#time will tell if i keep at it or just present tense that bitch all over)

[reiverreturns]

a rough draft wip? on wednesday? groundbreaking.

said another way - we're fully on the mota train now girls buckle up

[very-straight-blog]

I hated the way Otto treated Aegon this episode. His son just died and there he is telling Aegon how incompetent and stupid he is and how his father never wanted him on the throne and that they are usurping it (a throne he didn't want but they make him took anyways and now his son is dead because of it). His great-grandson just died and he is bitching about some ratchatchers. I know Aegon acted impulsively but he is completely alone in his grief. That scene in the council room made me so sad, he was about to have a panic attack when Otto suggested using the funeral as propaganda. He said no and even Helaena said no and although they are King and Queen they words didn't matter. Can someone hug Aegon and tell him they are sorry?? The smallfolk cared more about Jaehaerys death than his own family. I can't believe they made me dislike Otto.

Seriously, yes! In general, Aegon's plot in this episode completely ruined me. Yes, he's experiencing the loss of his son all alone, despite the fact that he's surrounded by his relatives. Alicent and Otto act like they don't care. He could find solace with Helaena, but he doesn't have enough emotional intelligence and strength at the moment to be the one who comforts, and that's exactly what Helaena (and both of them) need, so he just awkwardly avoids her. Plus, in a patriarchal society, he, as a man, doesn't even have the right to openly grieve - he must remain strong and cold-blooded and he repeats several times that he's afraid to seem weak, so he can only show his real emotions alone with himself when no one sees him - and then he sobs. No one asks him if he's okay, no one comforts him, not even Alicent, who saw him right at that moment - she just leaves. It's all breaking my heart, I just want to hug him. Even after his son's death, he talks about him in the present tense and refuses the idea of a public funeral until the last, it feels like only he and Helaena care, really.

As for Otto, I didn't understand at all what the screenwriters wanted to do. Make the greens look like monsters again? Thank you. Because in a situation where a person from Rhaenyra's side cut off Jaehaerys's head, there's no need for some evil plan to make her look bad. We really shouldn't have listened to Otto and the others repeat a bunch of times that they want to use boy's funeral for propaganda. And then? They also show Otto as stupid, because if you see that all the ratcatchers have been hanged, that's it, you've already screwed up in controlling the king. Maybe - just maybe - if you want to keep the remnants of influence, don't yell at him and call him an idiot. I'm just saying. But yes, Otto, Alicent and Criston are making me more and more disgusted.

[looseratinthegarage]

hey if you want to, do you think you could do headcannons for how michael, jason and thomas would react to an s/o who talks to themselves a lot? I tend to think about my day out loud to process it all, and am super curious what they'd think :))

S/o who talk to themself

Sry motivation has been a bitch lately, I hope you enjoy!!

Michael

•At first he was slightly annoyed. He thought you were doing it to piss him off. But then he noticed you did it even when you didn’t know he was watching. After that he found it very cute.

•He has pretty incredible hearing, so he can make out most of what you say. He likes to hear about your day, and the thoughts going on in your head. •Sometimes you don’t tell him about issues you have with people. He wonders why… so when you're absentmindedly muttering, he sometimes gets some interesting info about future targets.

He sits in his chair making his latest mask and you wandered in. He didn’t look away from his project, fixated on finishing.

You pace thinking about your day and turn to Michael. Your mumbling pauses for a moment.

“So handsome.” You subconsciously say in a matter of fact way.

His head slowly looks up from his work and turns to look at you. His face was a light shade of pink. Did you just call him… handsome? He couldn’t wrap his brain around that..

He stood up and walked over to you. He placed his hand on your shoulder, taking you out of your thoughts.

“Hm? MMMPH!?” You say surprisingly as his soft lips touch yours.

Jason

•When he saw you he paused. You were muttering to yourself while walking down the trail. Someone passed you and visibly judged you for your quirk. He was not happy with this at all.

•You were different, he likes different, he was different. You do exactly what he does in his head! Out loud that is. He’s constantly trying to process his day by going over what happened.

•With how much you talk, it motivates him to try to talk or at least learn sign language. He can’t help but think you talk so much to yourself because you're lonely, it breaks his heart.

•When he sees you getting tense or frustrated, he’ll try to relax you and your mind.

You’ve been muttering more than usual. He worriedly picked you up.

“I’m alright, bud,” you smile, but he’s not convinced.

He quickly stomps out of the cabin with you in his arms. You look at him strangely and wonder where you're going. Then you see the lake come into view. You giggle and look up to him.

“Wanna go swimming?” You ask, he shakes his head ‘no’.

He carefully sets you down by the edge and sits down away from the water. He crosses his arms. You frown and gently grasp his hands.

“I’d rather sun bathe with you,” you smile sweetly

He smiles and pats his lap. You giggle and carefully sit down. You take your shirt off, then your pants. He lays back and you snuggle his chest. You feel his calming warmth below you and the sun above kissing your skin.

Thomas

•instantly falls in love. His mind is always running, at times it’s incredibly loud, constantly worrying about chores, providing for everyone, and keeping his family safe. But when you begin to mumble, it grounds him, and all the cluttering noise disappears. He focuses on your voice and it helps him stay present in the moment.

•He finds it absolutely adorable. Hoyt on the other hand- let’s keep things sweet… so back to Thomas! He’ll beat the shit out of him if he bullies you

He briefly sits down on the old stained couch for a much needed break. He was resting in between chores. His head began to run about all the things he had to do, telling him he wasn’t enough, that if he can’t be of service that he’s worthless.

Suddenly he heard you mumbling about something, and he relaxed, the noise in his head stopped.

You were carrying a load of laundry when you saw him. His brow was furrowed and his entire body looked tense. You walk up to him, his gaze raising to look at you. You set the laundry basket down next to the couch carefully. You stand in between his legs and wrap your arms around him. He sighs happily into your chest(big,small,flat he doesn't care). You caress his face lovingly and run your fingers through his greasy locks.

“You do so much for us,” you whisper.

“I love you.” You kiss his dirty forehead.

He grunted, his way of saying it back.

[1perplexed1]

More ranting but its the protags now

Danganronpa, despite its out of pocket comments and shitty development sometimes, is actually still great with presenting how characters deal with trauma. This is mostly gonna be about the 3 main protags but yk (p.s. I haven’t watched the gameplays in over a year or two, so correct me if I’m wrong😓)

Makoto, being a cheery guy, still came to forgive everyone for their misdeeds. He didn’t yell at Kyoko for getting mad at him, he kept Sakura’s secret, he still got along with everyone, and he didn’t hold a grudge despite being sent off to the execution. He never held a grudge (apart from Junko but that’s cause she’s a bitch!!). He obviously went through a lot, watching people he actually knew for 3 years die right in front of him while he thought he didn’t know anyone, as well as nearly dying from the execution. But even so, he still kept his optimistic self and continued encouraging everyone despite knowing what the cycle would be, never giving up. In the Dr3 anime, in the scene where he’s driven insane, you can actually see that a lot of his trauma is internalized. Meaning he still holds regret in his heart, but chose the healthy way out and continued to work on it, despite having to go through 2 different killing games. His trauma had a heavy impact on him, which was the reason why he could be driven to despair, but even so, he’s a strong character, which allowed him to keep his mindset and still fight for the best

Now onto Hajime. Hajime is a whole different story. We don’t know much about his backstory or family, apart from a few glimpses into his Reserve Course life. We can easily tell that he truly dreams of becoming talented because Ultimates were a big deal in the world, but the Reserve Course was deemed as being desperate for that (they were lmao). So dealing with obvious self-esteem issues and somewhat implied self-loathing, he sold his damn body to scientists to experiment on.

What you believe is entirely on you. You can believe that Hajime and Izuru are two seperate identities, sharing the same body and brain, as a split personality, or you can believe that Hajime and Izuru are one in the same, with his brain just getting a few modifications. And there is no humane way for him to be able to accommodate all of those talents without obvious body modification, so imagine that, some parts of him aren’t even his at that point. Anyways, Hajime deals with trauma a bit differently. He gets agitated and deals with it like any average person: panicked and desperate. Constantly seeing his friends die, it gave an impact on his brain where he had slowly, but unknowingly grown used to it, with still being obviously impacted, but each time less and less, though it’s really faint. By chapter 6, Hajime let those bottled up feelings out, since he never lets his guard down and is always tense, and is obviously upset and angry because he had no reason to be there, again his self-loathing. In the anime, we can see him getting better, accepting his past (via the symbolism of Chiaki fading out, though he still keeps her dear in his heart), and moving on by going back t his friends. So he most likely also ends up dealing with it healthily!

Shuichi? Oh fuck he’s a mess…

Shuichi obviously also struggles with a self-esteem problem, but it’s not severe. He generally doesn’t believe he’s worth his Ultimate, because he only solved one case the police couldn’t, and is quite shy or introverted on his own. Throughout the gameplay, he obviously builds up confidence, which could also play as tiredness and anger, because of continuously doing these class trials and losing people he tried to make a genuine connection with. Even so, he tries to stay strong, but again, he never truly built true confidence, which is why he’s so easily knocked down in chapter 5, where his feelings are exposed, revealing that he did in fact become/was already depressed. He gave up with everything, because knowing there was no point in killing, everyone’s deaths were a waste, and everything that happened was pointless, gives a pretty big impact. He even comes to a point of giving up on his own life. But with a bit of support from Maki and his friends, he gets back up on his feet again and continues on, making everyone’s deaths important because they never lost their value. Though in chapter 6, you can see his confidence waver again, but he still stands his ground, proving that he actually grew to accept everything, and built actual confidence, which I think is a nice touch to his character.

So truth be told, Danganronpa, despite still being shitty, is still good at character development when they actually put work into them. But of course, sometimes you just can’t get that

[theangelwithawand]

Good Omens Incorrect Quotes 5

Still not mine.

Crowley as Aziraphale: *gets set on fire and screams in agony*

Crowley as Aziraphale: Nah, I’m just kidding. Fire does nothing to me.

Crowley: I'm a firm believer in "if you're going to fail, you might as well fail spectacularly."

Warlock, T-posing in the doorway: Greetings, Nanny.

Crowley, not looking up from their coffee: Good morning, problem child.

Aziraphale: Please say words of encouragement to me so I don’t murder someone right now.

Crowley: There are no books in prison.

Aziraphale: *sighs* Thank you.

Aziraphale: Jesus Saves.

Crowley: Passes to Moses, SCOOOOOORE!

Crowley: Well, if you're not at least a little bit gay for your friends, then what kind of friend are you?

Crowley: If you don't stop talking, I'm going to jump out of that window.

Aziraphale: ...We're on the ground floor.

Crowley: I know but I want a dramatic exit.

Aziraphale: I made this friendship bracelet for you.

Crowley: You know, I’m not really a jewelry person.

Aziraphale: You don’t have to wear…

Crowley: No, I’m gonna wear it forever. Back off.

Crowley: So jellyshish-

Aziraphale, laughing: JELLYSHISH!?

Crowley: You know what I meant!

Crowley: What's gone wrong, Aziraphale?

Aziraphale: Hey! That’s one heck of a thing to say to a person. Just because I’m calling doesn’t mean there’s a crisis.

Crowley: That’s technically true, I suppose. Why are you calling?

Aziraphale: Well... There’s a crisis.

Crowley, hungover: Please tell me I'm imagining that I claimed I was king of the ducks.

Aziraphale: I would, but then I would be lying to the King of All Ducks.

Aziraphale: Crowley? What are you doing here?

Crowley, wearing a hawaiian shirt, sunglasses and holding a gatorade: My best.

Newt: I’m here for the cult stuff.

Shadwell: How did you find us?

Newt: I saw your ad on craigslist.

Aziraphale: I am in charge of this disaster!

Crowley: I have a name, you know.

Crowley, wiping tears from their eyes: If you love someone, set them free. If they come back, it’s meant to be…

Aziraphale: I’m literally just going to the store.

Crowley: I have issues.

Gabriel: Finally, you admit it! The first step to redemption is accept-

Crowley: With you.

Crowley: *on the phone with Anathema* I can’t talk right now, I’m doing hot girl shit.

Anathema: You’re pulling Oreos apart and saving off the frosting to make a mega Oreo, aren’t you.

Crowley: Maybe.

Crowley: Now, the recipe calls for 2 shots of vodka.

Crowley: *upends the bottle*

Aziraphale: Sorry, I'm late to the party. I've been doing things.

Crowley, entering in an unbuttoned shirt: I got caught up doing things too.

Anathema: Wow, Aziraphale was late too! What a coincidence!

Aziraphale: You spent all our money on THIS??

Crowley, putting tiny raincoats on ducklings: They live outside. They need this.

Crowley: Where are you going?

Aziraphale: To get MYSELF a gift cause somebody didn't get me one!

Crowley: I told you I did! Its coming here on Friday!

Anathema, knowing full well that Crowley got Aziraphale an engagement ring: *eating popcorn*

Crowley: The only thing keeping me from running away and hiding from society for the rest of my life is spite. I could disappear forever, but there are some bitches whose downfalls I have yet to witness, and I wanna be around when that happens.

Aziraphale: You’re drunk.

Crowley: Correction: drinking. Present tense. Grammar, Aziraphale.

Aziraphale: Do you see yourself as a glass half-full or glass half-empty kind of person?

Anathema: Half-full, definitely.

Anathema: Half-full and constantly rising.

Anathema: Soon the water will escape its container and consume us all.

Crowley: Okay, but what if we went to dinner not as friends this time?

Aziraphale: AS ENEMIES?!

