please just tell him

Fuck

Lisa's just a kid, too. As much as she pretends otherwise, as much as Danny wants to believe her.

So. Fucking sad.

Current Thoughts

The Heberts break my goddamn heart.

Danny tried, but he pushed too hard when Taylor was already raw and accidentally put her in a defensive mindset, made her feel cornered, unsafe. And then when it came down to it, he still let her walk away. He let Lisa take her from him.

And Taylor. God. I wish she'd just let Danny support her. Even if he doesn't solve her problems, if she could just lean on him during the low times that could make such a difference. I think he could understand, maybe given time. He'd side with her before he'd side against her, no matter who was on the other side.

Another point of proof, I guess. Taylor's fate wasn't sealed from the beginning. It doesn't have to go the way that it goes. There were options, much as she can't see them.

And the roads not taken just make it hurt that much more.

Interlude next.

*sigh*

[milk-crater]

Hey!

For fic prompt - Strickpage, can't think of a word but I feel like the picture gives enough of an idea 😁

This was fun! For this prompt, Hangman has to be the little dog who thinks he's being smooth, right? Right? ***

Swerve knew Hangman followed him on all his socials: trading romantic barbs online was kind of their thing. Swerve sometimes wished it wasn’t, wished that rather than tagging each other on borderline sexually graphic fan art they could cross that line IRL, but his cowboy was seemingly too shy, too skittish. Would take a staple gun to Swerve’s chest but his ducked his head at the hint of a kiss. So whatever.

But then a user liked an old thirst trap photo of Swerve’s from two years ago. Swerve had lots of fans and haters which meant a lot of notifications. It wasn’t uncommon for folks to troll through his social media to either drool over him or try and dig up shit. But for some reason this ‘like’ caught Swerve’s eye. It had all the hallmarks of someone slipping up and clicking ‘like’ when they meant to be lurking: they had only liked this single pic, late at night.

And then there was the user name. ‘V-Lover.’ Yeah, sure that ‘V’ could stand for a lot of things. One of them might be ‘Virginia.’

After that V-Lover got bolder, liking just about everything Swerve posted. And fast. He even left a few comments. On a pic with Swerve covered in blood, he’d commented ‘You never looked better.’ And then on his rope bondage pic ‘I was wrong, you look better here.’

And then, on a pretty normal shirtless pic, any plausible deniability dropped: ‘God you’re so hot.’  

“I looked into his user profile like you asked, Boss,” Nana reported. “No name on file, but there is an email. It’s a school email from a teacher’s university. The same one that...”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Swerve said, happy to have his suspicions confirmed but not wanting all the mystique gone by having Nana say it aloud.

So Hangman was not only following him outright on social media, he had a little sock puppet liking all his spiciest pics.

Should he call Hanger out? Or ignore him and let him have his fun?

Swerve opted for a middle ground. He did his makeup and lay in bed and took selfie after selfie. In the end he chose one that looked sexily but also somewhat natural like Swerve had just woken up from a nap next to a lover.

He posted it with a caption: This ones for you, V-Lover.

He waited, curious to see if this would scare Hangman off.

V-Lover liked the post a minute later.  

[ghnosis]

*rips bong* (this is my bong in case you're curious)

so some of you have asked me, over the course of the 80-someodd interviews I have so far conducted, why I am doing my PhD on Ghost.

tonight a participant asked me in a manner that sort of finally clicked for me - because I assume all of you live inside my head with me and know why I do everything.

Rose, why are you doing your PhD on Ghost fandom?

when I was 12, American Idiot by Green Day came out. I lost my mind immediately. Green Day were my first hyperfixation. I promise if you ask about "Green Day Girl" to people I went to high school with, they would remember me. not only did Green Day teach me about the Iraq War, and American progressive politics in general, they also taught me, a bullied and weird child, what it meant not to give a shit. someone thinks I'm wrong/bad/inferior? cool! I don't fucking care. "now everybody do the propaganda," etc.

if I kept talking about everything I learned from Green Day, we'd be here all night. but. Green Day *also* taught me that music didn't have to sound like pop, or like country. that music could be written because someone felt something. that music could be used to express rage, a thing I felt in spades.

so from Green Day, my door is blown wide the fuck open and I get to learn about Dead Kennedys, about David Bowie, about Nirvana.

the other thing I know I love, back then in 2004, is learning. and teaching.