Crowley:

[yournameoneverypage]

Aw, Nuts

NSFW 18+ / Minors, please DNI…

Word Count: ~4.8k

Notes: I had fun with this one, until I didn't, and then again when I did. 😜 Some angst, smut, and some fluff. Didn’t stick to the request exactly. Let’s be honest, no sexy time for three months? None at all? Come on, it’s Shawn. 😝 I haven’t written present tense for awhile, so please forgive any mistakes you might see... Might be a bit before I get to another request. I’ve been neglecting my OC series, so I’m going to try to finish the next part of that before I sift through my asks again. As always, likes are wonderful, but reblogs are better, and comments are cherished. 💕

* ❤️ *

You scrutinize yourself in your full length mirror.

You’re wearing a blush colored, lace bodycon dress and the most comfortable of the cutest heels you own for a night out with your boyfriend.

You screw your face and huff, “Am I not attractive? Am I not sexy?”

“Of course you are, darling,” your best friend, JJ, hums distractedly.

“You would fuck me if you were straight, wouldn’t you?”

“In a heartbeat, Sweetie,” he mumbles.

You glance over your shoulder. The other occupant of your apartment is sideways in the plush armchair in the corner of your bedroom, his eyes not on you, but his phone screen.

His inattention further frustrates you. “Bitch, enough with the damn phone. I’m in the middle of a crisis here! I need your attention more than whatever sugar daddy you’re flirting with on Grindr.” You stomp across the room and yank his phone from his hands.

“What the hell?!” He snatches his phone back but wisely shoves it in his pocket and sits up properly. “All right. You have my undivided attention. What’s the goddamn crisis?”

“Shawn.”

JJ raises an eyebrow. “Shawn?”

You pout. “We’ve been dating for three months and we still haven’t had sex.”

“Wait, what??” JJ thought you were keeping your sex life private for Shawn’s sake, being who he is; he hadn’t ever thought there might not be a sex life to talk about.

“What am I doing wrong? What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing. He is wild about you. He looks at you like you hung the moon, and the stars.”

“Well then, what the hell?” you grumble.

“You’re not usually shy in taking what you want. Direct the outcome.”

“You think I haven’t tried? You do know that my boyfriend is one of the hottest men in the world, right?”

“Well aware, thank you,” JJ snickers. “Are you getting any kind of action? Come on, spill.”

“We have really hot makeout sessions.”

“Yes, I’ve seen the marks left behind,” he mutters.

“He loves my tits.”

“You do have phenomenal tits.”

‘We’ve gotten really good at second base… But when I try to stick my hand down his pants, he puts the brakes on.”

“I think the better question is, what’s wrong with him?”

You give JJ a little shove, by his face, and chuckle softly before you sigh again. “I miss sex. I really, really like sex.”

“For fuck’s sake, just tell him to dick you down already.”

That’s the moment you hear a knock on your apartment door. Shawn has already charmed the entirety of the front desk staff; they don’t even call you anymore for consent to let him upstairs.

You swing open the door and Shawn’s eyes brighten. “Baby,” he murmurs, his smile even more brilliant.

He draws you to him to give you an enthusiastic kiss hello. You can’t help but react; this boy is your kryptonite.

When you ease away from each other his eyes caress you from head to toe. Deliberately. He rumbles, “You look gorgeous.”

“So do you,” you breathe, cheeks pink, despite your frustration with him.

He’s wearing navy, low-rise, straight-leg pants that hug his ass in the most perfect way, his Bode, white lace, long-sleeve shirt you both love so much, and his go-to black Chelsea boots.

Your man is a fucking model. (No, really. Signed with Wilhemina and everything, with campaigns for Armani, Calvin Klein, and Tommy Hilfiger under his belt.) He is magnificently built, tall and broad, with skin reflecting his half-Portuguese heritage due to an abundance of vitamin D from the summer sun, and dark curls at the exact length you favor.

“I have half a mind to say fuck it and stay in tonight,” he smirks.

“Can we? I’d be all right with that.”

“But then I can’t show my girl off,” he grins. “I want people to turn their heads when we walk by and think to themselves, what a lucky bastard.”

Where normally his boasting and praise would light you up and have you floating on air, head held high, proud to be his girl, tonight it rubs you the wrong way.

Shawn offers you his arm and smiles. “Ready, baby?”

///

After your first few dates, you and Shawn had taken to sitting side by side at restaurants instead of across from each other, so his first inkling that something is off is when you choose the seat opposite the cushy side where you would usually sit together.

Despite his bemusement, he pulls your chair out for you like the gentleman he has always been.

The second indication is how you aren’t as engaging or flirtatious as usual. In truth, it’s the first time he has ever felt that he has dominated the conversation. There had always been an equal push and pull between you; it was what made all of your conversations so effervescent.

Worry begins to prickle beneath his skin.

Halfway through dinner he’s bothered enough to reach for your hand and draw you from your chair to sit beside him. You huff softly but still go willingly. You hate how you’re feeling upset with him at all.

He drapes his arm across the back of the bench behind you. It’s reassuring that you lean into him. After he leaves a trail of little kisses along your jawline he asks, “What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours? We always sit together. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything is fine.” You try to smile genuinely, but all Shawn can see is disquiet in your eyes. You haven't ever been a good liar.

He catches the attention of your waitress and motions for the check.

“But we aren’t done with dinner,” you contend.

“Honey, you’ve barely touched your entree,” he gently argues, stroking the soft skin of your back with gentle fingertips.

You reach for his other hand and entwine your fingers with his. “I'm fine, babe. Let’s order dessert and have another glass of wine.”

He slides his Amex card into the check presenter and hands it back to the waitress. He kisses you once she walks away and murmurs against your lips, “Let’s go. This place is overrated anyway.”

///

The plan had been to go on to a speakeasy after dinner to meet some of your friends, have a few drinks, and listen to some live music. So, when you realize Shawn is taking you in the direction of his place instead, you feel terrible for ruining more than dinner.

“No, baby. Let’s just go on to the bar,” you insist. “Our friends are waiting.”

He places his hand on your thigh and draws shapes against your skin. He glances at you and smiles affectionately, even though now you can see the disquiet in his eyes.

“Another time. I’ve decided I want my girl all to myself tonight. They’ll forgive us.”

///

You love Shawn’s place, simply for the way it smells. It’s everything Shawn, with little nuances of you. You spend more time at his place than yours because there’s more privacy. He has no roommate to crash your movie nights or cuddle sessions like JJ too often does. It has begun to feel more like home than your own apartment.

You slip out of your heels and start toward Shawn’s room to steal one of his shirts so you can get out of your dress, but before you can go too far, Shawn reaches for your hand, causing you to pause and turn back to him.

He wastes no time in trying to fix whatever seems to be fracturing. He asks quietly, “Are you going to tell me what’s up?”

You return to him, slip your arms around him, and inhale his very essence. You fit perfectly in his arms and it’s the closest he’s felt to you all night.

You have only been together for three months; it's safe to say he may not yet know all of your moods. Maybe this is just another piece of you he has to learn.

You rise onto your tiptoes and brush your lips against his, encouraging him to kiss you. He gets caught up in you as quickly and as easily as he always does, his hands slipping into your hair, the pads of his thumbs stroking your face, as your kisses turn from soft to fervent.

Your hands reach for him, and fingers fumble to undo his pants.

You normally get much further than this before he stops you. But you still haven’t told him why you haven’t been yourself tonight and his brain takes over sooner than it usually would.

“Honey?” He pauses your hands and eases away, rezipping and refastening his pants, despite the fact that they’re too tight now and quite uncomfortable.

Your frustration finally boils over, and with an irritated sigh you push him away with hands against his chest. He stumbles one step back.

You immediately, apologetically rub your hands down the front of his shirt and then reach up to cup his face. He covers your hands with his and breathes your name, - an urge to help him understand.

“You tell me I’m beautiful all the time, and we make out until our lips are numb, and we get here, to this point, and so, so close to so much more, and just when I think, finally…”

You take two steps back, quickly wiping a tear from the corner of your eye, asking meekly, “Do you not want to have sex with me?”

“Oh my God,” Shawn gasps. It’s as if the floor opens beneath his feet and swallows him whole. “Sweetheart.” He feels like the biggest son of a bitch for making you cry, for making you doubt your appeal when, to him, you are the most beautiful woman in the world, or feel insecure in any way.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You can't imagine the things I've wanted to do to you since the first moment I laid my eyes on you.”

“I don’t understand,” you whisper.

“Come’ere.” He reaches out to take your hands again in his and draws you close. “I just… I wanted to take it slow.”

“This isn’t three dates or three weeks, Shawn, we’ve been together for three months.”

“Can- can I be honest?” he exhales shakily, cheeks pinking.

“Always. You know that.”

He gently squeezes your hands. “I wanted to take it slow… a- at first because… My God, honey, you’re perfect, and I like you, like, a lot, you know? Hell, I- I more than like you,” he confesses, blushing even darker. “And I didn’t want to fuck anything up before I had the chance to make you mine…

“I was afraid to move too fast, because I usually do, and then it always ends as quickly as it starts. And I want things to work out this time, more than I’ve ever wanted things to work out with anyone else.”

“Shawn,” you wheeze, easing your hands from his to run down his chest. You bite your lip to try to keep yourself from smiling like a fool.

“I know once we…” He rubs the back of his neck. “You know…”

Fuck, was he the most adorable thing ever sometimes. “Have sex?” you smirk.

His eyes meet yours and he licks and bites his lips in that way he does that makes you crazy. “Once I really get between your legs, I know I’ll never be able to get enough of you.”

“’cause you like me, like, a lot?” you grin, even as your face flames. “I like you, like, a lot, too, Shawn… And I don’t know, never leaving bed sounds pretty fucking amazing to me.” You tug on his hand, - a request to follow you to his room.

He stays firmly grounded. “Wait.”

You groan with a flare of new frustration. “You’re really trying my patience, babe.”

He has to close his eyes for his next admission and his face burns hot. “I’m having some… performance anxiety.”

You rise on your tiptoes and murmur against the shell of his ear as your hand brushes across the significant bulge at the front of his pants. “Sure doesn’t feel like it to me.”

“That’s not-” he hums, wetting his lips, “the problem.” He guides your hand back to where it had just been because he really wants it there.

You gently palm him through his pants. “Then what’s the problem, baby?”

“I haven’t had sex with- with anyone for awhile. Just- just my own hand. And when- when I…”

His stuttering is positively endearing.

“When you…?” you encourage, coyly. You know what he’s alluding to, but you want to hear him say it.

“I think about you when my hand is on my cock,” he murmurs, “dreamin’ it’s yours.”

Wetness immediately pools between your thighs thinking about how hot it would be to watch him get himself off.

“And I come embarrassingly fast. Like a damn twelve-year-old boy who just discovered his dick. So… when you try to put your hand in my pants…”

“What? Think I’ll be unimpressed with your size?” you tease. “It’s all about how you use it.”

“You’re impossible,” he laughs, pulling you against him and palming your ass like you had just been palming his crotch.

“I already know that is not going to be an issue,” you murmur, increasing the pressure of your stroke.

It's almost too much. “You gotta stop now, baby,” he groans, easing away from your caress. “I want to last more than seven seconds,” he puffs and nervously runs a hand through his hair. “And that- that’s what I worry about. I don’t want you to be… disappointed. And then I get… stuck in my fucking head.”

“Could never be disappointed, babe.” You cup his face and kiss him tenderly. “I wish you would’ve told me all of this sooner.”

“I'm an idiot,” he states. “I’m so sorry, Sweetheart. I wasn’t thinking about how my anxieties were affecting you, and I should have. I never meant to make you feel undesirable, or that I didn’t want to shove my cock in you every fucking chance I had. Shit, baby.”

“Aw, you say the most romantic things,” you intone amusingly.

He hooks his fingers beneath the straps of your dress, murmuring, “I want to make love with you…” He slides the straps off your shoulders. “…every second of every day. Is that better?” he hums.

“No, no, right now shoving your cock in me, - that works,” you say breathily,  again unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. He doesn’t stop you this time. You grip the open waistband to sharply tug him closer.

He exhales with a suppressed grunt that has you begging. “I’m fucking horny, Shawn. I need it,” you whine. “I need you.”

He has quickly located and unfastened every tie or zipper keeping your dress on your body. “Been dying to get you outta this dress all fucking night,” he groans, as it flutters to the floor.

His eyes caress the swells of your breasts almost spilling out of your strapless bra. Your nipples are visible through the sheer material. He cups your breasts and drags the pads of his thumbs over your taut peaks. “Fucking flawless,” he groans.

You begin to walk both of you towards the sofa while unbuttoning the only three buttons on his shirt and sliding it off his broad shoulders. The backs of his calves find your mark.

Before he can even catch up, you’ve pushed his pants over his hips and have gently shoved him down onto the sofa. You’re in his lap the next moment, straddling him, your lace-covered core pressing against his cotton-encased hardness.

“Shit,” he curses. His hands can’t decide if they want to be on your hips or your ass.

One of your hands curls around the back of his neck, the other tangles in his curls. You trail tiny kisses from his chin up along his jawline.

You start rocking your hips and touch the tip of your tongue to the lobe of his ear. “You feel good, baby,” you purr. 

His grip tightens on your hips and you hear a tiny rumble at the back of his throat. He places open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone and over the swells of your breasts.

Your hips roll and speed up. The friction is divine and you think you might come, just like this, but your own pleasure is second to Shawn’s. You want him to get out of his head; you don’t want him thinking at all, just feeling.

You start to grind your hips against his. “Oh God-” he exhales. You’re soaking the lace of your panties and you can feel how you’re making a mess of his boxer briefs as well, where his cockhead is straining.

It’s not how he wants things to go, but it feels too good. His protestations are weak.

You take his earlobe between your lips and gently suck and lick it. With the tip of your tongue, you trace the contours of his ear.

He grabs your ass and squeezes, trying to still your hips, as your lips return to his earlobe and gently nibble on it. “Baby- baby- stop stop stop-” he gasps, lips against your skin. “You’re gonna make me-”

His orgasm washes over him and he nuts with a shuddering groan as wetness coats the inside of his underwear. Like a twelve-year-old boy.

You release his ear and slow your hips, trying to edge yourself away from your own climax, while his cock continues to throb and jerk.

His hand grips the back of your head, forcing your lips to his. His tongue delves deep into your mouth. He grunts as your lips part. He tries to scowl but he can’t stop from laughing instead. “You did that on purpose.”

“Mhm,” you smirk. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, you’ll last longer next time.”

He has you under him on the sofa before you can do anything but squeal and laugh.

“You’re asking for it,” he laughs, deep and throaty, hurriedly, roughly dragging the already saturated lace of your panties over your hips, down, and off. “And for the record,” he smirks, gripping his half hard cock through his boxers. “I’m above average, and I know how to use it.”

You hook your finger in the waistband and start to draw it down. “Prove it.”

Shawn pushes his boxer briefs down, freeing his cock. You lick your lips, thinking just how badly you want to get your mouth on him.

It’s as if he can read your thoughts. “Nuh-uh. My turn.” Hovering over you, he brings his lips to your ear and growls, purrs, “I know how to use my tongue, too.”

The way he kisses is enough to confirm that, but knowing he is about to bury his face between your thighs sends a fresh wave of desire throughout your body, and makes your pussy throb.

Thank fuck for the size of his sofa, as he pushes your legs open.

You gasp and groan, your back arching, when he lowers and closes his mouth around your center.

You bite on your lower lip, hand immediately tangling in his hair, as you rock against his face. You moan, hips moving instinctively against him, “Shawn… hmm… yes, baby, yes...”

His tongue is on your clit, first and middle fingers dipping inside you. He quickly finds that magic sweet spot, crooks his fingers, and laves and flicks and sucks your button, and you’re levitating off the sofa.

It’s too much and also not enough. One hand is in his hair, tugging, the other is twisted in the sofa’s slipcover beside you. You try to close your legs, but can’t with his broadness in the way. “Shawnshawnshawn,” you wheeze. “OhGod-”

His fingers are soaked with your juices. He’s fully hard again from the scent of your arousal, the moans and groans he’s drawing from you, how you’re rippling against him, and the friction of his cock rubbing against the sofa.

He knows you’re close; his fingers slip from you and you whine, tightening your grip in his curls, but he wants to prolong your ascension and he needs to taste you again.

“Please,” you beg, breathlessly.

He licks away the wetness you’ve already released and then his tongue is where his fingers just were.

Everything about him is long; his limbs, his fingers, his cock, his tongue. Your taste is addictive, and he feasts, humming and rumbling, urging you to take your pleasure by pushing against his mouth.

You’re near your zenith; he can tell by the way your hand in his hair tugs and how your moan changes. Your body begins to quiver and again he withdraws.

“Nonono,” you gasp, whimper, “pleasepleaseplease.”

But he’s only removed his mouth to sink two fingers back into you.

“That’s it. Come for me, Sweetheart,” he murmurs, watching his fingers pump in and out of you, each time brushing against that tight bundle of nerves. You clench around him, moaning, chasing the release you might die if you don’t get rightthefucknow.

With one more firm crook of his fingers, and just the right amount of pressure from his thumb on your clit, you climax, shatter, and cry out as your orgasm fully claims you.

“Gorgeous,” Shawn purrs as he softly kisses and caresses you through every twitch and tremble and wave, until you’re blissed out and hypersensitive to his touch.

You are loose and pliant and flush and utterly exquisite beneath him. Shawn has never been more tempted to slide into a pussy unprotected, but it’s too big of a risk that he’d find himself wanting to stay buried within you when he came. He wouldn’t dare ask you to compromise yourself that way. 

He is swiftly on his feet, practically dashing for his bedroom, calling out, “Condom!”

You watch his bare ass, that you will absolutely sink your teeth in at some point, disappear from the living room. You yell after him, giggling, still in that post-orgasm haze and giddy, “After tonight you’re stashing condoms within easy reach of every room of this condo!”

He’s back and on his knees between your legs moments later, with the small foil in his hand.

You rise, and reach for it, asking softly, “Can I?”

His breath hitches. “Y- yeah.”

“Will you show me how?”

“Fuck.” He grips the base of his shaft and squeezes gently, just enough to take the edge off.

He guides your hands with the exact sensation and pressure he likes as he helps you slide it down his length.

You wrap your hand around his girth, and give his cock a gentle tug. He grunts and pushes into your palm. You relax again against the sofa cushions, taking him with you, and line him up with your opening.

“Shit,” he curses in anticipation. As desperate as he is to bury himself balls deep within you, he stills you with a gentle, “Y- you’re ready?”

He’s a big boy, but he prepped you quite well with those long and marvelous fingers while eating you out, and you are still wet from your climax. You kiss him in response.

Temples pressed together, eyes down, you both watch as he slowly, gently begins to push into you.

The burn and stretch is intense in a way that makes you lightheaded with pleasure and you moan softly while you adjust to the way he fills you.

“OhmyGod,” he gasps. You feel like heaven around him.

You gently trail your fingertips from where you’re intimately connected, up, along the lines of his abdomen and chest. You place your hands around his face. Your eyes stay locked with his until he bottoms out.

You slide your arms around his neck. You gasp when the pebbled nubs of your breasts brush against his chest. 

He licks into your mouth, curls his tongue around yours. You gently bite and tug at his lower lip. You wrap one of your legs around his hip and roll your pelvis, urging him to start moving.

He needs no further encouragement, easing back, pushing in. You whimper as you find your rhythm together, fingernails denting crescent marks in the tight, broad muscles of his upper back.

He latches onto your shoulder with his teeth and moans deep in his throat. He withdraws, slides in, brings his mouth to suck bruises in the crook of your neck before soothing them with his tongue.

You murmur his name. He hums yours with every withdrawal and thrust.

Your back arches and you moan again when he lowers his mouth to your breasts. He licks and tugs and sucks each taut, dusky pink nipple until they’re too sensitive and you draw his lips to yours.

“Fuck,” he grunts into your mouth. “You feel so good.” His pupils are blown wide. “Baby,” he groans. He needs to be deeper.

He swiftly shifts onto his knees and you both cry out at the new angle. He grips the outsides of your thighs, pushes up, driving his cock deep, hitting your g-spot. Your little gasps and whimpers are the music that drives him. He moans with every rock into you.

The position you’re in allows easy access to your clit and your hand falls between you.

“That’s it, baby,” he hums, grins, rumbles, “Look at you…”

You start to tremble. Needy sounds and words without meaning tumble from your lips, and you tip your head up.

His teeth nip against the length of your neck. “Wanna see you fall apart again,” he whispers against your pulse.

You cry out his name as his cocktip finds your sweet spot again, and again. “That’s it, Sweetheart.”

Your fingers over your clit begin to move faster. Your hips rise, your back bends, and your breath catches. Your orgasm sweeps over you swiftly, unexpectedly, sharply. You don’t even have the chance to find your voice as your other hand screws tight and stars explode behind your eyes.

Your chest lifts and falls rapidly. Your hands grip his ass and you pull him against you.

He grunts. His eyes close and his mouth slackens as he chases his own pleasure. His pace begins to speed up, and then falter. The sounds dripping from his lips are sinful.

He pulls back, almost slipping out of you. He’s on the edge. His balls are heavy and tight and already drawing up close to the base of his dick. He moans as he slides back in.

You swivel your hips just right and rock down as he rocks up, meeting his thrust. He snaps his hips once, twice. “yesyesbabyyes-” You clench around him, again, and his orgasm creeps up from every part of his body until he’s both desperate for it to stop and to continue forever.

“holyfuck,” he wheezes, gasps. He stutters, stills, and unravels buried deep within you with a satisfying groan of your name.

You tighten your legs around his waist and rock your hips, again clenching your inner walls around him while you coast the aftershocks. You both finally still, breath heaving, giggling softly. His hands slide along the length of your arms and he trails little nips up along your jawline.

You melt into the sofa. “Mm… you were worried for nothing,” you purr, a small smile on your lips.

Once he was out of his head and in the moment, it had been a non-issue. All he had been fixated on was how to make you cry his name. His grin is smug upon hearing the absolute satisfaction in your voice, knowing he is responsible for making you feel so good.

You kiss him, you don't want to stop kissing him, but he detaches his lips from yours with a chuckle.

His hand moves between your bodies to hold onto the condom, and he carefully pulls out. You whimper with the loss

He reaches for a few tissues from the box on the coffee table and wraps the condom within them, placing the mess in the nearby decorative bowl. That'd do for now; he'd dispose of it properly later.

He moves back into your embrace and hovers above you for a few moments longer, returning his lips to yours.

“We might want to move this to the bedroom,” he smirks, mischief dancing in his eyes, guiding your hand to his cock, already hardening again.

“You’re insatiable,” you giggle, tightening your leg around his waist and your hand around his dick.

He hums and rocks his hips just a little. “Warned you,” he smirks.

“Just wanna stay right here,” you murmur, pulling him down atop you. “Just for a minute.”

“Imma crush you.”

“Won’t let you.” You can still breathe, and his weight on top of you is intimate and comforting. He relaxes, sinking into you, resting his head on your chest.

You run your fingers soothingly through his curls. “Shawn?” you whisper.

“Yeah baby?” he breathes, just as softly.

“I ‘more than like you’, too.”

~ * ~

@mendesblurb @benito-mi-vida @monikamendes @mendesficsxbombay @pamelagramm @chocochipcookie305 @misti-ka @fallinallinshawn

[thetreefairy]

Hi, I’m so sorry for bothering you; I just have these popping out of nowhere. I hope you are having a good day/night! platonic Aizawa and Present mic where reader and Bakugo get kidnapped by the LOV, and two weeks the class goes to the teacher's dorms and talks to Aizawa and Present mic telling them that reader's quirks hurt them, and her father tests on her like a lab rat.

Hi, you aren't bothering me at all! this is perfect for my studying break lol. I assume you mean two weeks after the kidnapping Since you used the her pronoun in the ask, I'll be trying to write with a fem!reader Reader's quirk: Undeath magic, she's basically the scarlet witch but can also hear the death and hear them screaming out for help.

"Just our fucking luck, getting kidnapped by the league of villains." Reader mumbled annoyed, Compress untied her first. "Well, this is better then family 'game' night, I suppose." This caused Bakugo's eyes to switch to them, while Compress was untying him.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Bakugo asked Reader. "She's so cute! Oh, Tomura-chan~ is she really joining?" Toga asked Shigaraki with a crazied smile. "Nevermind this is worse."

Well Reader just watched Bakugo attack the league of villains, wincing as she heard the shimura family call out to them. "Shimura tenko." She whispered out, causing Shigaraki to stop in his tracks, while Bakugo looked at Reader confused. "Those hands, they are of your deceased family aren't they?"

The league of villains now looked at Shigaraki slightly grossed out. "How do you know that?!"

"AFO uses them as a shackle to control you." Reader stated. "They are crying out for you to set them free, well set your mom and sister free. Your dad is a raging asshole, if you want I can destroy his soul."

"Don't speak ill of my master!" Shigaraki went to attack Reader, only for all might to make his entrance. "What the fuck was that ghost bitch?" Bakugo whisper-yelled in their ear. "I can speak to the death, did you forget that?" Reader shot back. "Can you hold them off for a while? My quirk needs to recharge."

"Just stay by my side, ghost bitch!"

small time skip to when in the dorms:

Bakugo couldn't help but think that something was wrong with Reader, their eyes baggier then normal and they were wearing more bandages then usual. "Ghost bitch, what's going on with your arms?" Bakugo asked while they were eating dinner in the common area, causing class 1-a to freeze. "Just training." She muttered. "SHUT UP! I AM NOT SOME MESSANGER!"

Class 1-A froze in surprise, Reader was looking next to Mineta. "If you didn't want your grandkid to turn out like a pervet, you should have told him that boys being boys, isn't a valid excuse!"

reader shouted out in pain. "Reader, are you okay?" Mineta asked, unsure of what to do. She was talking to his grandma, he was sure, but right now Reader's well being is more important. "God I can't handle this shit anymore! I have enough headaches as if, can't you death people shut your mouth for a moment?!"

Yeah class 1-a realized something, their quirk was hurting them, that's why they always asked Aizawa to eraser their quirk to 'practice fighting quirkless'.

"Reader, come on, why don't we bring you to bed?" Uraraka suggested keeping her voice down. "I'm sorry guys, yeah let's go to bed."

When Uraraku tugged Reader in, using the excuse of trying to soothe them, Reader's phone pinged.

I have a special experiment this time, it will strengthen your abilties to the death. - spermdonor

"What the fuck." Uraraka muttered, taking a picture of the message. Looking at Reader while she rushed to the common room. "Guys, we need to report this to Aizawa-sensei and Mic-sensei."

And so they did

So when Reader woke up in Recovery's girl office, she was quite surprised. Hizashi next to her, he looked rather angry. "Mic-sensei?" Reader asked surprised. "What's going on?"

"How long has your dad been experimenting on you?"

Reader tensed up, they couldn't believe what Hizashi just asked them. "What- recovery girl, I think Mic-sensei fell on his head-"

Recovery girl looked at Reader sternly. "Answer the question, Reader, it's important for your recovery."

"Since I got my quirk." Reader admitted and looked away. "But it's to just to strengthen my quirk." Eraser walked into the room. "It's abuse! It didn't help you!" He shouted angrily. "If class 1-a didn't notice... YOU COULD HAVE DIED!"

"Sensei, I'm your student, I don't understand why you care so much. And it wasn't that bad." reader tried to defend her father. "Because I and Mic view you as our child, just like the rest of class 1-a!"