fast forward 15ish years, give or take (or pack me a second bowl and I'll tell you the middle), and I'm looking, halfheartedly and in a bummed-out manner, for a PhD program. I have my master's, I didn't like the experience, but I want that Dr. I've been presenting at conferences and doing some piddly academic writing on video games and the use of games in education, and I'm on a listserv for other people writing about games. I get an email from someone at Falmouth University about a PhD program there in "Dark Economies." who's listed on the email? none other than Tanya Fucking Krzywinska, my number one academic girl crush (in my subject area. my actual number one is a historian)!!!!!!

so I read this email and it's talking about the intersection of the occult, video games, and heavy metal. as I said, I've been writing about video games. one of the things I'd been writing about was a certain thing that happened in that industry ooooh, 14 years ago now. something in my brain slots into place.

the occult: I know what that is. occult rock, certainly. I maybe could squeeze in some punk or pop punk. the goffik. we got some MCR.

heavy metal. well, I'm a punk girl through and through, but I used to date that guy in the metal band and have seen Slayer et al multiple times live. sure. I can occupy that world. wait a minute. Ghost.

video games. the thing I'd been writing about, specifically the mistreatment of anyone who wasn't a cis guy. you know what that sounds a lot like? sounds a lot like going to metal shows with my ex. WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE. GHOST??? on TUNGLE DOT HELL???

so I log my ass back on to this website and I look at you, at all of you beautiful people I'd been reblogging ass wobbling gifs with for years, and I said "oh my god. are they me? is whatever is going on in there just a bunch of me's, except it's Ghost not Green Day?

are all of you finding the most beautiful thing there is to find, namely, empowerment and freedom, in the goofy Satan band music band? was it the heaviest thing you had heretofore encountered? did it crack open a yawning chasm in your soul? were you hurting in ways you didn't know how to articulate? are you learning what it means to take up space, to demand rights for yourself and for others, to truly let your fucking freak flags fly? are you feeling the stirring in your heart that only comes from religion (read: witchcraft) or from seeing the most important band in the fucking world live, in the flesh, singing TO YOU, sweating FOR YOU? if you are, I think we are fucking important and vital. I think that we can tell our stories and make a bunch of other weird little girls realise that they, too, have rights - including to transition.

cos immediately in doing this research I found out - you're also NOT me, in some really important and specific ways. maybe being AFAB in the US isn't part of it. maybe it's bigger than that. and I feel so lucky, so truly fucking blessed and lucky, to have gotten to speak to over eighty of you beautiful people, to have been trusted with your stories. to learn what makes YOU ache in your soul and how it is different to but also the same as mine. I have to stop now I'm gonna cry!!!!

[ccrites]

Signal Lost

I've had something happen to me that's so incredible and that I could have never hoped, something so touching and so unbelievable that it made me rethink a whole lot of stuff: a wonderful reader on Ao3 started reading my long-form fic (101k words!!!) and commented basically every chapter after a certain point. And wow, I would have never thought something like this might happen.

And yeah, it is my first fic with plot in it, yeah I will never believe it to be perfect, but it's good enough. And receiving all those emails from Ao3 really was the highlight of my days over the course of which I saw said reader slowly go through all my favorite parts!

And so I wish to give it some spotlight here, while I'm finishing up my school year and work and whatever! I will post this here for now, but I will drop chapters every few days and make a Masterlist for it this weekend. (nvm I don't have the energy to do this any time soon lmao) I have too many loose ideas in my head so this is just to pass the time till the brain worms wiggle all in the same direction

So without further ado:

Link to AO3 here : Signal Lost - a John Price x reader fic

----- here's a blurb to pique your interest!

“I don’t think I’ve ever received a document as classified as this one. What am I supposed to do with it, Kate?” he says, dragging his thumb across the pile of papers, each file filled with more ink than the last.

“You asked for proof, there’s your proof,” Laswell says.

“You said you’ll bring someone competent, and who can help us, this doesn’t tell me shit.” He stares blankly at the screen, tired. She stares back.

“The Captain specifically asked to keep this under wraps.”

He rubs at his face, scratching at his beard. It’s getting long again.

“Who is he, anyway?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

He groans again, picking up the file on top. No photo, no name, no age, no height, weight, no nothing . And he thought Simon was secretive.

“What can you tell me?”

“It’s the closest we’ve ever gotten to him. Did things a particular way.”

He shifts through the papers. “And the discharge?”

“Left after the entire team got wiped out. Messy stuff.”

“That why he doesn’t show his face?” He bends forward, grabbing the cigar from the ashtray and bringing it to his lips.

“John.” Her voice carries a heavy warning.

“Just sayin’,” he says, biting around the cigar with one side of the mouth. “What kinda captain doesn’t go down with his men?”

“Got enough guilt as is. You’re lucky I convinced them.”

They both remain silent. They know the missions would be a slippery slope. One wrong move and a war is started. He puffs a cloud of smoke.