"What?"

"And, that means that you are our responsiblity wether you like it or not." Hizashi told Reader. "And you are legally our child now."

"Okay, hold the fucking phone. What's going on?"

"The two adopted you, here are some painkillers." Recovery girl said while dropping some pills in reader's hand. "Congrats on gaining a new family."

I AM SO SORRY THIS ISN'T MY BEST WORK BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT </3

[vasiktomis]

Pairing: John Seed/Original Female Deputy. Rating: Explicit (Minors do NOT interact). Word Count: ~5000 Warnings: Burning flesh smell. Descriptions of wounds and medical procedures. Angst. Author suddenly switching to present-tense.

Read it on Ao3 Here! | Support me on ko-fi

Under arrest.

Delayed rage wakes him from his stupor. 

Under arrest.

John Seed, you're under arrest.

That phrase shouldn’t shake him as much as it does. How many times has he heard it before, without giving a shit? Now, his adversary sways on the spot, wiping the bile from her chin, out-of-uniform and almost definitely no longer employed, and hearing her say it — hearing it said with such little ceremony and care — 

They might as well be strangers, and she doesn’t even have the decency to end his life with the same theatre she’d given his sister? He deserved to be a fucking martyr. Instead, he gets humiliation. 

“You’re kidding.” John spits, biting his cheek to keep his tone level. Anger won’t help him here. Not while there are witnesses. Not while he’s on record. 

There’s a disdain in the way she looks at him now, like he’s just another stranger. As if she’d not bordered on swearing herself to him hours prior. As if they hadn’t almost forsaken their allegiances for each other. 

How dare she make him do that. How dare she be so ignorant to the foundations she’d shaken.

The fucking arrogance. The nerve.

“You people do know she’s not a deputy anymore, right?” Blood flicks between his teeth at the last consonant while John surveys the pack of bumpkins. “Your leader tried to sell you all for a place in the New Eden.”

“I’m not fired until after you’re in custody.” Cora comments, inspecting the drenched dressing around her forearm. 

He smiles bitterly. “Fuck you.”

He has to keep his cool. If he survives this, he has to fight his way back to Joseph. 

“Noted.” Cora hums. Not even looking at him now. “You have the right to remain silent-“

 “Fuck you. How fucking dare  you—“

 “Anything you say can be used against you in c—“

“I know my rights. You can’t do this.”

She finally looks at him, then, and he immediately regrets having wanted her to.

“Anything you say can be—“

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” John shrieks, lunging at her despite his restraints and the disdained looks from her insignificant companions. “You can’t pretend this isn’t all your fault! What, you wanna go back to the book now that you’re in control, huh?! Fat fucking chance! As soon as Joseph finds out what you’ve done, he’ll come for me. He’ll kill all of you. You’ll pay for this!”

The Deputy leaves the Mirandas by the wayside, nodding thoughtfully. “That reminds me. Take off your clothes.”

 …

 Of all the-

 John endures a fresh swell of pain in his head to shoot his enemy a particularly scathing look. 

 ”Excuse me?”

 “Your clothes. Take them off. Quickly.”

“You’re sick.” An empty smile plasters itself over disbelief. 

What for?  Surely not just for the purpose of humiliation. It has to be a means to an end, but what end? He’d listened to the Sheriff’s ultimatum on the radio; Cora Stammos had disobeyed orders and gone rogue. There’s no way she could still be employed after such a betrayal.

 “You’re lucky I got somethin’ extra for you, bud.” Sharky speaks up, slinging his pack down to start yanking out clothes. His clothes. Sharky Boshaw’s stained, nasty, much too big clothes that he rotated through on a daily basis like a cartoon character.

“Otherwise you’d be walkin’ outta here bare-ass naked.”

That’s it. It’s a decoy. They’re shoving him in disguise.

The watchful eyes of whatever remaining flock in Holland Valley need to be depended on right now. After Nancy’s treachery, the odds of her telling his brothers what’s happened are low. He needs his people to see him. He needs them to know where he’s going, so he can be extracted. So he can be saved.

Either that, or they need to know the he died fighting these people tooth and fucking claw. 

John has the freedom to resist for all but a few seconds before the guns are trained back on him. Then, with as much indignation as he can summon, the Baptist shrugs off his coat into the grabbing, snatching hands of Adelaide Drubman, who right away squeals her delight over the new trophy. 

Everyone else in the group maintains mild enough decency to at least put him in their periphery while he gingerly sorts through the reeking bag.

He has to stall. He has to keep talking, making certain he’s easier to identify. 

“So this is the Resistance’s clever plan: a botched capture and a weak attempt at concealment. You realise as soon as the Father gets word that I’m not in that bunker, there won’t be a stone unturned in this valley. You’re making an easy target for him.” The Baptist muses comfortably enough to mask the difficulty he has pulling that nasty sweater over his head. The shock is starting to recede, and the pain is beginning to bloom. “So kind of you to bring a spare pair of underwear just for me, Boshaw.”

There's a snort. “Fuck you mean spare?”

Boshaw’s clothes smell just as awful as one would expect, heavy with stale sweat, old pot, and all manner of wet and dry stains. The intimates are no exception. At least the man’s gigantic hoodie is long enough to shield him from Adelaide’s prying eyes while he changes.

Not that he checked — nor that he continues to, but he does find some exasperation in the Deputy’s sudden, pointed inability to look at him. How sweet it would be, to have the court throw out any charges laid against him for the simple fact that his arresting officer was involved in misconduct. To recount in detail all the things they said and did until she was reduced to nothing but a corrupt, inept, liar. 

He can make it out of this. 

The Father wouldn’t let it end this way.

“Be careful with those.” John orders when Boshaw bends down to pick up his neatly folded clothes.

“Yessir, they sure are.” The man shoots him a crooked grin.

“They’re evidence. Tamper with them and you won’t even get to see the inside of a courtroom.”

Once he's fully dressed, the Deputy approaches him. A cable tie slips around his wrist, and were he in better shape, he'd follow through on the instinct to grab her. Curl his fingers around her throat. Tear at her wounds with his nails until he found bone. He chooses the wiser approach and lets her guide his hands into the front pocket of the hoodie, where she cuffs the other wrist, hidden from view. A snarl gurgles in his increasingly swollen larynx at the warmth of her finger brushing his. Again, he chooses the wiser option.

“Clever.” John muses, “But if you think my people won’t recognise me-”   “Won’t be trouble for much longer.” Cora interjects. “In the meantime…” She reaches over his shoulders, pulling the hood over his head. The cords are yanked straight down, pulling a sharp yowl out of the Baptist when the cotton drags over his snapped nose and through the barely covered remnants of his ear. The hood is tightened to the max, until barely a fist-sized gap remains for him to peer out of.

She gives him a moment to hiss and curse through the pain before she returns to applying pressure to her arm.   “Can you walk? Xander can assist you.”   “If I refuse?” John seethes.   “Then you roll.”

They both glower, long and hard.

“Walking’s fine.”

______________________________________________________________

By the time they've made it through the woods and the around the crossfire on the roads, the colourful words of protest begin to wane. Once the truck pulls onto Seed Ranch property, it seems the fight as left their prisoner entirely.

Reality and finality have since settled in, and silence has taken the place of adrenaline. Exhaustion. Tired apprehension of things to come. The log-cabin exterior of the ranch creeps into view through the trees, and for a second, Cora almost feels compelled to savour the unchanged appearance. Familiar and untouched, home to an old enemy who'd welcomed her scorn so readily that at some point she stopped being able to tell what was hatred and what was fondness anymore. The hangar wall flashes through the leaves, and she recalls somewhere around this time having watched him peacefully work away on his machines. She remembers the quiet. The whistled tune. Combing stray locks out of his eyes. The way he looked so utterly harmless that evening, and how, perhaps a few times, he might find his way out of quiet reverence and complete malice — and look at her the way he looks when he feels safe.

Reclaimed vehicles litter the airstrip. Piles of Project memorabilia dot the front garden. The Resistance and the Cougars have already begun to gut the property.

It'll never be the same as it was.

This place will never be the haven she'd wanted it to be.

Everything he had promised her — the hate, the friendship, the recognition — it was never personal. It was all for his brother. He was never a rare, fellow person trying to carve out a place of solitude in the world. All he wanted from her was the commodity. The win of breaking her and offering her to someone else. For that, she knows she has to teach herself that this isn't something to mourn.

She will find relief in marching him to his doom.

She can to go back to her own solitude, and forget ever having entertained the idea of someone sharing that with her.

She has to find joy in taking back her Valley.

The Baptist can barely find his footing once they remove him from the Sheriff’s truck. Oversized sneakers crunch and slide on gravel driveway. Knees give way over his twisted ankle, and he nearly crumples into her side. This is the second time in the past 24 hours that they’ve made this walk together, beat to shit and bleeding out.

Tracey is the first to emerge from the building, climbing halfway down the porch steps with a motion to hurry up, silently hooking an arm under the Baptist's and sharing the burden of his weight with a look that suggests she might as well be dousing herself in gasoline. Sheriff Whitehorse isn’t far behind, not as concerned with quiet in the way he shoves himself into John’s other side, muscling Cora out of the way.

His head lolls amidst an attempt to look back over his shoulder, and then he repeats.

Then, they disappear into the ranch with him, leaving Cora to linger on the porch. 

The Deputy. The one who's been prodded and shoved and begged to lead all this despite her better judgement and her protests. Not even a thanks.

She shouldn’t feel as dumbfounded as she does. But still. It feels, unceremonious. Left outside while the people who were once too busy to do anything about John Seed beyond tasking her to take him down claimed her catch like she didn’t even exist.  Watching them disappear into the South wing — to where she’d been taken for medical treatment earlier — Cora can’t help but feel an ache in her stomach that surely can’t just be forced-up bile. 

“Hey, didn’t they do the same shit with-“

“Yeah.” She interrupts the muffled man inside the cartoonish dragon suit over her shoulder. Several glances of pity are cast at her. She can feel it. Better not to give it any gas, as much as she’d like to agree with them. 

“I’m sorry, Shorty.” Sharky mumbles. “When I wished on that star I’d see a cop get cuckolded, this weren’t what I’d meant.”

“Don’t.” Stern doesn’t quite reach her voice the way she wants it to. It sounds too much like a plea.

It’s bullshit. This is bullshit.

She’s not any less important just because she wasn’t the one to carry the Baptist over the threshold as a prisoner, and with that thought, she makes for the sick bay. 

______________________________________________________________

Tracey and Whitehorse have got him on one of the cots when she enters. The man is out cold, and neither of them look pleased about that, nor the impatient ushering from a vaguely familiar face. The veterinarian. She can’t remember his name. 

The moment he spots her, the colour drains from his face. 

“Jesus, Deputy, your arm.”

Cora glances down. Stitches in both holes snapped open, courtesy of the work that'd also fucked up her knuckles. There's a searing pain in her elbow, but honestly, she can't feel the older puncture wound in her hand.

The Sheriff’s face contorts at both of them. “Don’t you dare call her that. That’s no fuckin’ Deputy of mine.”

The veterinarian ignores him, too preoccupied juggling checking the Baptist’s vitals and looking Cora over. “Sit down. I’ll stitch you up. Sheriff, Ms. Lader, I need you both to leave the room and give me some space to work-“

“That’s not happening-“

”Sheriff.”  Tracey overrides the old man’s flaring temper with a hostile look of her own. “Forget about her job and do yours.”

“Deputy, uh —“ 

It occurs to Cora that the veterinarian has forgotten her name. Kind of rude of him, she thinks.

“Take a seat. Mrs. Drubman, if you could get some fresh towels from the cupboard and apply pressure to her wound until I’m finished here…”

Adelaide’s already shaking her head. “No can do. Hate to get my nice new coat dirty.” She lifts his coat, proudly. 

“Just — someone do it.” He clips, far too busy trying to clean the blood off His face to inspect the damage Cora had inflicted. “Anyone else who isn’t a patient, get the hell out of my workspace.”

Ultimately, it’s the Sheriff that steps up to the plate, pressing his weight down on Cora’s torn stitches while her team reluctantly leaves. He doesn’t look happy to be doing it. “You went against direct orders, Rook.” He growls. 

Cora’s too busy observing what’s happening on the other side of the room.

A syringe of assumed pain medication is delivered with a series of irritated tuts, and he tries to fight it, unconscious and weak, shifting tiredly against restraints that now have his wrists shackled to his cot. Tracey, all too familiar with the Bliss rehabilitation facility, hooks him up to an IV. Disdain twinges in her face whenever her fingers touch his skin. 

“How long’s he been in your head?” The Sheriff asks. In Cora’s periphery, his lip is curling. Barely-restrained rage. When she fails to respond yet again, he presses down a little harder, catching her gaze with a pained hiss. 

“I did what you told me to do. I brought him down. Alive.”

Maybe she might not have, had the others not intervened. That, Whitehorse didn’t need to know. 

“You went fucking rogue, Cora Stammos.” He grits. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing down here, but I do know that you were on the brink of somethin’ royally fuckin’ stupid before we showed up—“

“Are you trying to be my boss, or my father? Because you’re neither.” Cora finally bites back. The man half-flinches. “You made me come back here. You made all of these people my responsibility — and fuck you for doing that — and you wanna tell me I did it wrong?”

Whitehorse’s pupils shift minutely. Catching the angry, welted tattoo He’d left on her sternum. Guilt colours his face.

“We shouldn’t have sent you.” Tracey says, taking a seat on the next cot over. Her arms cross. Hands cupping her elbows.

“Like anyone else would have chased him up there?”