“Anything else?” John asks.

Kate looks to the side, her face illuminated by another screen. He can see her hesitate, her lips are pursed in a thin line as if she’s debating her options.

“You’ve worked together before.”

His face lights up. “Finally! Who?”

Her face immediately hardens back up. “Can’t tell, John, my hands are tied.” She sighs. “You were still a Lieutenant.”

Years ago then. He mentally catalogs everyone he’s ever worked with, but he knows that at that age, he was throwing himself at every available mission, wanting to make a name for himself. “So an old fart then? How’s that gonna help us?” If the guy was a Captain when he was still a Lieutenant, and he felt himself grow old, he can’t imagine who Laswell is bringing back from the dead.

Laswell’s face distorts, he knows he’s pushing her buttons, but he has to know.

“Not older than you John.”

His eyebrows raise. “Oh?”

---

or

returning to the military to hunt Makarov is hard enough, to do it with your past lover is even harder. a "friends to lovers to enemies to friends and back to lovers" story

---

Tags and other CW: will be posted for each chapter containing warnings for more hardcore stuff (i.e., torture and angst namely), but this is a fanfic, with smut, so if you want all the tags feel free to check the ao3 link bc there are a LOT and I am lazy to retype them all here

[my-castles-crumbling]

Anon Advice Asks - February 26

usaid anon, darling anon (new), runaway friend anon (new), hijabi anon, midnights anon

Usaid Anon

Hey cas its usaid anon.

So.. everyone in state just got an email to reply with 5 accomplishments they've made while working for state and i fthey don't reply it will be seen as a resignation.

I... what the fuck thats all im feeling right now

Okay as fucked up as this is, did you hear what people did? They completely spammed the e-mail. It's so funny.

_________

Darling anon

Thank you darling, for answering my asks, each time. I had too many anon names, and tried to solve a different problem with each. And you know, you never solved my problems, of course, you are just someone on screen. But whenever I write here, I seem to delay everything for a moment, and telling someone helps.

I'm glad I could help, even a little. Remember that you're safe to vent here, and I care about you. Also please think about asking for help irl. You deserve it.

________

runaway friend anon

hey cas, I hope you’re doing well.

Yesterday I was over at a friend’s dad’s house (divorced parents on her part) and everything seemed fine. I don’t go over to her house a lot but it is that. (We’re both15-16) sk everything seemed normal but today at school she told me she is running away from home. I asked her why, she said she had a fight with her dad after i left and there were hitting involved. Thankfully I didn’t see ant noticeable bruise on her but that’s still real bad. Tonight she is at her mum’s house but tomorrow she’s supposed to be over at his again and she told me she’ll find a motel something and I told her she isn’t doing any such thing and if she needs to come sleep over at mine for sure.

I told her to talk to her mum, so she can sleep at her house instead and stuff but her mum won’t be home until 3am and when she goes to school probably asleep too. when I told her that and said her mum seemed nice she mumbled ‘she’s not’ but i know she’s better than her dad.

I want to help her but don’t know what to do

its also a really really busy week in terms of essays and tests and its shit she has that too now.

I don’t really know what to do.

I’m assuming you probably need to know me information about the situation but idk what to give. her parents fucked her over before but never physically that I know of but acknowledge I don’t know everything.

I’m also afraid its my fault because it happened in the few hours after i left

I don’t know what to do

I have been struggling with my own mental health lately a lot and honestly don’t feel stable enough to be a rock for her and feel like shit for that. I will hopefully see her and talk to her tomorrow.

I’m so sorry to bother you<3 have a nice day.

Hi <3

First of all, this absolutely isn't your fault. You did nothing wrong and you absolutely could not have prevented this. HOWEVER, I think you need to tell an adult about this now. I know it sounds scary, and I know you might be worried about betraying your friend's confidences, but if her did is hurting her and she's considering making a dangerous decision, you need to tell an adult who has the power to help. This isn't something you can control, and you've done everything right so far- being there for your friend, offering her a place to stay, etc. Bringing in an adult is the next right step <3

_________

junior anon

Hii it's junior anon

so I did try to talk to my friend about it but she was like "Didn't I do the same for you?"

... How is that even remotely the same. You do way more for her. A camera??? Just because of that??? One time?? It happened to me multiple times and you just sat back and pretended to NOT NOTICE!! HOW IS THAT EVEN FAIR?? I'm not trying to compare but how is it fair. If I'm closer to her as she claims shouldn't she care at least a bit more?? Am I just not doing enough? (the you in this paragraph isn't directedat you /clarification)

But hey at least she's one of the few still here :))

so that's fine :)))

anyways thank you for taking time to read this, have an amazing day ahead <33

I'm so sorry <3 It's frustrating to feel like like your friend isnt validating your feelings. I think it might be time to spend some time with some other/new friends, then. It doesn't mean you have to dump this friend at all, just take some space.

Remember that no matter what happens, you deserve love and respect!

___________

Midnights anon

Hi Cas! It’s midnights anon

I just wanted to share that I had a good day today!

I’m 17 days clean (no sharp objects, no punching, no scratching)

I cut my screen time down today and I had such a good time!! I had raspberry yogurt with granola (that I mixed and prepared myself) and a left over taco for breakfast, and I had some fried eggs and sausages for lunch (which I also cooked myself!)!!

I read some Thoreau and a book I really like called “Finger exercises for poets”, studied some drawing anatomy (I drew a couple of REALLY good drawings and I’m super proud of myself) and listened to some of my records.

I discovered a new song I like, did all my Duolingo lessons, did my Bio, History, English, Math, and Greek homework

And I’ve been brushing my teeth twice a day and taking all my pills, so now my anemia, iron deficiency, and vitamin C deficiency are all getting better!!

I organized my photos on my laptop, anddddd

Yeah! I’m pretty happy. And it feels weird, and good.

Thank you for reading!!! :]

Wow, that's amazing! I hope you continue to have many good days like this! Remember if you have an occasional bad day though, more days like this good one will come!

_____

HIjabi Anon

Hiiii, Hijabi Anon again (that name is perfectly fine, by the way!). I was also the person who said I was going to my first concert yesterday, and it was so fun! I saw Cavetown and Mother Mother live, and it was life-changing (I bawled during This Is Home, lol).

I’ve decided that being in the closet isn’t that bad, to be honest. This may sound bad, but I’m thankful that I’m bi and not a lesbian. At least I’m attracted to men, so if I ever want to get married and fall in love while still keeping my family, I can just try to fall in love with a man.

Also, if I had ever thought of coming out, my cousin kind of ruined it for me. He was driving me to the mall with his sisters, and we got to talking. His younger sister mentioned how some middle schoolers in her school had already started being intimate, and she thought it was weird. Somehow, that turned into him talking about how, back when he was in high school, he saw two guys kissing and took it upon himself to beat them up badly. I was appalled and started arguing with him (obviously), but I had to toe the line between defending a queer person just existing and defending queer rights. The moment there’s even a suspicion that I’m an ally, I’m kind of screwed. So, my argument was just that he had no right to beat someone up for doing something in private (which they were—he was the one who barged into a locked bathroom). And even with that, I couldn’t win because he’s convinced queer people aren’t worthy of basic human decency.

I’m thankful I wasn’t alone because his other sister (not the one who first brought up the middle schoolers) was helping me defend them. She also took me to see Cavetown!! I know she’s an ally and not like the rest of our family, but I’m not out to her either. That whole argument put me on edge, and it really makes me scared. I’m sure he would never hurt me if I came out, but the fear is still there.

Hi!

I'm so sorry about what your cousin said/did. That's absolutely terrifying and I can see why you're scared. It's truly awful that people like this still exist. I'm so glad to hear that his sister helped defend you and the people he hurt.

I'm glad that you're in a mental place where you're comfortable with where you're at right now. I'm always here if you need to talk, and it sounds like your cousin (the one who took you to Cavetown) might be an amazing ally as well.

Sending love <3

[magentagalaxies]

16, 17, 23!

thank you will!!

16. Post a picture from the beginning of the year

january 9th, me in the first greenroom of scott's buddy cole tour (pittsburgh). i took a mirror-selfie backstage at every tour stop

17. Post a picture from the end of the year

november 25th, me onstage with scott thompson during his toronto show with the kids in the hall (i know i've already posted this photo but 1. it's the most recent pic of myself that i have and 2. isn't it kind of bizarre that i happened to wear the same outfit???)

23. If you could send a message to yourself back on the first day of the year, what would it be?

"if you make a deal with someone that needs to be fulfilled at a later date, especially for your documentary, GET THAT SHIT IN WRITING!!!!"