“Here's the issue, Dep: no one really knows whether you were gonna kill him for reasons that have nothing to do with the rest of us, or if you were going to lock yourself in that bunker with him. Either way, you nearly fucked up a plan that you  agreed to. You think everyone bordering the Valley hasn’t heard the shit you two’ve been talking to each other?”

“You’ve gotten too close to this.” Whitehorse sighs. “You had us worried you were startin’ to come ‘round to the Peggies’ side of things.”

Tracey offers the older man something close to a sympathetic look. They've both been through that before. "Neither of us wanna think that you were doing anything beyond your job. You just...fuck, Stammos, you gotta communicate with us if you're gonna go off like that."

"Why, so you can take the credit?" Cora's jaw rolls. "Seemed happy enough to pull down half the Henbane when everyone thought it was your idea."

"Because we looked united  when everyone thought it was our idea." Tracey bites back, leaning forward, pressing her weight to her knees like she might need to attack. 

“I brought him in.” Cora grunts, turning her attention forward. “It’s done. Everything else doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you do with him now. It’s not my concern. What about the fires?”

“Getting under control.” Tracey replies.

Some of the tension that’s been building in Cora’s shoulders subsides a little. One less very important matter to worry less about. 

Tracey seems to feel it too, posture slackening as she follows the other woman's gaze to the Baptist. “Who’s got his clothes?”

“They’re in Sharky’s bag.”

“Good. Won’t be hard to find.” Tracey doesn’t linger. She stands just as quickly as she’d sat down. “Sheriff. Gonna need your help.”

Whitehorse shifts. Reluctant. 

Cora turns her attention back to him, no less hostile. “I’d give you my badge if they hadn’t torn my uniform off my back.”

His bottom lip trembles. “Hudson’s uniform.”

That makes Cora’s stomach drop. Suddenly, she can’t bear to keep looking at the man. 

His shadow moves, then, leaving altogether. “We’ll talk later. Dr. Lindsey? Don’t leave them alone together.”

The door closes behind the two, and the veterinarian — Dr. Lindsey — snaps his gloves off, tossing them onto a tray before he approaches Cora. 

“Did a number on him.” He comments, pulling up a stool and wheeling in to examine the torn stitches on her forearm. No time is wasted on threading a needle. “Payback for this?”

“This was Mary May.” She replies, drily. Dr. Lindsey's gaze shifts to the hole-punch between the bones in her hand, and she relents. "That one I already got payback for." Then, after a pause: “Did I hurt him?”

“You blew his ear to pieces, but they tend to bleed a lot. Once it heals it’ll look almost new.”

“Did I hurt him?”

The needle point slides through her skin. Tugs out through the other side of the wound. Twice. Thrice. Not long before he's starting on the other.

“I can imagine it would’ve been pretty fucking painful.”

“Hm. What else?”

“His nose is broken. Fractured eye socket, too — not going to ask how you got those, by the way." He nods at her skinned knuckles. "Some lesions. Mostly bruising. No missing teeth, but his gums are bleeding.”

“Good.”

Dr. Lindsey goes quiet for a moment. A final tug and tie-off of thread, and he’s dropping the needle back onto his tray. “When was your last tetanus shot?”

“I’m up to date.”

“Well, keep an eye on that tattoo. It already looks infected. All that blood can’t be helping, so, you know…consider a shower when you can. If it’s still angry in a couple of days, come find me.”

Cora acknowledges him with a nod, but her attention has settled on the opposite side of the room. “Is he awake?”

“If he is, he’s doped up to his eyeballs.” Dr. Lindsey stands, taking a cue Cora hadn’t realised she’d given. “I’m going to be across the street paying Mr. Rye a visit, so please don’t kill my patient while I’m gone.”

That ship has sailed by now. Whatever rage was keeping her going on her venture to end His life, all that’s left now is a bitter emptiness. 

Confusion? Betrayal? She doesn’t want to think about it. 

“Oh, Deputy, that reminds me.” Dr. Lindsey pipes up, already at the door. “Congratulations on killing John Seed.”

She offers up a tight smile. “Yeah. Well.”

Once he’s gone, she waits a minute. No one’s watching. No one cares. Just her own pride. She slips out of the cot and heads over to where he’s been left. No motion to startle her barring the slow, if laboured, breathes between his teeth.

Must have done a more damage to his windpipe than what it felt like in the moment. He'd been screaming himself hoarse at the beginning of the car ride; one might not have assumed she'd strangled him at all.

Cora examines him, carefully mapping a nearly familiar face through dabbed-at blood, cuts and swelling. Dr. Lindsey’s quick work has left his face dotted with little tape bandages, and a splint covers the bridge of his nose. His ear is entirely covered with gauze, hidden from her.

His eyes, already beginning to turn purple, crack open.

“You got in trouble, Wrath.” He croaks. There’s a woozy attempt at a smile as he tries and fails, more than once, to make sense of his surroundings. “Did we come home?”

Cora shakes her head. After a moment, it’s clear that he can’t quite to witness it, nor is he of fit enough mind to register. “No. The Resistance is here.”

“Oh. Do we run?”

“No. You’re our prisoner.”

“Oh. But you…” A cough interjects. The corners of his mouth tug downward. “But you were s’posed to be with me.”

Unfiltered sweetness. And there's that look. That safe little look. She has no idea what to say. Maybe she’d feel bad if he hadn’t done everything he did. Now, after it all, even this harmless, battered version of him still knows that he’d lied to her, doesn’t it? It has no care for her wishes, just like all the other versions of him she’s met. 

He only ever wanted her as a trophy, and at some point, she knows, she’s going to have to feel disgusted with herself for humouring that want, even in its purest form. 

She should have never been so fooled by the idea that he understood her. 

She’s glad that this is over. 

That she’ll be rid of him. 

“Cora?” John asks, quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Would you kill me?”

It’s a strange hypothetical, especially after her very clear attempts to do so over the past couple of days. But then the muscles under his eyes twitch. 

“Please?”

Wet lines pass through cracks in the mud on his temples. John doesn’t look at her; he keeps his unsteady gaze on the ceiling. It’s the slightest emotional distance to keep, but it seems his pride is still intact enough to need it.

Cora, meanwhile, finds herself frozen. She’s seen him cry before — mostly when he’s screaming, cursing at her, nursing a fresh wound she’s inflicted. This is new. This stirs a whole new discomfort nestled beneath her ribs. 

He’s doped, she has to remind herself. He’s not aware of what he’s saying. Chances are he won’t remember this. 

The pleas come in sporadic whispers as she breaks away from him. Cut-off mentions of his brothers get choked back to shaken breaths, soothing only when she returns with a rag to dab at his face with. Not the muck. Just the tears. 

“Wish I had.” She admits. 

"Wish I'd killed you, too." He smiles tightly. "So what happens if the world ends before my trial?"

Cora doesn't answer that. She doesn't know how to. There's too many variables, and he doesn't catch on until she looks away.

"Y'know, even if you're fired, you're still my Deputy."

She tilts her head back to avoid a sudden sting in her eyes. From the cot, the Baptist watches.

"I really hope I'm fired." Cora admits through a sharp breath, blinking the blur away.

"Why's that?"

"Because then I don't ever need to see you again, Mr. Seed."

______________________________________________________________

Tracey and Sheriff Whitehorse have resumed custody of the Baptist come nightfall. Their part of the arrangement comes and goes with the darkest tint the Cougars could find on a vehicle. There’s no more discussion over Cora’s job, but Sheriff Whitehorse goes to such a pointed length not to associate with her up until taking his leave that it’s safe to assume she’s no longer employed by the county.

The chilly night air is quiet. Gunfire has dwindled with the diminishing presence of the Project. Those who didn’t manage to get to the bunker ahead of their Herald were left without a leader, demoralised and abandoned. The chances of a counter-attack are slim, and Joseph has proven himself unwilling to step into emptied shoes once before. Whoever's left likely has little confidence in remaining.

It doesn’t mean there’s been an exodus from the valley, though. Cora’s sure to hope for it while she sits on the rocks of Seed Ranch’s front garden bed with Jess and Sharky. The trees surrounding the property’s North approach are dense and dark. Occasionally, the green laser of Grace’s sight will catch on a branch while she scans from the roof, but any remaining foes in the brush don’t make themselves known.

If they’re out there, they’re too scattered to fight. Whoever lingers is bound to carry word back to the Father, and that’s just what tonight is for.

Just a little of that ceremony she's been looking for.

“That watch woulda sold for a pretty penny.” Sharky huffs, gaze following what looks a whole lot like John Seed’s body — wrists bound above his head and eyes wrapped in gauze, beard trimmed into that sharp, defined shape — hoist higher and higher on the totem poll in the front yard. “Think about it. Cult leader’s personal watch. I could retire with that kinda money, never have to work again.”

Jess squints at him. “You’ve never even had a job.”

“Not true, not true. If recreational use was legal here, I’d be gettin’ called the number one dispensary in the county.”

“And since it’s not, you’re just some asshole who steals pot from his grandma. Dep, would you tell him to take that fucking suit off? It’s embarrassing.”

“Don’t make me put the head back on, Jess.”

“Dep—!”

“They took my gear when they carted Seed off, okay? Until I go back to my place, this is all I got. And before you ask: no, I’m not wearin’ any of the Peggie shit around here. Been there, done that. Got the rash to show for it.”

“Could you two—“  Cora interjects sharply. Then, after a moment, she exhales the frustration. “Just — sit quietly.”

What’s the point in asking, she reflects. Not once has it ever worked. 

A flint is struck, once. Twice. Three times. Baby flames lick at cotton balls and shredded timber, too young yet to try their luck at the totem pole. 

“You, uh —“ Jess shifts beside Cora, exchanging a look with Sharky past the woman’s opposite shoulder. “You…good?”

“Yeah,” Sharky encourages, “Lotta stock to put into, makin’ some dude obsessed with you and then ruining his life like that. Speakin’ of — did you get him to be that weird just since you came back? Or has he been that freaky for you for longer?”

Cora considers lying. She considers silence. 

“There’s no weird.” She replies. “Taking me down was always gonna be a win for him.”

“Yeah, bullshit. From what I heard, that dude’s had a hard-on for you from the start.”

“Had.”  Jess hisses. “He’s fuckin’ history now.”

“Jess is right.” Cora nods. “It doesn’t matter. We took him down.”

The flames climb higher, hot enough to find their way up John Seed’s bloodied clothes without being discouraged by the cold and the damp. 

Sharky shrugs a shoulder. “I’unno. S’just…if you wanna gasbag or whatever, you don’t needa do it over the radio. I won’t even try to make it weird like the other guy did.”

Jess say’s nothing. She’d never venture that far out of her way. Instead, the tip of her pinky finger smushes a blade of grass into the canvas of Cora’s boot. Contact without being contact. Presence without acknowledgement. 

Neither of them are graceful, nor clever about offering support. Maybe that’s what makes it easier to stomach. Less processing power when each of them feels similarly weird about getting too soft.

“It’s done.” Cora assures her two most important people. “We don’t need to talk about it anymore.”

The body strung up before them is finally enveloped, and the Hope County residents who have stayed behind clap and cheer for the official official demise of the Baptist. Some raise glasses and cups in Cora's direction in congratulations and thanks that her employers never gave, but on this side of the fire, it's getting hard to see them all through the haze.

If the sticky, stinging aroma of pine smoke and gunpowder is strong, then the stench of burning flesh and hair cuts through space and time. 

It’s terribly familiar; a stench that had lingered thickly over the roads cut into the Whitetail Mountains during their brief, if confronting stay. It probably hasn’t changed much. Probably only gotten more populated with strung-up bodies as the weeks have worn on. Not to say that the Henbane and Holland Valley territories didn’t have their fair share of gruesome cadaver displays on the roadsides. Faith during her time had an affinity for pairing prisoners up with Angels and simply letting the mindless drones live out their unconscious starvation beating what would become the unrecognisable pile of mush that was their partner. John, meanwhile, took it upon himself to desecrate the corpses of his failed converts; humiliated their shells by showcasing their anatomy to the world. Suggesting their true, less-than-human nature by fitting antlers into their flesh. Replacing skulls with that of cattle. One could usually assume how well the subject had resisted Confession by the degree of creativity lent to their death.

Cora had seemed to be the exception to this, and maybe, she supposes, she can be grateful for that. Nick managed to get out with his life, but John still managed to mark an art piece of him.

No matter.

Jacob’s displays were less personal. Erected timber walls riddled with bullet holes. Entire families laying in smouldering heaps, left out in the sun without ceremony or care. Jess had once told Cora that the Project insisted anyone under eighteen was treated well, physically speaking. Priestesses filled the spaces parents once occupied. Children were pure. Their souls yet unmarked by the sins of their carers, and no harm would come to them.

Faith and John seemed to uphold this rule. At least, Cora had yet to see any kids strung up in the regions their oversaw.

Jacob, however, took little part in the business of execution. According to Jess, this was left up to the discretion of his foot-soldiers, and as a result, there was rarely a distinction drawn between body sizes. 

She hoped — she still does — that the coming winter might make it a tidier affair. 

Maybe the snow might be thick enough that she won’t have to wonder who she’s walking over.

“So, two down, two to go, huh?” Sharky mutters, irises glinting orange with the life of the young flames. Maybe he’s thinking about the same thing she is. 

She doesn’t dare look at Jess. 

“Guess so.” She replies, pulling the wool blanket tighter around her shoulders. Jacob is an intimidating thought. Joseph? Her throat tightens at the very concept of having to see him again. “If I’m not out of a job.”

“Yeah, who the fuck else is gonna do it though.” Jess scoffs.

Anyone else. 

“We’ll wait out the snow. Set up shop down here in the meantime. Re-establish the settlement.” Cora says. “Beats living at the county jail.”

“You wanna help get the community back on its feet instead of minding your own shit?” The Huntress cocks her head to the side. Then, when there’s no answer to fill the silence, she arrives at the right conclusion: The only real Resistance outpost is the jail. Minding one’s own shit meant living under the same roof as their newest prisoner. 

Cora can feel the girl’s eyes on her. Reflecting. Recognition. 

“Hey.” Jess leans forward, capturing a glance from her for just over a second. “It’s over. Take it from someone who’s been there — don’t lock yourself in your head about it.”

She’s right. Finality is hard when it’s not true closure, but she can’t afford to dwell on this. It is over, and in no time she’d have to renew another cycle with another Seed. And that’s all this one was anyway.

Just another Seed.

Cora inclines her head. A curt nod. Lips pressed together. “Yeah.” She affirms, shortly. “I just — I just need to watch this.”

All the catharsis she can hope for right now is this sight: someone who could very possibly be — and with each layer of skin burned away, it feels a little more believable — the silhouette of John Seed hanging dead in the flames. Defeated. Gone from the foreground of her life, and by her doing. 

Even…even if this one’s hair is half an inch too short, and the cartilage in his nose isn’t quite the right angle of crooked, it won’t matter come morning. By then, all identifying features barring the clothes that melt into his charred flesh will be gone, and Cora can make that enough, she’s sure.

She can cast everything he’s spoiled her peaceful existence with into the fire with this pretend, and be done with it. She can reclaim herself. Rebuild. It’s far from the first time, and by time the sun rises she won’t even be able to make the distinction between this restart and the last. 

Yeah. Come morning, she won’t feel a fucking thing.

Two down, two to go.

…

“You guys wanna take a photo with the burning guy?”

Cora and Jess look at each other, considering Sharky’s suggestion.

“Yeah. Why not.”

[word-wytch]

You posted about FOI book & your thoughts on chapters 1-9. I just wondered if you’ve finished it and what you’re thoughts are - did they change or stay the same?

I ask because I finished it last night & I enjoyed it, I couldn’t put it down, but I didn’t like Eddie’s decision with the music & I don’t think that he would do that to his band mates. Also, like you, not sold on Paige - I liked her but just something about her niggled me. The big one being the question she asked him when she found out where he was - what a bitch!!!!

His dad is a prick. So is Higgins.

Ronnie, Gareth & Wayne - lovelies.

I cried at the end.

Hi lovely!! Yes, I did finish FOI and my feelings remained pretty consistent with my thoughts on chapters 1-9, so I didn't feel compelled to write another essay about it lol.

I'm glad you enjoyed it. I did as well, and also found it un-put-down-able once I reached the heist portion.

While the decision to leave his bandmates behind does seem uncharacteristic of the Eddie we all know and love, I do think that Caitlin did a great job and reinforcing his reasoning behind doing so. We also have to keep in mind that the Eddie we see in this story is *becoming* the Eddie we all know and love. That the events lead him to uncover something about himself. After seeing the way he is treated in Hawkins, it was easy for me to sympathize with why he would take any opportunity to leave (especially with a girl he had feelings for!), even if it meant sacrificing some friendships.

On Paige -- by the end I still didn't dislike her, and I do think it was generous of her to bail him out and shows that she still cared for him. Paige seems to be a very un-emotional character to me. I think that's just a personality trait of hers, like she's not quick to show emotion and isn't super touchy-feely. I also get dom energy from her lmao. I really didn't like that she demanded that Eddie take his pants off?? It just didn't sit right with me. She's just not tender. And I really think Eddie needs someone tender. She's a bit cold and calloused, kind of unapproachable, and I think that's what I dislike about her personality the most tbh.

Is it weird that I want to write the missing smut scenes though? Like, not because I ship him and Paige, but as an exercise in practicing a different writing style that sounds like it picked up where the book left off. I typically write in second/third person past tense and I really just want to take a stab at writing a smut scene from Eddie's first person present in the same style as the book. I just think it would be fun!

I cried many times throughout the book. Like I truly lost track of how many. I had to take many breaks, I went through many tissues. I think overall it was very well-written and truly a gift to us.

I am convinced that Caitlin spent some time reading fanfiction and headcanons and nothing can tell me otherwise. It's too consistent with so much of what we have speculated and have come to general consensuses about as a fandom (more or less). There are also countless common tropes used that are tried and true for this fandom as well. Nothing can convince me otherwise. This is a fanfiction and was inspired by fanfiction. Caitlin may have penned it but we as a fandom wrote FOI.

[peonierose]

Incorrect Quote Generator

Thank you for the tag @karahalloway 💚 & @angelasscribbles 💚 @jerzwriter 💚

I used this generator to make the quotes 🥰 As you will be able to tell I had way too much time with these quotes 😂

I used my OH pairing Bryce & Luna and my new pairing from NB Gretel x Grey

Bryce x Luna (OH)

Luna: I still have no idea how I'm attracted to you...

Bryce: Yeah, well, you're stuck with me, and no take backs, honey.

———————————————————

Bryce: Is it just me or is instant ramen even better uncooked?

Luna: It's just you.

———————————————————

Bryce: Do you take constructive criticism?

Luna: No, only cash or credit.

———————————————————

Luna: It's called cauliflower, not ghost broccoli.

Bryce, eyes wide: I know what I saw.

———————————————————

Luna: Know why I called you in here?

Bryce: Because I accidentally sent you a dick pic.

Luna: *Stops pouring two glasses of wine. * Accidentally?

———————————————————

Bryce: Do you have a self-care routine?

Luna: "Keep going bitch" said to myself in different accents.

———————————————————

Bryce: Lunes, can you help me? All of my clothes keep disappearing for some reason.

Luna, wearing a hoodie that's 5 times bigger than her size: Spooky.

———————————————————

Bryce: You're charged with...breaking into a pet store?

Luna: I thought the animals might be lonely.

Gretel & Grey (NB)

Gretel: How many vampires do you think have been hit by a car backing up in a parking lot because the driver couldn't see their reflection?

Grey: I've never considered it but you're really shining light on what's probably a very serious issue.

———————————————————

Gretel: Bonjour, Grey. Voulez–vous coucher avec moi?

Grey: No, I don't want to sleep with you.

Gretel: Is that what that means? Oh, man, I had a really gross tennis instructor.

———————————————————

Grey: Hello friends!

The Squad: ……

Grey: You might be wondering why I'm taped to the ceiling.

———————————————————

Shapeshifter: *transforms to look like Grey*

Grey: Okay, are you like BLIND? You look nothing like me. First off, I'm way taller. Secondly, I DO NOT look so sleep deprived and lastly, if you could drag a comb through that hair you're like a 7 on a good day and I've been told I'm a constant 10.———————————————————

Gretel: *trying to buy a Father's Day card at Hallmark*

Gretel: Excuse me, do you have any that just say "You are my dad?"

Associate: Well, I-

Gretel: How about "You banged my mom?"

Associate: No...

Gretel: You know what, I'll just get a blank one.

Gretel: *writes* You are a father. This is a day. Here is a card.

———————————————————

Grey: You're drunk.

Gretel: Correction: drinking. Present tense. Grammar, Grey.

———————————————————

Gretel: When life gives you lemons, what do you do?

Grey: Make lemonade!

Gretel: No, throw them back up in the sky and make life deal with it's own shit.

———————————————————

Gretel: Why are you always trying to aggravate me?

Grey: To relax.

I’ll be tagging these lovely people:

@doriopenheart @ladylamrian

@txemrn @starrystarrytrouble

@mvalentine @mysticalgalaxysstuff

@annieruok94 @the-pale-goddess

@aallotarenunelma @inlocusmads

@cryomyst @brycelahelalover

@lahellacute @butlerlover444

@ambraambrose @takemyopenheart

@noesapphic @planet-alicorn

@secretaryunpaid @blossomanarchy

@openheartforeverinmyheart

@ofmischiefandmedicine

@mydemonsdrivealimo @cariantha

@kyra75 @harleybeaumont

@socalwriterbee @quixoticdreamer16

@trappedinfanfiction

@openheartfanfiction

@lawrencebarkley

And anyone else who wants to join 😍

[stillmumu]

What was writing Sasha’s confession scene like?

oh god, it was such a bitch to do !!!

ch6: truthfully, in the entire leadup to the confession i was just as much in the dark as anetra was about whether or not sasha was actually going to tell her what was wrong. DTIE literally writes itself, i never know what's going to happen.

She's speaking softly now, simply, like she's talking to a child. It’s her last card to play. She doesn’t know what else she can say to convince Sasha to let her in. 

Sasha’s gnawing at her lip, red transferring all over her teeth. For a second, Anetra thinks she’s going to deny her again. 

But then Sasha lets her shoulders drop.

like writing this, i literally had no idea if sasha was going to open up or not. i was ready to be heartbroken for anetra, that she laid all her cards out and still couldn't get sasha to open up. i had a whole different development arc planned just in case sasha ended up keeping her walls up.

but then i had such a clear mental image of sasha just completely coming undone, surrendering, this lipstick on her teeth and shoulders sinking the physical manifestation of that. and i was like oh wait no, that's it.

if she doesn't do it now, that's just going to be it. they'll be over. there's nowhere left to run for her, no way for them to come back from that. so she's got to stop being hyprocritical and just face it, the same way anetra had to in ch1.

and then ch7: it just wasn't flowing with netra's pov, so it was pure desperation that made me do it from sasha's angle. i loved getting to give sasha that voice though, bc she didn't have one when everything was happening to her.

i also had sm fun getting to weave in and out of past/present tenses. originally i'd planned everything as a flashback, but that felt too immediate, like sasha hadn't done any healing in the meantime (which just felt so off since she isn't that same scared girl anymore.) entirely recounting felt too detached on the other hand, bc sasha still has enough fear in her to be haunted by everything for so long.

the tone of the dialogue and inner monologues were so hard for me to strike right too. sasha tries to brush things over with humour, a few times, with varying success:

“You don’t think a receding hairline and raging cocaine addiction are sexy?” Sasha clasps a hand to her chest in mock outrage.

“I’m trying to build an empire, over here,” She says, trying to make it into some kind of quip. It falls flat, sits dangerously between them like a live wire.

but i also wanted to drive home the fear that sasha still feels:

“They did it to Janet,” She says, and can’t help the way her voice shakes. “And Mariah, too.”

“It’s safer, there,” Sasha adds, like she can see Anetra’s hesitation. She’s rushing her words, now, getting desperate. “Please, I have to lie low for a bit, I- it’ll be lowkey. People there don’t talk.” (from ch6, but the sentiment is still there)

as well as expand on kerri/sasha's bond and how fiercely sasha believes in her & protects her, at the cost of her own self:

Kerri had looked at her, eyes wide, and Sasha had reached for her hand almost on instinct. She had just known, then, that they were kin, in that way that queer people often do, in that way they recognise each other and cling tight and don’t let go. 

If she leaves her dreams behind… she won’t be Sasha, anymore. She won’t even recognise herself. But Kerri is her priority now, and so is keeping the Colby name alive.

it was so many thoughts, so many feelings--so overall, it reads hysterical, maybe even messy or jumbled, too many ideas all at once.

but i think in the end it actually makes sense with all the emotions sasha's feeling. of course she'll be all over the place, she's literally terrified out of her mind and voicing things she thought she'd never get to say! so it worked out, in a funny way.

(ps would love to hear your thoughts on this scene/these chapters bc the section is one i can't rly reread,,, i overthink it too much skdjks. tysm for the ask though bc it forced me to think it through, and i realised i AM proud of it and how it turned out, despite the struggles.)

[fayeelikefairie]

Brightst☆rs presents..:♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴:

Side story: "Midnights always tell truth"

01:57 ━━━━●───── 02:55

◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻

TW:THE MENTION OF CIGARETTES,ABUSE,SUICIDAL THOUGHTS,CRYING,REI AND SORA BOND OVER SADNESS

Sitting at the fancy white Table staring at the stars with tears dripping down her face Rei sat with shaky hands. It was midnight,she was supposed to be asleep, but here she sat with a stinging cheek and bloody nose all because she was a little late from hanging out. Miku and the other singers were somehow asleep,she didn't question it,thankful they weren't up especially Miku. As she hugged her knees,looking down from the sky at the grass and star shaped flowers she heard footsteps. She ignored them,keeping her gaze low whoever it was couldn't see her like this. "Hey Rei. Can't sleep either?" It was Sora. She wiped the blood from her nose,Feeling tears well in her eyes even more she didn't dare speak a word but gave a nod.

Sora sat in the chair next to her, she smelled of cigarettes. Worse then usual, "The stars are beautiful here,aren't they?" Sora said looking up,voice an unfamiliar,soft almost.. shaky voice. She perked her head to sora, "mhm.." she hummed in response,wiping tears,this was pathetic,no one cared,why would Sora, no point in hiding it right,the stars couldn't show her face tha much,could they? Sora turned to her,seeing her hair was down," that's out of the normal for you,it.. looks nice-" she said,her voice getting squeaky. From what Rei could make out she saw Something ashy and gray on Her hands "..what's that?" Rei said in a soft voice,trying to hide her tears. Sora sniffled,shaking her head "it's nothin,what's wrong with you? You look like you got into a fight." Rei tensed up,Throat tightened.

"Uh-.." she tried to speak but what came out was tears,.. but sora seemed like she knew "Parents?" She asked with Furrowed eyebrows tears dripping down her face as well. Rei just nodded "Parents are fuckin bitches,... all cause your a little late-" Sora stopped,wiping tears. "Agreed.." Rei said in a breaking voice,without thinking she spoke. "They make you feel so worthless,like you should just be gone- why did they even have me.." she cried,Sora nodded in a agreement,who knew they were so similar yet different, Rei felt herself finally let all go when Sora got up,hugging her,she laid her head on Soras shoulder. "Why am I even here.. I don't even-" Sora rubbed her back as Rei ranted "that's a real question.. but think about it Rei.." she said through tears.