this obviously refers to the whole debacle i went through at college this year (scott visited my college on february 9th and i was supposed to interview him alongside another comedy professor and the comedy department told me they'd give me the footage for my documentary since that was the whole reason they got this celebrity appearance. however the professor who was leading the event treated both me and scott super shitty, and since he didn't like the way me and scott talked about gender while respectfully disagreeing he went on to fucking out me on twitter in an attempt to "cancel" scott for "misgendering" me in a separate interview even tho i go by any pronouns, dipshit. after the tour was done, i realized i'd never gotten the footage, so i checked in again and the professor told me he wasn't releasing the footage bc it "violates the college's community guidelines of respect and inclusion." after a LONG back-and-forth with the department head, they eventually released the footage to me. this whole debacle lasted 2 months and left me with some lasting trauma bc of how so many professors i looked up to were treating me like i was somehow in the wrong for being friends with someone who "disrespected my identity" (again, i've gone by "any pronouns" the entire time)

so with all that context, that advice might almost seem too small. like, you might think i'd rather say "don't trust [insert name of professor who outed me]" (bc he genuinely made me think he was a trustworthy person so that betrayal blindsided me). or maybe even go as far as to say "don't invite scott to your college" bc even tho this started as both me and scott wanting to do a nice thing for each other, it was such a shitty experience for both of us that maybe it's not worth the trouble

but aside from the fact that this event had been planned since the end of 2023, i wouldn't want to avoid it completely. as shitty as being outed by a self-serving asshole in an attempt to discredit your close friend is, and as much as i'm still reconciling with how it changed my view on whether i even want to call myself "nonbinary", i'm glad it happened. bc those problems i have with labels would exist even if someone didn't bring them to the forefront, and i've been able to grow so much as a person since i stopped worrying about being "good queer representation." and also, i have no idea where my friendship with scott would be if that hadn't happened. helping me through that shit allowed us to connect on a much deeper level (and is also the reason he let me keep his jacket lmao), i don't know if we'd be quite as close as we are without going through some of the worst shit we've been through together.

but to say i "wouldn't change a thing" is inaccurate bc that month-long email back-and-forth about whether my school promised me that footage (they fucking did) was so shitty and unnecessary. they might have still pulled the same crap even if i'd gotten it in writing, but then i'd at least have proof on my side. oh well, next time.

thanks for the ask!!

End of year ask prompt

[kbridgelain]

why did I leave university of lynchburg february 10th? (a sh*t show story)

I'm replacing all the names of the people who were actually in this story but here it goes. I originally sent this to the professors I connected with to explain why I left in full detail.

There are 4 parts to this:

"Leaving"

"I'm here"

"somewhere new"

"what's the plan"

Lets go

LEAVING

On February 10th, I left the University of Lynchburg. I left behind the majority of my things, packed up as much of my car as possible, and didn't say goodbye to anyone. 

That day, I woke up and saw little bite marks on my hands. It had happened from time to time that semester since I had moved into a different house, but I didn’t pay it any mind. I did the normal routine and went to class. Then I went to lunch and talked with my friends and my professor. I went to my last class feeling drained and bored. Around 2 pm, I headed back to my house, and when I walked into my room, there was something there for me. Winged termites. They were all over my bed, my pillows, the walls, the floor, and the windowsill that was made of wood. I thought back to when I moved in and noticed the tiny holes in the wood.

Winged fucking Termites.

That's what caused the bite marks on my body. They were the same little bugs I had seen from time to time. Their wings were shed everywhere. I lost it. I was in a fit of rage. I threw away all my bedding and pillows. My bed was the next thing I would’ve thrown out, but I went for a walk on a trail in the woods to get my mind off things and calm down. I sat next to the creek and I asked myself,

"Is this really the day I leave?”

Yes.

When I came back from my walk, I began to pack my things. I packed what I needed and a few extra things I love. I felt excited to leave things behind and start anew. I didn’t leave only because of the termites. During my entire college career, I had questioned myself whether this is really what I want to do. My areas of study are all topics that I love learning about, but modern education isn’t for me. Mixing that doubt with the traumatic experiences I had endured at the University was all the more reason to leave. I felt like I couldn’t heal staying in Lynchburg. I had been feeling stagnant ever since my Junior year when shit really hit the fan in my life. There were people I was seeing every day that I didn’t want to see. It made it harder to focus on beginning anew. Old wounds were still festering because of the inescapable small-scale classes, campus, and cliques. Don’t get me wrong, when I first came to Lynchburg, that’s what I loved most. Everything felt personable, especially being part of a team. But a few immature boys can change that really quickly, especially when they all gossip like school girls. It makes a girl feel like she can’t be herself or even breathe correctly. The people I met at Lynchburg are what made me love it, but also hate it. Some of those people are lifelong friends, and some of those people are just outdated things I’m working through and healing wounds from. So I made a radical decision because I was in need of radical change. Also, I had let Residence Life know that day with photos about what happened, and they never emailed me back, so if I had stayed, I’m not sure what I would have done. I wasn’t going to stay in a big infested room either way. While I packed, I texted my friend and let her know what had gone down that day.