"Why do you feel you have purpose?" Sora asked,"y..you awnser first.." Rei asked. "..I feel purpose around You guys.. you.. Ami.. Akari.. the only reason I'm still here.." Sora admitted. That hit Rei,that was the same,She didn't even wanna live but she lived for them,... "I.." Rei said thinking "I hardly feel I have purpose... I don't besides being alive for them,for you.." she sobbed. Why were they the same,just different abuse and coping "I wanna run away.." Rei said. Sora run her fingers through Reis hair,"..maybe then when we're with the people that make us happy,away from them i-... I think we-" Sora cried,the two girls going silent,a comfortable silence as they sat in eachothers presence,not caring about the time,just their to support.. Maybe one day they would run away with the others,away from any pain.

Go pro,Get new lifes with eachother,... that thought made the two calm down,but it was only hope it'd happen,.. the two just cried,With no judgment. "Hey Rei.. let me patch you up," Sora spoke up,Rei lifting her face,tear stared and bloody,Rei nodded,the scent of cigarettes was comforting now somehow. Sora grabbed stuff from her pocket,she always kept that on her? Smart. She gently cleaned Rei up,And rei melted back into Soras arms after,Tired it wasn't a bad idea to fall asleep in the sekai right? Sora stroked her hair,Tired herself,. Under the pink glow of the stars and moon,The colorful magicalness around them going black as they fell asleep to the sounds of the mystical sekai

[iheartreiner]

Vampire! Mikey Way x Reader -pt 2-

⚠️Warnings⚠️ None

Again, takes place in a school

Mind my tenses assume it's present unless otherwise noted

Also mind my errors

Trying to keep it gender neutral

Part 2 out of idk

Approximately 1,024 words

I go home and sit at my desk. There's nothing to really do now. I pick up my phone and just stare at it. Wow my life is pretty sad. I go and get something to eat. I sit in silence. The guy fills my thoughts. I really need to get a life. I can't figure out if it's attraction or curiosity that makes me so interested in him. I go take a shower, of course he's still in my head. Why? Am I turning into a stalker? Not yet anyway. I finish my shower and change. He intrudes on my mind. Ugh. I lay on my bed looking up at the ceiling "You suck." I mumble to myself. I start to drift to sleep and my phone goes off. I look, it's Gerard. I groan and look

"lunch tommorow sit with me and the guys👍" I groan. I really don't want to sit in the cafeteria

"Says who" I respond.

"I, Gerard Arthur Way"

"🙄"

"Its settled your going to sit with us in the cafeteria or im gonna find ur ass"

"To be determind"

"And ur gonna eat"

"Nope"

"Why"

"Because"

" :/ "

"I don't have to eat"

"We'll deal with that tommorow"

"Sure...."

"Night [Y/N]"

"Night"

I put my phone on my Night stand. Tomorrow doesn't have to come right? Usually I'm ready for another day to redeem my not so graceful self but now I'm dreading it. I lay down. I was about to do something to prolong night but I ended up fall asleep before I could.

~Next day mid day~

Wow when I don't want something to happen the day goes unusally fast. Interestingly a bitch. I take a deep breath. I look at the time every few minutes hoping today could go by sooner. I want to get this overwith. I could hide from Gerard. Bathroom? No that's... just no. Bathroom? Ugh now I'm thinking of the dude again. If I could at least know his name so I don't have to keep calling him guy, boy, dude, male like literally anything could be better than that. Thinking of him made the class go faster. Ugh now it's lunch time.

As I go over to the benches the guy is putting his stuff down. I look down so he doesn't know I know he is there and 100% spying on him. I exhale as I watch him go to the restroom. I sit for several minutes before I hear loud uneven footstep coming near me. I look over and it's Gerard "I told you I wasn't gonna let you sit all by yourself!" The other guys are in pursuit. I stiffen up as the others sit on the bench as well. Gerard quickly hands me a sandwich "No thanks." I say light pushing it back to him. "Yes you are eating it." He puts it on my lap "At least pretend your eating it and throw if away in secret." He says with a chuckle. I nod my stiff composer only increasing.

After a few more seconds the boy returns and sees me and the others. He immediately becomes akward and stiff as well. He slowly walks back to the bench across the hall. I look up to see him with his head down. 'Do something [Y/N]!" I say to myself. Out of adrenaline I give him a little wave. He smiles shyly and waves back. My heart skips a beat. Best thing that's happened to me all day hands down. I smile and glance up at him. God he's actually gorgeous now that I really pay attention. I can't tell if he was making me a bit more confident or even more insecure. He looks at Gerard and the guys and quickly looks down. There was something there. He gets up and walks toward the lockers. I panic. No! He's the only excitement I have at thus point. "One sec." I say before standing up. Gerard and the others barely noticed. I quickly walk in the direction he did. I question my impulse, debating on going back but continue.

I can see him now. I jog, not so gracefully until I get closer. "Hey!" I say my voice pitched up to sound better. He turns around and raises his eyebrows "Hmm?" He says kindly. Now I'm regretting my decision "Um.. I.. uh.. sorry." I turn red and he smiles. That made me even more flustered. I compose myself "Why'd you leave?"

"Oh you paid attention? Thats rare for me to get that much recognition.."

Aw.. "Yeah I did.. Why'd you leave though?"

"No reason... long story, really pointless."

"Are you and Gerard related?"

He winces and shakes his head.

"I'm sorry! That was dumb." I know there is something more there.

"No that's a good question." He smiles. I smile back. I was getting better at this.

"[Y/N] [Y/L/N]. Yours?" My voice is starting to relax.

"Mikey Way."

Ugh why did this make me so giddy and dizzy. I simply smile. The bell rings. "So.. I'll see you around?" Mikey asks. "Yeah... I'd like that." I respond. He smiles and I do the same. He looks down at me for a few more seconds before walking away. I'm frozen. He turns around quickly as he walks and waves. I wave back and walk the opposite direction. Finally making progress. I go to my class much happier. Mikey, I keep saying in my head.

Space science goes by quick knowing that the guys name is Mikey.

When I get out and start walking Gerard meets me. "Hey where'd you go?"

"I was talking to Mikey."

His eyes go big "Mikey Way?"

"Yep." I smile.

"[Y/N] no! That's not a good guy! Not good for you anyway!"

"I thought you didn't know him!" I say firmly back.

"That doesn't matter!"

"You guys are related."

He rubs his hand on his face "He told you.."

"No.. I just assumed. What do you mean not good for me? We've only talk like.. well.. just this once."

"Just trust me."

I roll my eyes "Fine."

He nods and sighs in relief. Little did he know I just lied to his face.

[legends-of-time]

The Strength of a High and Noble Hill (Outlander)

Chapter 48: Putting a Reluctant Ring on it 

Masterlist

A loud noise, as if a hand hitting skin, echoes as they reach the stables and a voice sounding rather like Wylie's yelling, "You bitch!" 

Da barges into the stable. Brian and John arrive just in time to see a manure-covered Wylie being held against the stable wall by Da who's also holding a knife against Wylie’s privates. 

"Jamie, no!" Mama cries. 

"She offered me a drink and almost begged me to take it right away! This woman is a despicable succubus!" Wylie accuses. 

Brian tries to lunge at him but John grasps his shoulder stopping him. 

"How dare ye?" Da sneers furiously. 

"Stop! Are you really going to kill someone at your aunt's wedding? It's not worth it." 

Mama's words cause Da to hesitate. He grasps Wylie by his clothes tightly one more time, leaning in. "If I see ye near my wife again, I will kill ye." Da threatens, with every intention of keeping that vow. "Yer understand?!" 

Wylie doesn't answer, too frozen in fear to speak before eventually nodding. Da pushes him against the wall, releasing him, then throws him his walking stick as a signal to get out. Then, trying to preserve what remains of his dignity, Wylie fixes his wig and saunters out the door, not giving Brian and John a glance, with manure on his back. 

"I'm going to go make sure he doesn't make a further fool of himself and spread lies," John whispers to Brian. 

"Of course, thank you," Brian replies. John nods and follows after Wylie. 

Brian walks further into the stables where Mama is now being held in Da's embrace. "Are you okay?" He asks her. 

Mama gives him a smile, her hand cupping his cheek. "Yes, I am. You don't need to worry about me." 

"I always worry about you." Brian retorts. 

"I can fight my own battles. Wylie wasn't a hard man to fight off." Mama's grin is wider now and Brian lets out a soft laugh at that. 

Brian frowns when he then notices a mark on her neck that he swears he hadn't noticed earlier. "What's that?" He bends over and touches Mama's neck with his hand. Brian brings his hand back and stares at what appears to be... mole? 

Brian lets out an exclamation of disgust and Mama winces in embarrassment. 

Da angrily turns away and takes a hundred steps, trying to calm down before rounding on them. "Wha' in the name of Christ, wha' were ye thinkin', Sassenach? Spendin' time alone wi' a man like 'im? I'll leave you alone for a little while and—" 

"He knows Stephen Bonnet." Mama interrupts him. Silence. 

Brian's mind begins to short-circuit. What, no– she can't— 

"Wha'? He told ye this?" Da questions. 

"Wait, wait. 'Knows,' like present tense? Stephen Bonnet is dead. How can he know him?" Brian frantically asks. 

Da and Mama look at each other, and then Da says, "We didna want ye tell ye until it was absolutely necessary. And it appears it now is." 

"Tell me what? He's dead, right? He blew up in the jail." Brian asks, desperately hoping what they're saying isn't true. That the man who hurt his sister isn't still out there. 

"We dinna ken how, but he survived. He's been livin' in Wilmington this whole time." 

The room starts spinning around Brian and the nausea is building. "What? What do you mean? No. He... he's dead. He couldn't have... he's... he's alive?" 

"He is." Mama answers, griping his hand to comfort or maybe ground him. "We've been trying to find a way to him, which is why I went with Philip Wylie. That smuggler he employs in Wilmington, it's him." 

"How long have you two known this?" 

"John Grey told me at Ellen and Roger's weddin'," Da replies. 

Brian's eyes bug out. "You've known all this time and never said anything? Does Ellen know?" 

"She doesna. We didn't want ye te ken any of this until there was a plan in place te end 'im once and for all." 

"And as much as I detest the idea of being within a mile of that man again, Wylie is our way in," Mama adds, reasoning with him. "He's up to his neck in gambling debt. So I thought I could tempt him with a business deal, then maybe he'd set up a meeting. I had a feeling it was Stephen Bonnet. Turns out, I was right. But now, I've thrown him in horse shit and you've threatened to kill him. How are we supposed to get him back on our side?" 

As much of a horrible shock this is to Brian, he is now determined to do whatever he has to so as to see the death of Stephen Bonnet play out. He watches Da as his brain is wracking for an answer. He caresses the beautiful black stallion, an idea forming in his mind. 

"Ye say the man likes te gamble?" 

"Too much. But he doesn't seem to be very good." Mama replies, slightly confused. 

"I have a plan. There's talk of a whist game takin' place later. I can challenge 'im. If and when I win, he'll give us tha' meetin'." 

——

That night Brian paces on the porch of River Run. Rubbing his face in frustration as his mind whirls from angry to worried. 

Da's plan was partly the reason for his anger. The plan was to have a high-stakes card game. If Da wins, he gets the stallion and the chance to negotiate but if Wylie wins, then he gets Mama's golden wedding ring she'd received from his other Dad, Frank. Mama had been rightfully outraged at this as Brian had been too. 

His relationship with his other Father wasn't the strongest but he still meant something to Da, same for Mama. She'd taken both rings off and stormed off with Brian close behind. 

He can't believe what Da was thinking about taking the risk and Brian blatantly refused to take part. To take part in allowing that coward to humiliate and hurt his Mother like this and that is how his mind goes from anger to worry as what if Da loses. 

"Ye tryin' te travel te the other side of the world by burrowin' through the ground, diabhal beag?" 

Brian recognises it right away, but he can't believe it is real. He turns to see Murtagh standing in the shadows beside the building with a grin on his face. 

The biggest smile Brian has had on his face in a long time exploded. "Murtagh!" He cries in utter excitement while being as quiet as he can. Brian collides into him in a massive hug. Murtagh grasps him just as tight. "I can't believe it's you." When they separate, Brian hits him on the shoulder, his voice chokes up from happiness, "What are you doing here? How are you here? Tryon is here with his Redcoats." 

"Ye ken I'm no seen when I dinna want te be." Murtagh retorts with a wry grin. 

"Does Da know you're here?" 

"No, and he canna know. It's too dangerous fer him. I just needed te come and see her before she gives herself te another." 

Brian softens. Jocasta. "You came for her?" 

He nods. "I needed te know if... it doesna matter. I canna stand in the way of her happiness. I love her too much te keep her hostage like that." 

"Please stay, Murtagh," Brian begs. "Please, come back with us to Fraser's Ridge. You don't need to be alone. You have us. Please, don't leave again." 

"I wish I could. I would give anythin' fer a life wi' Jamie and all of ye. But I can't. I have my duty te me men. I must see this through. I'm sorry, lad. I must go before I'm found here." He grasps his shoulder with firm but affectionate and smiles at him, the wrinkles around his eyes coming together. "I'll always be with ye. Ye ken diabhal beag?" 

Brian nods tearfully. Then, like he had been a dream, he's gone. 

——

The next day, Brian is relieved that Mama has not lost either of her rings as Da has won the game, keeping both rings safe and winning Wylie's prized Friesian stallion named Lucas. 

Everyone, at last, gathers for the wedding. Brian can't help the extra ping of sadness he feels watching Jocasta and Duncan exchange their vows after he knows that Murtagh had gone to her. He notices how Jocasta is tearing up during the ceremony. But Brian knows it is for a different reason rather than what everyone else thinks. While the audience coo and awe over how beautiful it is that Jocasta loves him so much she is crying, Brian knows they can't have been farther from the truth and she is crying because she wishes it is another man she is standing in front of saying "I do" to. 