Kayla:

I want to run away 

Just live in the woods

Fuck

aaron:

Same here naked and alive

Kayla:

On god

What if I did

aaron

You have no idea how close I am 

Kayla (A few hours later): 

I’m doing it 

I’m deadass in my car driving to Florida 

You can’t tell anyone 

aaron:

Wait whatttt

While I’m in the car, I originally planned to pass by my friend's place in daytona Beach to get some things I had left behind from an earlier visit. The initial destination was Key West, Florida. I let him know.

Kayla:

I ran away

Might be leaving the country 

I’ll be by to get my things 

On my way to Key West 

donna:

Are you ok?

Kayla:

Intense derealization 

But yes 

I actually feel great 

I know I’ll upset some people

But I can’t do this anymore 

This fake life 

donna:

As long as your heart, mind, gut are all in connection of what you want. You gotta do you

Kayla:

I feel giddy doing this 

But thank you 

I’ll be there around 8am

Maybe 9 

Here are pictures of the winged termites I sent to Housing, Registrar, and Student Accounts.

"i'M HERE"

At 6:51 am on Tuesday, February 11th, I arrived at his house. After a long night of driving, I was exhausted, and he was kind enough to let me extend my unnoticed stay for a few days while I figured out my next move. That Thursday, I set out to figure things out. I wasn’t in any rush to get to Cassadaga that day. I was interested in exploring the town of Cassadaga since I heard the people who live there claim to be psychic. First, I went to get coffee from my favorite coffee shop in the area, then to the public library, and then to the farmers market. The first stand I see at the farmers market is a woman selling handmade jewelry. I felt drawn to speak with her, and so we did for 30 minutes more or less. I had told her what my plans were. I told her I planned to go down to Key West and start working anywhere while growing cannabis on the side, since I had wanted to do so for a while. I felt like my soul had known hers for so long. She felt like a guide. She told me, “Come back next Thursday and I guarantee I’ll have something for you that can help.” And so I trusted her and stuck around in daytona Beach and explored the area. In those 7days, I started at Cassadaga exploring the psychic town, but had felt like it wasn’t my place. It was beautiful and quiet, but didn’t feel right. Those 7 days, I stayed at Tomoka State Park in a tent site. I set up my bed inside my car and went through intense realizations in those moments with myself. I’m grateful for all the wisdom I receive when I listen to what I need and when I sit still with all that surrounds me. I stared at the sunrises and sunsets. I was at the beach every day. I observed the trees and the water. I let myself feel. I dreamt. I processed. I cried. The next Thursday, on the 20th, I visited Katie at her stand and told her about the odyssey I had. I got a job at a surf shop within those 7 days and continued to look at places that I’d like to move into. We talked for about 45 minutes, and she had information for me about a place to live. The money to pay for an apartment was never a problem, but for some reason, it felt off to stay in the area. There was something else. Afterwards, I went back to my friends’ house to pick up some things and then spent my day doing fun things before I headed back to Tomoka for the last night. The next day, I toured around my options and decided I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be in the United States. So I asked my friend.

Kayla:

If I left the country could you take me to the airport 

donna:

When and what airport 

I love when my friends support me in my crazy ideas. So I booked the flight and then told my parents and siblings. They took it well knowing that I’m a free flowing person and it isn’t out of this world that I would do something like that. They supported me the best they could by connecting me to my family in Honduras. That’s where I would be going. Trujillo, Colon, Honduras. My mother and sister were emotional about my shotgun decision. 

They shed tears while asking me if I was okay. I said I was okay, but quite frankly, I wasn’t okay. I told them I had felt called to go to Honduras, which was true, but I also wanted to disappear completely. I wanted to go somewhere no one knew me. I wanted to start over. I wanted to let go of the heavy pain I had been feeling.

 In those 5 days and 4 nights, I prepared myself for a massive lifestyle shift. I was coming to terms with my end here. I was presented with powerful grief and powerful joy in those days. I went to the beach, I sat in the sun, I relaxed, I dreamt, I worked on my art, I laughed with my friend, and I ate good food. I indulged those last few days in what it is to be human. The little luxuries we are presented with in an industrialized world like accessible marijuana, a television, coffee shops, a running shower, a washing machine, a Publix market, and a variety of snack brands.

 On my last day in the States, my mom came to pick up my car. She arrived at the airport and we set off on our day. My beloved Land Rover was leaving me, but I was also saying goodbye to my mom. She’s quite an emotional woman, so it was difficult for her to come to terms with my departure. We did a few activities, got some food, and I showed her around town. I booked a hotel so that she could leave for Virginia the next morning by car. At around 6 pm, we said goodbye to one another. 

That last night in the States, I indulged in my vices. My friend and I smoked a blunt with all the keef (kief, marijuana that has been ground donnan to a powder and is much more potent) I had accumulated at the bottom of my grinder. (I know none of this is important, but it adds character and entertainment to this long explanation.) We went for a walk on the beach with his dog. The sky above the sea was always a spectacular view. The stars and the dark comforted me. I took my shoes off to feel those waters one more time. His rottweiler joined me and ran into the water with curiosity. I looked out into the water and the darkness. I felt one with the void before me, the ocean that seems infinite. It all made me feel intense euphoria for the moment I was in.

I was closing one chapter of my life and starting a new one while being so effortlessly present in the moment. When we came back, we said goodnight, and I took in everything one last time.

 The morning came soon as we both woke up at 4 am, so that he could drive me to the airport, which was an hour away. On the way there, we hot-boxed the car and sat in so much silence. I enjoyed it, I needed it. I was coming to terms with one end and excited for what was to come in Honduras. The silence and peace I feel when I am alone feels the same with my friend as it does with so many who understand how to be here now. Presence. When I arrived at the airport, we said our final goodbyes and I chartered off eagerly on my next adventure. 

Picture of my parked car at Tomoka state park:

"SOMEWHERE NEW"

On February 25th, I arrived at San Pedro Sula airport in Honduras. It was around 1 pm when I arrived, and there was an air of newness as I walked outside. My cousins, whom I had never met, were waiting outside the airport for me.

Wendy and Noe.

There was also a taxi that my uncle had paid for to make sure we got to our destination safely. My parents wanted to make sure I was safe wherever I went since crime is higher in Honduras, and I had never been there before.

We had an 8-hour car ride ahead of us, and I did all I could to observe everything new around me. The rows of sky-high coconut trees, the lawless roads, the vendors on every corner, the “buenas” welcoming we received everywhere we went, and the friendly stray dogs that roamed everywhere. When we arrived at Trujillo, it was 10 pm, and I was exhausted from a long day of traveling. I

was trying my best to stay in the moment and maintain an attitude of appreciation despite making such a big change. I wanted to make this change. I felt like I needed a change. Every day, there was something that killed my ego and taught me something. Every day gave me something to appreciate, no matter how small it may seem to people here in the States who are privileged with material things.

Throughout my 9 days, I met more people who felt like guides in my life, and I received wisdom from people who understood how to be present in each moment.

Going to the ocean every day was my favorite part. I went day and night almost every day. I felt cleansed of my past by the salt in the water. There was a deep knowing that Trujillo would be my home in the near future.

Everywhere you go in Latin American countries, you are always greeted, whether you are known or not. The humanity of people is more present in countries that don’t put as much emphasis on material things.

The culture of the United States is what was crushing me. People everywhere here try to live nonchalantly as if it is cool not to care, and I am not that way. I am a passionate person, and I felt suffocated to partake in something that felt so fake. People shy away from feeling things completely here in the States. They think focusing on themselves and making money and staying busy, and being physically appealing is the new wave. Focusing on the self should be more on the energy you bring to each setting and less about how you look when showing up to each setting.

There is a passionate energy everywhere you go in Trujillo. People want to speak to their neighbors, and music is playing wherever you go. I enjoyed the nightlife and dancing of my culture. Punta, bachata, merengue, reggaeton, and cumbia. I was sweating and smiling while I danced with my cousins at the famous Coco Pando club on the beach. Looking at the moonlight dancing on the water at night was one of my favorite things.

I swam in the water on my last night in Trujillo and floated on my back while I looked at the stars. I knew I would be back soon, but I didn’t know what I would be doing yet.

I felt blessed to be in any setting, despite the poverty I saw my family living in. I knew there was something I could do to help when I came back. I knew there was something wrong with the way we lived in the United States since I was young.

There is a deep disconnection from nature in the United States because of the importance people put on capitalism, their careers, and material things. Every country can be self-sustaining and live in a in a way that conserves the environment instead of neglecting it.

Honduras could be a self-sustaining country if capitalism weren’t shoved down its throat at every turn. The only reason Honduras is considered underdeveloped, like many other countries, is that they don’t put so much emphasis on modern industrialization and capitalism.

Their way of living is more in tune with nature. Of course, there are things to develop, like their waste management system and environmental sustainability education. Just as all these prepackaged products are new to them, so is the knowledge of what is bad for the environment and what is not.

I originally planned to stay in Honduras for good, but I knew there were things in the States I had to set straight.

For one, I had to see my sister and my dad, and my friends I left behind. I irish goodbyed almost everyone. They deserve at least a proper goodbye before I move back to Honduras. 