They bid the newly Mr and Mistress Innes goodbye the next morning, and start the journey home. 

——

A/N: Diabhal beag = little devil

Please leave comments on how you're enjoying this story and what you think.

[todayisawthewhxlewxrld]

Asking for a friend, HOW DO I GET RID OF THIS DUDE.

So BASICALLY, My brother brought his friend over, which is also a sorta friend of mine, we'll call him brody for now, and I was chatting with the two as you do with your friend and brother, right? Its like 8 pm, we're on the porch, and my brother goes "I'm tired of being outside I'm going in." So obviously because idk this dude on that level, I've talked to him IN SCHOOL AND IN SCHOOL ONLY, was like "Oh yeah I'll probably go inside too" THEN MY BROTHER WITH HIS BITCH ASS SAID "You're gonna leave brody alone? Fr?" LIKE YOU BROUGHT HIM OVER. Anyways, I smacked my brother ON ACCIDENT, and he chased me into the drive way, all three of is are still talking. (Its mainly those 2), and then my brother goes inside. So I'm standing there AWKWARDLY, NO SHOES, A HUGE T SHIRT AND SHORTS COLD AS BALLS, trying to exit the convo and go inside. But he just would NOT let me go, and proceeded to start talking about how people in my group of friends have been giving him "mixed signals", I go who?? And he says nvm. Like okay FREAK wtv, but then we got on the topic of how my brother told me about Brody asking him if I liked him, I said my brother rat him out. This dude, Istg, goes "I can't believe he told you I liked you" ..... I never said that? So I was like "erm.. He never told me that..." And he WALKS BACKWARDS AND STARTS THROWING HIS HEAD AROUND LIKE HES EMBARRASSED OMG. I'm just standing there awkwardly REALLY trying to go now, because I've already got the love of my life yk? We get on the subject of smth and I go "I actually have some, do you want a couple?" He agrees, so I walk inside get shoes on and came back out then gave him the stuff. He ends up telling me to sit in the chair next to him, I'm still sitting there going "Idk its cold, and I'm kinda tired." LIKE ITS ABOUT 10 ATP, IM TRYING TO LEAAAVVEEE.

But. I'm soft hearted, I have a DIFFICULT time saying no to people so I sit. Then we're kind of chatting back and forth, but mostly silence and he keeps bringing up how hes "sooo embarrassed" abt him liking me, "have you ever... Yk.. Liked me? Because you were the one I got the most mixed signals from.." 😰 GET OUT? But I felt bad for the embarrassment and wanted to make him feel a bit better, and I was like "Erm.. Yeah I while ago before I got with ____" HE KNOWS ABOUT MY PARTNER OKAY, LIKE MY PARTNER LIVES FAR BUT I HAVE MADE IT APPARENT WITH THE PEOPLE I KNOW THAT I HAVE A PARTNER. I'VE GOT A BBG. SO HE ALREADY KNOWS HIM BY NAME. "Oh really?" Silence. "Yeahh".

LIKE I WAS BEING SO STUPID, BUT I FELT SO BAD FOR HIM.

"I can't believe you LIKED ME, what made you like me out of all people?" Dawg the way I PANICKED. "Well this was before I knew you, but it was because you were quiet and nice to my brother." LIKE THATS ALL I COULD THINK TO SAY BECAUSE I DON'T EFFING LIKE HIM BRUH. I WAS HOPING THAT HE LOST FEELINGS BECAUSE HE SAID "I used to" instead of using present tense, and I assumed we could get over it quickly and forget about it.

Nah. Tell me why. He started talking about how my WHOLE friend group has been giving him mixed signals, INCLUDING MY LESBIAN FRIEND, THE REASON? BECAUSE SHE MESSAGED HIM A LOT TALKING ABOUT HER PROBLEMS. LIKE WHAT? He mentioned another one of my friends and called her the "Chubbier big boobed girl".. Like wtf bruh? Excuse me? He said she was checking him out, so I had to bring that up to my poor friend, cause I want her to steer clear of him yk? BUT then he was talking about how he liked another one of my friends ALSO AT A POINT IN TIME, so I jokingly said "I'll put in a good word for you" this bitch. "What no?! I like YOU more." Ewwuh. I was caught off guard, but guess what. We stay strong. I mentioned his GIRLFRIEND, ANDD BROUGHT UP MY PARTNER TALKING ABOUT HOW MUCH I LOVED HIM. Later on he has the audacity to tell me I should break up with him because he lives far away from me, (no?) And even asked if I still liked him. I said in the most serious, monotoned way "I don't think so." Left it at that, HE CAN'T TAKE THE HINT, LATER AGAIN HE GOES. "What did you mean by you didn't think so? Do you not know?" I WAS TRYING TO BE NICE ABOUT IT MAN. "I do know. I don't like you like that, haha." STILL TRYING TO BE NICE AND OMFG THE EVENTS THAT FOLLOWED. I go inside, I tell my brother about everything made him SWEAR not to say shit, but ofc next day he did, idc, at least he knows that I told the fib, at least I'm prettt sure he knows. BUT THEN HE STARTS BEING EXTRA TOUCHY, AND TRYING TO SPEND RANDOM ASS TIME WITH ME AND MT FRIENDS. He always kicked the back of my legs and I reciprocated BEFORE I knew he has a thing for me, and that was on if the things he took as "mixed signals", he SHOVED hie middle finger IN MY FACE, AS IM TEXTING THE LOML, BECAUUUSEE WHY? BECAUSE HE WOULD FLIP ME OFF AND I'D DO IT BACK, BUT I STOPPED DOING THAT BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO HANG AROUND SOMEONE WHO HAS A THING FOR ME, AND KNOWS ABOUT MY LOVER!!!!!! He basically CLUNG onto my hip ALL DAY today, he followed me around flicking me, trying to banter with me just doing a bunch of random shit that was HONEST TO GOD, starting to PISS me off. My friend had to tell him to stop flicking me, because he DIDN'T TAKE THE HINT WHEN I SIDE EYED HIM. This dude omg. My friend who he has a thing for BLOCKED him today, and he started being all sad mid class looking at me and shit, I ignored that hoe man, not getting involved because I COULD NOT care. He ended up trying to confront me by saying I haven't been really talking to him since that night, and I'm just like "okay?".

Dude, BUT WHAT MAKES ME MAD THE MOST, I was in a class with that friend and the lesbian friend, I always go to that class because I love the teacher, I WAS LATE TO MY 5TH PERIOD BECAUSE HE FOLLOWED ME IN THERE, AND HOVERED OVER ME AND MY FRIENDS. I kept telling him to move because I'M TRYING TO GO, AND MY BAG WAS NEXT TO HIM, BUT HE DIDN'T MOVE?! I literally had to shove him out of my way, I admit a bit harshly, and he still continued to follow me SIDE BY SIDE, BLOCKING my bag. Like quit fucking playing with me man, I'm trying to get to my class. So I again was just like "Get out of my way I'm trying to get my stuff" thank the LORD he listened because I would have dragged him out of the class my his hair and throw him out if he hadn't. Ended up late, and he STILL continued to follow me. Granted though, we have the same hour. I don't sit next to him because we AGAIN were never CLOSE. So I sit next to my other friends, obviously. Its all good its okay, hour ends, I meet my friends up HES STILL FOLLOWING ME, STILL BLOCKING MY WAY AND JUST HOVERING OVER ME. But wtv, I have next hour with him and I don't sit next to him so idc, and then I have one more hour, AND IM HOME.

I went home. He came home with my brother. Their other friend took them home, and stopped by a store and they got baby bottles with, HIS WORDS NOT MINE, "Choccy milk" in it. I'm in my room, they BURSTED through my door to show me this bs Idgaf abt, so I'm just like "Cool." I notice brody coming closer to my room, so I'm shutting the door, they BOTH say "Not gonna talk?"... Bruh.

"Tired, so uh nah." Shut the door. My brother then proceeds to go take a shit (lmaos I'm too immature I can't), and he messages me telling me to come be social. "Come be social mf" "I don't want toooo", "mf" "alr" "I'm gonna throw this baby bottle at you", I am seriously tired and wanting to take a nap so I just go, "😒". HE BURSTS THROUGH MY DOOR, NO CONCERN FOR WHAT I THINK ABOUT IT, AND THROWS THE FUCKING BOTTLE AT ME.

Atp I'm just annoyed so I grab it give it to him, he goes "Why don't you want to come talk to me" "I'm tired." "Well so am I?" "Okay? I'm going to bed." "Oh" "Yeah." I shut the door, he says "Not gonna dap me up?" Yeah no I don't do that shit leave me alone, I ignored him and slept like a baby.

(Hes still texting me, and Ik I was shitty for lying about it, but I panicked and thought the feelings he had for me were GONE, and didn't want him to associate the embarrassment with me, and make it awkward for all of out mutual friends. I'm wanting to block him, or unadd him wtv, but I know I'll feel bad for him, and he'll end up telling my brother, then my brother will come after me for it.)

I just have NO clue what to do, because avoiding him, and being dry, or just NOT ANSWERING isn't working. I feel like he thinks he may still have a chance, but I've established that I don't want to be involved with anyone else but my partner. WITH EVERYONE. But he's made my friend uncomfortable with the hovering and talking to her or wtv, and thats where I draw the mfing LINE. I'm atp angry and annoyed with him as a whole, and I no longer want to be nice to him. I no longer want to talk to him, and I tried so hard to be nice about it.

ALSO, he told me when he was getting mixed signals from me, and it was literally the time he was going down snowy hills and I said be careful ovee a vm, and tried to get out of conversating with him by saying I was going homework. 💀

I swear he might have a complex for girls liking him, because he LEGIT FIRMLY believes everyone I'm friends with has a thing for him, and he talks about it like he has a thing for them too. 😭

This rant was too long, but MY GOD. I feel like I'm DYING.

yeah ngl at that point u just gotta kill him or smth .

no but seriously what the FUCK.... like this is actually crazy??? the fact he thinks all ur friends has a thing for him and cant take a hint when U dont... bae i know u dont wanna but i fear u rlly should just unadd him or block him cause i genuinely think that might be the only way he'd get some SORT of hint.. even if ur brother does come after u bc of it like.. a small price to pay for a chance of freedom in my opinion...

[outofcontexturi]

Mon 23rd jan 2023 journal 2:17am

I need to piss but I’m here. I think I’m active again. my brain feels to be working fine again unlike on Saturday morning where I was completely stressing. I’m starting to think there’s should be rules you don’t do when you wanna get high. Rule number uno: do not smoke or consume edibles without eating first. Rule number two: do not consume edibles if you haven’t had sleep. It will increase your anxiety and you’ll have a bad trip. Rule number three: learn to micro dose your shit. It’ll make for a better high. Those are my three rules so far. I’m present as can be right now. I miss being able to do this without worrying about time but here I am. I really am an over thinker. I get so in my head about things because there’s an intrinsic need to be right. It’s like I’ve been trying to prove that I’m right all my life. It’s like I have to prove how smart I am to people for them to respect me. That’s how I’ve felt since I was probably around 7. Being conscious that you’re doing something in real time is quite a trip. If my mood was a number i think it would be 7.5/8 out of 10. I need to piss still. I missed the 2:22. It’s 2:23. My left foot is moving a lot because I need to piss. I’ve gone to piss. Exited the room and saw on BBC news that Lisa Marie Presley has been laid to rest. I know very little if anything about the woman. Anyways today is gonna be a good day. I do need to sleep though. I think I’m thinking about how tedious MYO week is going to be. I need to think of a way to not want to lose my will to live this week. It’s 2:27am. make that 28. sometimes I wonder if I have the answers like I say I do but then I ask myself do you really? cause things feel new and I’m not used to this and I think that’s contributing to my anxiety as to whether or not I’m doing well. I’m filling my mind with these time conscious wealth entrepreneurial “gurus” who come across to have a sincere message but all in all are telling me politely in other words to be in a different financial position than I am now and I hear it but like where’s the time when you’re in full time education. I feel like there’s a part of me i haven’t actually explored. I think my growth comes thru travelling without my mum by my side or so heavily influential on if I travel to places. But it’s also a thing where she believes I don’t listen to her enough and I don’t want any of her weird/crazy superstitions to come true. But your baby boys got to live and somethings got to give ma. This cold I’m feeling is so so heavy my goodness. I’ve felt cold days man. This is actually so bad. This is the type of cold you never want to be in. My room is so cold right now. This isn’t it man. This is why I need to make it out the hood! cause I can’t live like this all my life. I need luxury and affordable housing clothing and great value food in my life as well as a bad bitch that really trusts and loves me. If I’m keeping it so real with you. I don’t really know why I have a tense disposition but a lot of people say it and I’m kinda like I’m not tense? but people see it. I don’t like that. I don’t like that people see me that way. Don’t get me wrong my body is tense generally speaking BUT not to the point where I look robotic and shit. I just caught myself overthinking in real time lol. It’s 2:41am. I can faintly hear the bbc news playing in mums room. I’m also scared to tell people my dreams. I think it’s cause people won’t believe it and if people I love don’t believe in my dream I don’t think I can be around them. I don’t want to be around them. But I’m also not sure I have the talent for what I want to do. I wonder what’s robbed me of my self confidence. Unless I think my self and my art work in tandem. My art is so heavily tied to me you can’t really separate it without me taking very much personal offence to it. I need to learn that my art is only one extension of me and not my whole being. But I think outside of that i don’t really know myself like that. Like idk if I’d struggle to answer 10 things I really like or 10 things I do with myself outside of acting. Con 2:46am