Some picture of Honduras:

"WHAT'S THE PLAN"

I returned to the States on March 5th and stayed with my sister in Manhattan, Kansas, for two weeks. During that time, I had to adjust to the cold weather, flatlands, and lack of greenery. I adjusted to being bored, but through that boredom, I found the time to think about what I wanted to do when I returned to Honduras. I knew I wanted to do something to help the people in the community of Trujillo. I wanted to bring more closeness and hope to their world. I’ve decided to establish a nonprofit organization once I return. The main purpose of the nonprofit is to improve their waste management and to bring awareness to the state of their environment. Many people do not have enough money to pay for their garbage to be picked up each week, as they have to pay extra apart from their property taxes. The idea is that people pick up trash in exchange for services. People who do not have enough money for their trash to be picked up (most people) dig holes in any clear space and light fires with their trash. I have even seen children do this. People should have easy access to waste management. People should not be living in their trash or breathing in the fumes of their trash. The services are English lessons or Sports coaching. People can pick up either plastic, aluminum, or glass in exchange for these classes, and the items will be exported to a recycling company either in Honduras or in the United States. People also usually do not have enough money to pay for English lessons. English is sometimes offered in schools, but it isn’t consistent since teachers end up leaving. This is to advocate for a cleaner and more sustainable Earth. I will be preparing a formally written plan for the complete idea of the non-profit, and I will be sending it out to friends, family, former teammates, mentors, and professors to let them know my plans. Involvement could range from donating slightly used sports equipment (and other basic necessities like clothing and shoes) to volunteering some of your time to come and teach English or a sport in Honduras.

The land my mother owns in Trujillo is expansive and self-sustaining with coconut, mango, cacao, plantain, and avocado trees already planted. There is room for more to grow and we have the ability to share our abundance with the community around us. 

With the land, my mother and I also plan to have hostel stays for tourists to visit, along with a restaurant and gift shop that will include goods from local artisans. The land would also be used as an event space for the community of Capiro (each neighborhood has a name. Capiro is the name of my neighborhood.). People would be able to host events for teaching beyond a language or a sport. The space will be used to showcase art and music, both local and international. The space will be used for celebration and to connect different worlds. 

It will be a safe space for ideas to be exchanged and for people of all backgrounds to connect with one another and with nature. The community here deserves to be noticed and appreciated for their craftsmanship and creativity. 

The natural world in Honduras deserves to be preserved and protected. I have the ability to bridge two different worlds. They can both teach one another different sides of life, different philosophies, and ideas. Every day we are alive should be a celebration of life. 

We should not be spending our days busy and worried about material things. Focusing on the kindness and unconditional love we extend to one another can create a new world. James Baldwin once said, “Love has never been a popular movement.” In this life, I’d like to promote love and harmony wherever I go. I’d like to live in harmony with the people of this world and the earth itself. We are a part of nature, and this is my way to show my love for the wild. I have said many times before that nature, this earth, and the universe itself are the closest things to god for me. I do not have a religion, but I feel I have a duty, as do all of us, to take care of this planet the best I can. A happy planet will result in happy people. The Earth gives us all that we need, so we must respect her. 

This journey I have been on has been a wild one, and I’ve had to look deep within myself to figure out what is important to me. My spirit has guided me to so many places, and now I am here, ready to give my labor of love to preserving what I can while teaching others to do the same. 

I will be in touch and I will be sharing my plan with you all soon. I appreciate your help throughout my years at Lynchburg and what I have learned has not been taken for granted. Modern education is not for me. I learned a different way of learning through the people I meet, the places I go, and the experiences I have. 

I have been in Roanoke, Virginia, since March 19th. I arrived from Kansas with a dream, and since then, I have been developing details even more. I have been staying at my stepfather's house and spending time with my family here before I leave. I went to Lynchburg in late March to see my friends. I also went to the registrar and student accounts to see if I’d be able to get a refund, and they denied my request, although I withdrew on February 10th. But there was no surprise there. Taking my focus away from that has led me to even better opportunities.I’m hoping for the best. I’m looking forward to it, all of it. I know it will take some time and alignment to get established, but I’m ready for it. 

Until then, I’ll continue to respect the Earth and receive its divine guidance. I know I may sound like a kooky hippie, but I guess I’m happy this way. I hope you’ll be able to see this plan flourish or that you’ll be able to partake in any way you can. Let me know if you have any questions. I’d be happy to share more details. I’m sending you all peace and love. Thank you all. 

Shtty quality picture i took of the blood moon in march:

I hope someone finds this story to be useful in some way.